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It seemed like a good idea at the time, or so Sam and Steve thought.
“It’ll give him a chance to create something beautiful with his hands,” Sam said.
“It’ll give him something to do beside beat himself up,” Steve said.
But the moment Bucky Barnes found his new acoustic guitar sitting on the couch, with his name stitched into the strap, and his boyfriends smiling at him from the kitchen, something changed. Something… Shifted.
Sam knew the look on his face too well, but Steve wasn’t great at reading people. Bucky picked up the guitar, strapped it over his shoulder and grinned. It started out as a grin of thankfulness but it quickly turned into a grin of mischief.
About Two Weeks Later
Bucky was already a solid player. Steve always said he picked things up quickly, math, science, music, anything. He could already play a few folk songs and was trying his hand at more complex rock and blues music.
Often, Sam would come home and find Bucky strumming away on his guitar with the same unsettling, mischievous grin on his face. That day was no different.
“Hey baby,” Bucky said. “What’d you get at the grocery store?”
Sam held up the bag. “Just eggs because someone doesn’t know how to make regular sized omelettes.”
“Sam, omelettes are a ‘go big or go home’ food.”
“No one has ever said that before you did just now.”
Bucky strummed idly as Sam walked into the kitchen and set the bag down on the table. “All you got was eggs?”
“Yeah, Bucky, Why?”
“I was kinda hoping you’d bought a pizza.”
“You should’ve told me you wanted one.”
“Do I have to tell you everything, Sam? I love you, I think we should work on our telepathy more.”
Sam chuckled. “Sure.”
Bucky appeared in the doorway of the kitchen with the guitar and watched Sam put the eggs away and then bend over to look for a beer. Sam stood up straight when Bucky started humming.
“Unfortunately for you, I drank the last beer,” Bucky sang. “I wouldn’t have done it, had you been here. I wish things were different but I must confess, I drank your last beer please don’t be distressed.”
Sam stared at him, unamused. Then grabbed the orange juice, slamming the refrigerator door shut. “This isn’t gonna be your new thing.” Bucky shrugged. “Wasn’t a question.”
Two Days Later
Natasha stopped by, she looked a little nervous and said she had something to tell Steve. Bucky was in the bedroom, playing softly, out of the way. Sam was in the shower. Natasha thought this would be the best possible time to say what she needed to say.
She sat Steve on the couch and cleared her throat. “So you know how I mostly have things under control, I usually never misplace anything and I’m rarely clumsy. And, honestly, you probably noticed this already...”
Steve nodded slowly. “Where’s this going?”
Natasha cleared her throat again. In the distance, the sound of an acoustic guitar being strummed got closer and closer. Steve looked up and Bucky was standing behind Nat while she covered her face.
“Natasha tore a hole in your suit,” Bucky sang. “Natasha tore a hole in your suit. She didn’t mean to do it, but oh God she blew it, Natasha tore a hole in your suit.”
Steve furrowed his brows and turned to her. “How? It was on me the whole time you saw me yesterday.”
“Remember when we were in training and-”
Bucky strummed louder. “She got a little excited with her knife. She got a little excited with her knife. You’re lucky she didn’t break your skin, she got a little excited with her knife.” Sam came stomping out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist and pinched Bucky’s ear, pulling him out of the room. “Why don’t you believe in fucking music, Sam?!”
Six Days and Eight Hours Later
Sam and Steve were fast asleep. Sam’s head was resting on Steve’s chest, but the usual third addition to their sandwich was noticeably missing. Bucky said he was going to get a glass of water when his slow movements woke Sam. He gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and told him he’d be right back.
Sam went right back to sleep and nearly thirty minutes passed before there was a small commotion in the kitchen that woke him and Steve both up. They looked at each other, too tired to even think about jumping up and handling it.
Then, they heard the sound of a guitar.
“Oh Buck…” Steve groaned.
Bucky walked into the room, strumming the guitar nervously. Beads of sweat were rolling down his forehead and he swallowed.
Sam sat up and sighed. “Let’s hear it.”
“I tried to catch a mouse and I broke everything. I thought I was doing so well. I tried to catch a mouse, but it got away, taking our faucet with it as well. I’ll fix it tomorrow I swear, yes I swear, but right now it’s fucked and it’s wet everywhere.”
“Just get into bed,” Sam huffed before pulling the covers over his head.
The Next Day
“Bucky, we gotta talk.” Steve said. “About the guitar.”
“What about her?”
Steve narrowed his eyes. “Your guitar… Is a girl?”
Bucky nodded. “I named her Strings.”
“You know what? You’re happy and that’s all that matters.”
“STEVE!” Sam shouted. “TELL HIM.”
“Oh, right. We gotta talk about your guitar narration.”
Bucky raised an eyebrow. “What about it?”
“It’s… excessive.”
“I’m aware.”
“Why do you do it?”
Bucky shrugged. “I just feel like bad news is better received when someone sings it to you with a guitar.”
“Nope.” Steve shook his head and made a pained expression. “It’s really not.”
“If someone had told me ‘You’re wanted for the assassination of the king of Wakanda’ in a song, I feel like I would’ve felt a little better.”
“Bucky.”
“Steve.”
“This thing you do…”
Sam walked into the room. “It sucks.”
Bucky pouted. “I made you cum three times two nights ago and this is how you treat me, Sam?”
Sam started giggling. “Aight, that was good… But your guitar narration still sucks. We don't want you to stop playing guitar, but no one wants bad news delivered to them in song, it is the worst thing ever . Just play Wonderwall like every other white guy.”
Bucky turned to Steve. “You feel this way, too?”
“We love you but, this guitar narration... Even I wanna fight you.”
Bucky pouted. “Fine. I won’t do bad news guitar anymore.”
Sam clapped and Steve breathed a sigh of relief. Sam reached in his pocket and pulled out Bucky's pick that Steve had to convince him not hide earlier that day. “Thank God, can I get that in writing?”
“BUT!”
“Oh my God…”
“Tonight, Steve has to wear that blue thing, and you, Sam, have to wear that white thing.”
Steve and Sam grinned. “And you’ll be wearing?”
“Nothing, hopefully.”