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Sam can't find his jacket anywhere. He's searched the entire house up and down, and it's nowhere to be seen. The fall chill has started to sneak up, the weather biting the tips of his fingers and making his nose run. There's nothing he dislikes more than the fall and winter months, he's always been happier during the summer time. The warm sun beating against his skin and the soothing feeling of laying in the grass and lounging by the lake with his family. That's where he thrives, so he's just not built for this kind of weather.
Even so, he would like to still get his morning run in. So, despite his aversion, he was preparing himself for a quick jog. But he can't go anywhere without his jacket.
He knows he has one, he's not crazy. It's just a matter of finding the damn thing. He would just ask Bucky, but the man was currently sleeping, curled up in his bed tucked into himself. Sam finds it cute, how the man tries desperately to make himself as small as possible in every situation ever. He's a massive hunk of muscle, and yet does all he can to be as unnoticeable as feasibly possible for someone as large as he is.
Sam knows, deep down, that it's an instinctual response derived from Bucky's imprisonment by Hydra. He knows that it's a subconscious thing, to make himself as small as possible to avoid any sort of punishment. Remain invisible and convenient. If he makes himself just inconspicuous enough, maybe he could slip away and anything he's done wrong will possibly be forgotten. All wishful thinking, of course. But it's what Bucky's body did to try and survive, and there's no fault in that.
Nowadays, Bucky is more confident in taking up space. Specifically Sam's space.
Back when Sam had just met Steve Roger's, and he didn't know anything about anything he chose to follow the man in the hunt for his long lost friend. Steve would talk about Bucky, his likes, his dislikes. What he used to do and what he used to be like. Steve would have an expression of pure fondness on his face, a look Sam recalls having a similar look when talking about Riley.
“Buck used to love hugs. Any touch, really. He was a sucker for a good hug though. It wasn't really cool back then for men to express themselves like that with their friends, but Buck didn't care. If you were his pal, he was going to hug ya any chance he got. It's how he showed he loved ya.” Steve said, his eyes shiny and wet. His voice remained steady though, and carried a hint of grief in it.
“I wonder if he still would..” Steve trails off, looking out the window.
Sam remembers being skeptical. He didn't believe a lot of what Steve had to say about Bucky. Logically, he knew Bucky must've been different before Hydra, he knew that he wasn't always the Winter Soldier. But it was hard to picture the guy who ripped the steering wheel from his windshield as “gentle” and “affectionate”.
And then he met Bucky, and he immediately kicked his past self. Bucky is the most gentle person Sam has ever met. Whether that be because he's scared to hurt someone again, or if it's just something that's been ingrained into his soul since childhood, Steve's stories of Bucky were indeed true.
While Bucky wasn't the same exact man as he was in the 40s, he was still Bucky. Something which Sam very much appreciates. Watching Bucky become himself and relearn to trust and be who he wants to be was beautiful and tragic and inspiring and so many things Sam can't even begin to describe or put into words. After everything Bucky was put through, the torture and abuse he suffered for decades, he still remained kind. He still wanted help, and to be there for people.
He was unbelievably resilient. And stubborn, and a brat.
Even so, it was hard for Bucky to fall asleep. He's grown and recovered so well over the last few years, and Sam's unbelievably proud of the progress he's made. However, Bucky struggles horribly with getting himself to relax enough to sleep. So whenever he does, Sam lets him sleep for as long as his body needs.
Waking and asking Buck where his jacket was is out of the question. Sam sighs, and is about to give up on his run altogether when he spots Bucky's jacket on the coat rack. It's not his own jacket, and it's slightly too thick to wear for a jog, but it's something warm. He throws the thing over his shoulders, zips it up, and heads out for his run.
He doesn't run nearly as long as he usually would. Even though he was bundled in Buck’s jacket, the cold still nipped at him uncomfortably. So it wasn't very long before he returned home. He flung open the front door and stepped inside, shivering all the while. He bathes in the warmth of the house, and takes off Bucky's jacket and hangs it back where he found it.
He's drawn to noise in the kitchen, and when he glances down the hall he sees Bucky's door is open. Sam smiles to himself and heads to the kitchen, hovering in the doorway. He watches Bucky fiddle with a pan, a carton of eggs open next to him.
It's moments like these that really give Sam whiplash. Just 13 (but really only around 8 for him and Bucky) years ago he would never have imagined himself here. With Bucky in their kitchen making eggs. He's certainly not complaining or disappointed by this fact, especially since the view he has is so nice. Bucky in nothing but his boxers and a sweater is really a sight to behold. But this life he's built for himself, this bubble, he never would've imagined he'd be able to have this.
Especially with Bucky.
He's the new Captain America, living with James Buchanan Barnes, the only Howling Commando to die in the war. Except he didn't actually die, and was forced to become the Winter Soldier by a nazi organization thought to have fallen with Steve Rogers and his plane. If Sam could tell his past self any of this, he's sure he would slap himself silly.
When Riley died, he never thought he'd have a relationship with someone again. Let alone be able to move on from how traumatic of a loss Riley was. There was a long time where Sam was just a hollow shell of himself. He pretended things were fine, and acted like nothing was wrong, but there was a deep ache in his heart. A sense of loss he could never rid of. But here he is now, healed and healing with the man he's sure he wants to spend the rest of his life with.
“Makin’ me breakfast?” Sam says, sliding up behind Bucky to look over his shoulder. He hovers his hands over the man's hips, waiting for silent permission. Only when Bucky leans back slightly, encouraging the touch, does Sam let himself wrap his arms around Bucky's waist. Plastering himself to Bucky's back as he rests his chin on his shoulder.
“Hmm. Maybe. How do ya want ‘em?” Bucky's voice is husky and low, it's apparent he's only been up for a few minutes. It's no shock to Sam that the first thing he does is eat. The man's metabolism is insane, and his enhanced body burns through calories and food faster than even Steve's body did.
The second he's up, his body is begging for some sort of sustenance.
“You know how I like it. Over medium. Hate the runny yolk.” He says into Bucky's shoulder, closing his eyes. He hears Bucky grunt and Sam can feel his hand be covered by cold vibranium. He shivers but doesn't try to escape the touch.
Buck was never really a talker in the morning, always communicating with little touches or small facial expressions and huffs. He tells Sam that it's because his brain takes a while to get back on course after waking up, much longer than it would anyone else. The years of having his head fried over and over left him with an uncomfortable brain fog, especially in the morning. It doesn't go away, but it's easier to manage once he's more stable on his feet.
It's when they're eating breakfast together at the table, does he notice it. Bucky's wearing his sweater. The one he spent all morning trying to find.
“Hey, Buck. Is that my sweater?” He asks, pointing at him with his fork.
Bucky looks down at himself, already on his 5th serving. He makes a face, slightly guilty but more embarrassed, before slowly looking back up. “Oh, yeah. It was cold last night so I just threw it on. Sorry.”
Sam scrunched his brow, “Man you don't need to apologize. Just woulda liked to know you had it. Went insane this morning trying to find it. I don't mind you wearing my stuff, in fact I kind of like it. I think it's cute.” His voice is slightly teasing, and he grins at his boyfriend across the table.
Bucky's face flushes to his ears, and he looks down at his plate. Sam thinks it's adorable when he's flustered, his face always gets so red and it always travels up to the tips of his ears down to his chest. Doesn't matter what Sam says, Bucky will get bright red all over.
“Yeah, well.. thanks I guess.” He can tell he threw Bucky for a loop as he struggles to find something to say in return. Sam leans back in his chair, pleased with himself.
Bucky hasn't let Sam in his room in over a week. He's not really shocked by this, Buck has always been defensive of his space. There are times where he just needs privacy and a space where he knows no one can enter or invade against his will. So Sam's not really too bothered by it. But Bucky has this look like he's sneaking around. That's not really the right phrasing, he looks guilty, like he's hiding something.
It's got Sam on edge. The last time Bucky was hiding something it was when he had a fever so high not even his enhanced body could fight it off, and Sam only found out after he passed out in the middle of the kitchen. Sam almost had a damn heart attack, watching him fall to the ground like a sack of potatoes.
He knows Bucky has a hard time asking for stuff, and he wishes he was able to take away that fear, but there were some things you can't take away. To Bucky asking for help means pain, if they know your weak spot they know how to hurt you. If Bucky is hurt, asking for help means they know how to make it worse.
It's not that he doesn't have a deep trust for Sam, they've been together through thick and thin. He wouldn't change anything about them, and there's no one he would rather have by his side. And he knows Bucky feels the same way.
“Hey, you doing okay Buck?” Sam asks one night while they're relaxing on the couch.
Bucky turns his head to look at him, confusion on his face. “Yeah, I'm alright. Why? Haven't been doing anything weird, right?”
There's a slight nervousness to his voice, and Sam knows what he's asking. “I haven't lost control of myself right?” Sam's heart clenches. After all this time Bucky is still so terrified of losing himself. Of getting lost and taken control of by something he has no say in.
“No no, you're good. Everything's fine. Just wanted to check in, y'know?" Sam tries to cover it up. Maybe he's just imagining things. Bucky hasn't been showing any evidence of being sick, and he hasn't done anything out of the normal lately. So it's probably nothing.
Sam can't find his favorite pair of pants. They're a soft denim that doesn't itch or construct too much of his movement. They're perfect. And he can't find them anywhere. He huffs, a hint of anger filling his chest. For the past 2 weeks pieces of his clothes have gone missing. It's driving him mad. A shirt here or there, his favorite hoodie. A pair of sweats. He still has clothes, don't get him wrong. But not the ones that he likes.
He groans and settles for a pair of pants he hasn't worn since he bought them. They aren't too bad, and they match the shirt he has on. They're too long so they bunch up at the bottom. It'll have to do.
He and Bucky are going on a date. They haven't really gone out since fall started, and it's November already. Sam is excited for Thanksgiving, he can't wait to see his family again and to take Buck back with him. They saw Sarah a few months back in February, but they hadn't been together long then and were still trying to discover what all they wanted from their relationship. So only he and Sam knew that they were together at the time. But really, they were in love with each other much longer than that.
Sam was eager to tell Sarah about their relationship, even if she knew about their feelings for each other long before either of them knew themselves. Sam knows she's going to rub it in his face.
They also haven't made their relationship public yet. Don't get him wrong, that doesn't prevent them from going out together and doing things. They went on plenty of dates during the summer. People and the media have made their assumptions, some not too far off and some just blatantly homophobic and disgusting, but neither he nor Bucky have put in any effort to confirm or deny any rumors. They don't answer reporters who ask and change the subject if they're able.
They both understand the backlash they'll receive for their relationship. Not only are they in a queer relationship, but a biracial one as well. Sam has received enough racism and bashing for being a black man and Captain America to last him a lifetime. If the press and public knew he was gay and dating the Winter Soldier? He would be crucified. Not that he really cares what others think. He's had enough time to adjust to it all, but that doesn't mean he's not completely disgusted by it.
Bucky has his own reasons for not engaging with the rumors. People will claim he fucked Sam or any other higher up to get his pardon, they'll use his sexuality against him and accuse him of things that never happened. There are people who support Bucky and know who he is and what he went through, who can see him and know that the Winter Soldier was abused and used for over 70 years. Then there are others who only see the blood forced upon his hands.
A lot of his abuse is public knowledge due to the whole thing that happened at the Triskelion. Files on Hydra released to the whole world, and that included the files regarding the Winter Soldier program. Of course not everything that happened was in that info dump, but there was enough for anyone to read it and understand just how horrific things were for Bucky. And yet people still found a way to shame him, to blame him and tell him it was his fault.
But there were things not even the oldest hydra files have detailed, horrors Bucky couldn't handle to speak of to even Steve. His longest friend, the one who was always there no matter what. That's exactly why he couldn't tell him, Bucky had said. It would've broken Steve.
Sam remembers when Bucky told him so vividly, he could recount every time Bucky shifted and looked away and blinked.
“They didn't just hit me and stuff, y'know? They did other stuff. Real bad stuff. To me.” He had said it so softly, almost like a secret. Like he was scared to say it, because if he did then it became real. And Sam understood. He knew what Bucky was implying by that statement, he hadn't needed him to explain further and expressed as much.
“You don't have to tell me if you don't want to, Bucky. Not if you aren’t ready.” He said gently, they hadn't been together for more than a week at this point. They were still testing the waters.
“I want to. I want you to know..” He looked away, and began to chew on his fingers. “I trust you, Sam. That scares me sometimes, but it's true. I trust you. I want you to know why I can't.. if we're together there's things I can't give you. I want you to know.”
“You don't owe me anything. I don't expect you to give me anything you don't want. I never will. You're safe with me, Buck. I want you.” Sam reassured him, reaching for Bucky's hand.
Teary eyed, the other man took it.
Bucky had been raped by the hands of Hydra, off the record of course. Obviously. Why would they document that? They did so with everything else. Except they did document it, but it was buried in the depths of all the other medical reports and conditioning methods. Bucky had never wanted anyone to know, he didn't want to tell anyone what happened because he was embarrassed, horrified that he had been through something like that. A deep rooted shame that every bit of himself was stripped from his very being.
His life was taken from him, his body, his mind. Nothing belonged to him during Hydra. Every choice, every action was never his own.
That's why they haven't even shared a bed yet. That's why they have separate rooms and the friskiest they've gotten is the occasional make out session on the couch.
“Sam?” Bucky's voice sounds from his doorway, and Sam jumps a bit. He turns around and is met with Bucky dressed a bit too nicely for the date they were about to go on. Fondness swells in Sam's chest, and he can feel himself grinning like an idiot.
“Hey, sorry. Zoned out for a minute.” He takes one last look at himself and deems his outfit good enough. He's sad he can't wear his favorite pair of jeans, but he's certain they'll come around sometime.
“It's alright. Are you okay?” Bucky walks up to him and puts his hands on Sam's hips. He leans close and kisses Sam's nose.
The other man lets out a breathy laugh,”Yeah I'm okay. Just thinkin’.” He slowly reaches up to hold Bucky's face in his hands, giving him time to pull back. He caresses his cheeks with his thumbs.
Bucky smiles, and Sam's sure his heart is melting. Bucky's eyes sparkle, like how the ocean glitters in the sun. “Better than okay, really.” Sam says, and his and Bucky's lips meet for a slow, gentle kiss.
They pull away, “We got a date to get to, yeah?” Bucky says, letting his hands fall away. Sam misses the sensation but relishes in the lingering warmth of his hands there.
Sam wakes up to screaming. It's so loud Sam almost thought the sound was coming from somewhere in his room, and he quickly realizes that it's Bucky. Sam jumps out of bed, scrambling with his sheets for a moment before shoving them off himself. He stumbles through the hallway and hesitates at Bucky's door for a few moments. He takes a deep breath and rationalizes that Bucky probably just had a nightmare, and isn't being brutally murdered.
Sam tries desperately to not invade Bucky's space, especially since he's become so defensive of his room for the past few weeks. But Sam can hear Bucky panting and whimpering, sobs echoing throughout their house. Sam pushes the door open and slowly steps inside in case the noise rouses Bucky from his sleep.
It doesn't. Bucky is struggling in his sheets, and Sam can tell his limbs are flailing to break free from underneath his blankets piled on top himself.
“Bucky? Hey Buck, you're alright. It's okay. You're just having a nightmare. It'll be okay.” He slowly walks towards the bed, turning on Bucky's lamp that rests on the bedside table.
The light illuminates the room softly, and it's then that Sam notices what's on Bucky's bed. It's his clothes. Bucky has been the one taking his clothes. His pants that he lost a few days ago, the sweater that's been missing for almost a month. The sweatpants, t-shirts and long sleeved ones too. Sam is shocked for a moment, but pushes that to the side to focus on getting Bucky calm.
Sam is about to reach out when Bucky suddenly jolts up, lunching forward as he lets out another scream. Sam steps back, raising his hands to show he means no harm. Bucky shakes and he looks around the room, looking for threats and exits and possible weapons to be used against him. There are tears and sweat caked on his face, his hair stuck to his forehead. His whole body trembles aggressively.
His eyes finally land on Sam, and his face further crumbles. Sam cooes and leans forward, and Bucky reaches out for him. Bucky pulls him onto the bed and Sam holds him in return, petting his hair and kissing his hair.
“We're okay Bucky, it's alright. It's over now.” He mutters gently, rubbing his back softly.
Bucky just cries.
It takes a good 30 minutes for him to stop.
“Sorry.” Bucky finally speaks, his voice is hoarse from screaming.
Sam just huffs, “Not your fault. Don't say sorry. Do you want to talk about it?”
Bucky shakes his head, so Sam lets it go. He's sure in the morning he will. Or he'll call his therapist, his new one. Sam didn't agree with all the shit Raynor put Bucky through and Bucky said he felt like he was just going in circles with her. No progress was being made so he decided someone else was going to be better for him. It took him a while to find someone who fit him and was actually able to help him feel like he was capable of recovery, and that maybe not everything was his fault.
“Sorry.. for the clothes.” Bucky sounds embarrassed, now. Sam smiles, letting out an exasperated laugh.
“You've been taking my clothes? I've been going crazy, you know that right? I thought I finally lost my marbles.” He pulls back slightly to get a look at Buck.
He looks less distressed now, more embarrassed than anything. His cheeks are more shy red then post-crying his heart out red. He looks at his sheets and pulls one of Sam's sweaters up to his face. It's then that Sam actually gets a look at the state of Bucky's bed. His clothes are set up in a way that's purposeful. Gathered around in a small circle, around him and Bucky.
It's like- well. It's like a nest. Sam feels amusement fill his chest. “Did you make a nest out of my clothes, Buck?”
Bucky's face becomes a deeper shade of red. He's also wearing one of Sam's hoodies. Two of his shirts are laid across Bucky's pillows. The structure is thought out, Sam realizes. His most worn items are at the top. Where Bucky's face is, but the newer less worn ones are at the bottom of the little makeshift nest.
“Can I ask why?” Sam's voice is teasing, but gentle. He can sense the careful vulnerability Bucky is showing him right now. Especially since he just woke from a deeply distressing nightmare. That won't stop him from ripping into him a bit, but he'll be gentle with it.
“I uh…” And Bucky somehow goes an even deeper shade of red. Sam is almost worried he's gonna burst or something. “... You're scent. Smell. I.. I can't sleep without smelling you.”
Sam stares, and is shocked for a moment. And then his own face heats up and suddenly both of them are a flustered mess. “Really?” And he can't find it in himself to be mean about it.
Sam is- he's in love. Definitely.
“Yes.” Bucky grits out, hiding his face in the sweater he's currently cradling in his hands. Like he can somehow disappear into the fabric.
“Buck, that's… god that's really cute.” Sam smiles, and scoots closer to Buck. He reaches out and lets Bucky lean his face into Sam's hands.
“I'm sorry. I shouldn't have taken your stuff.” His voice is pinched and embarrassed.
“Naw, definitely not. But I'm not mad. I wouldn't have cared if you just asked. Woulda helped with your little bird nest.”
“Not a damn nest.” Bucky lifts his head to lean his lips into Sam's palm, but his voice lacks any real heat. There's a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
“Mama bird made me a nest, maybe we need to get you some chicks to keep warm.” Sam chuckles.
That earns him a sharp scowl, “Shut up. You're stupid.” He kisses Sam's palm, and slowly his body stops trembling.
“... Thank you.” He says, eyes suddenly wide and soft.
“For what?” Sam asks, petting Bucky's hair from his face, tucking it behind his ear.
“For coming. For caring.”
“I'll always come, Buck. I'll always be there to catch you.” Sam promises, leaning his face towards Bucky's until their foreheads touch. “I love you.”
Bucky's eyes water, tears gathering at the water line. “Yeah? Are you sure?” His voice wobbles, uncertain.
“Pretty damn sure. I love you Bucky. James. I always will, okay? Nothing you've done can change that.” The words seem to crack something in Bucky.
He leaves out a trembling cry and hides in Sam's shoulder. “I love you too, Sam. I love you.” He releases the sweater and wraps his arms around Sam's body. He presses close, almost like he's trying to fuse and become one with the other man.
“I think. I think I'd like it if we shared a bed. Can we do that?” Bucky's voice cracks, and he asks so softly, like Sam would say anything but yes.
“Sure, Buck. Yeah, we can do that. Whatever ya want. It'll be okay.”
“Yeah, yeah. It will.” Bucky's voice is trembling, but he sounds the most assured he's ever been.