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“You sided with Steve with the Accords. You stuck your neck out. For me. I’m asking you to do it again.”
Bucky’s words rang in Sam’s mind as he glared at Zemo. The man looked altogether too smug, too comfortable with the situation. How had he talked them into doing this? Talked them into making Bucky pretend that he was the Winter Soldier again? Zemo was an intelligent man, he had an understanding of trauma and PTSD. It felt like an intentional trigger- and judging, once again, from the smug look on his face, it was.
Bucky’s face was set into a carefully blank mask, his eyes downcast and heavily lidded. It was eerie, how well he was able to slip back into this persona. If Bucky didn’t know Bucky well enough at this point to see the irritation deep in the other man’s eyes, he would have fallen for the ruse as well.
Sam didn’t trust Zemo. That much was obvious. He would be more than happy to take him right back to prison and stick him back in his cell. As the night went on, he thought it might be more satisfying to choke the man to death.
But he did trust Bucky. The first time he’d stuck his neck out for Bucky, he sure as hell didn’t trust the man. But the persecution of the former Winter Soldier didn’t sit well with Sam. He’d been following Bucky’s trail for a long time when the Accords came around, when Zemo faked Bucky’s involvement with the U.N. bombing. He may not have trusted Bucky, but he did understand him. He understood the traumatized veteran, a man who had his bodily autonomy violated over and over again, who wanted to be left alone to heal in peace. Sam was a just man at heart, and he’d seen enough wrongful persecution in his time to let that slide. So he helped. He stuck his neck out for Bucky, and he got thrown in prison because of it.
He thought that sacrifice had gone unnoticed. Bucky never addressed it, and neither did he. It wasn’t Bucky’s fault, in the end, as easy as it would have been to blame him. It was Sam’s idea to take the fall, Sam’s decision to get involved in the first place. It would have gone against his own morals to stay on the sidelines, so he didn’t. And he had to accept the consequences of that action.
But then Bucky acknowledged it. Acknowledged that sacrifice, acknowledged that support. And asked him to do it again.
Sam could have said no. He could have said fuck that, and shoved Zemo right back in jail. Bucky had broken Zemo out without telling him, but he would have let Sam put him back without too much resistance. He would have been a pain in the ass, but he would have let him do it.
What Bucky was really asking was for Sam to trust him. And Sam realized that he did.
He may have been regretting that decision now.
“Winter Soldier. Attack.”
Sam didn’t speak Russian, but the intent behind the words was clear. Bucky was moving instantly, wrenching the man’s hand away from Zemo. Then the entire bar erupted, and Bucky was taking on fighter after fighter. Sam had to stop himself, hold himself back from getting involved. That would blow their cover. But seeing Bucky fight alone felt wrong. Sam was used to being in the fray with him, and even though he knew Bucky could hold his own… he didn’t like it.
Finally, it was over, and Bucky released the throat of the final man. They were called back to meet Zemo’s contact. Bucky was stiff, standing stock still. His eyes met Sam’s, and they were no longer blank. They were red rimmed, pupils blown wide, and Sam didn’t have to be a therapist (though he was) to see the pain and fear that was coming to the surface.
“You good?” Sam asked under his breath. Bucky let out a harsh exhale, gave a single nod, and moved to follow Zemo.
Yeah, Sam would be choking the man after this. Zemo didn’t deserve to continue to breathe.
***
The party was raging on. The last thing Sam had expected to find here was Sharon Carter, let alone Sharon Carter, illegal art dealer, but the world was full of surprises these days. The lights flickered, a blue tint filling the room. Bucky was standing close to Sam, arm brushing against his with every movement. The house was packed so close that personal space wasn’t really an option. Not that Sam would have taken that option, if it was there.
He was gravitating towards Bucky, had been ever since the incident at the bar. Probably had been for longer than that, he just didn’t want to admit it to himself. He could tell that Bucky was still troubled by what happened, by going back to the Winter Soldier, and he wanted to be there to offer what comfort he could.
“Do you have eyes on Zemo?” Bucky asked, standing close enough to Sam that he didn't’ have to raise his voice.
“Yep. He’s blending in fine. Probably better than us,” Sam said, trying to conceal the malice in his voice. He didn’t do that good of a job, judging by Bucky’s amused huff.
“Well, he’s an art buff. Makes sense.”
They lapsed back into silence, and that expression came back over Bucky’s face. Not the blank expression of the Winter Soldier, but an expression that Sam recognized all the same. He’d seen it in the faces of the veterans in his support groups, he’d seen it on his own face when he looked in the mirror after coming back from Afghanistan. After watching Riley fall. It was the expression of a man haunted.
Maybe it was the couple of drinks Sam had, or maybe it was the magnetism that Bucky seemed to be exuding, but Sam reached his hand out, laying it on Bucky’s back. Bucky flinched slightly, and Sam felt a pang in his chest. He pulled away, but to his surprise, Bucky took a step back to meet his hand again. Bucky took a deep, shuddering breath, but some of the tension seemed to bleed out of him.
“Thanks,” he said, voice low and hoarse. So Sam kept his hand where it was. And it stayed there for some time, as they moved through the crowd. When Bucky met Sam’s eyes, he looked more like himself- with a newfound heat behind his gaze.
The party died down in the early hours of the morning, only a few stragglers remaining to talk to Sharon. Zemo retired to his room, though Sam was still hesitant to let the man out of their sight. But he had a feeling Bucky needed some space from the man, and he didn’t think Zemo was going anywhere. Whatever else he could say about Zemo, the Baron was single minded in his mission, and the best way for him to get there was with Sam and Bucky.
Sharon had been nice enough to give them all rooms, and Bucky’s was directly next to Sam. So they walked there together. Bucky was still lingering close to Sam, letting the proximity calm him down.
When they got to the door of Sam’s room, Bucky stopped too. His eyes were downcast, and he held himself strangely. Sam raised an eyebrow.
“What’s going on, Buck?” he asked. His heart soared a bit when Bucky didn’t correct the use of the nickname.
“I don’t-” Bucky stopped. His fist clenched at his side, then relaxed. “Never mind.”
He moved to leave, but Sam reached out and grabbed his arm. Something about Bucky walking away felt wrong.
“Bucky.” He let the name linger in the air, eyes trained on the side of Bucky’s face. Bucky’s breathing was rapid, chest rising and falling, but he didn’t shy away from Sam’s touch. On the contrary, he shifted closer. Sam tightened his grip just slightly, which seemed to be the right thing to do.
“I don’t think I’m going to be able to sleep,” Bucky said, in a quiet voice. “Not after that.”
Sam nodded slowly. “Do you want to be alone, or do you want some company?”
Bucky looked up at that, surprised.
“You should get some sleep, Sam,” he said. “This is my thing.”
Sam fixed him with a stare. “You know I have PTSD too, right? I know what it's like, to some extent, when it gets triggered. You don’t have to handle it alone.”
Bucky’s jaw clenched, and he turned his head away slightly. But that didn’t stop Sam from seeing the shine of tears that came over his eyes. He blinked them away before turning back.
“Company would be… good,” Bucky admitted, and Sam let a grin slide over his mouth.
“Thought so. Come on.” He motioned to his room, then paused. “It might be weird to hang out in Sharon’s living room, is all.”
Bucky snorted. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were trying to seduce me.”
“As if.” Sam hoped that his face didn’t betray him. He wasn’t trying to seduce Bucky, of course. He wasn’t some kind of monster who would jump on a traumatized man after a PTSD episode. But Bucky’s words did come dangerously close to unveiling the attraction that Sam felt towards the supersoldier.
Bucky settled himself on the edge of Sam’s bed, and Sam sat down next to him.
“What can I do?” Sam asked.
Bucky shrugged. “I just… I need to not be in my head. Some kind of a distraction.”
“Well, I am a very distracting man,” Sam said. Bucky raised an eyebrow.
“Not like that, you old pervert. I mean I’m a good storyteller.”
Bucky let out a laugh at that, a real one, and Sam felt a sense of triumph. He took it as confirmation, and he launched into a story of himself and Sarah in Louisiana when Sam was in high school. He started with a story of Sarah trying to set him up with one of her friends, and how that turned into a bit of high school level stalking on the friends part. Then he told the story of him getting way too drunk at senior prom and getting kicked out, the only black mark on his record. The story that seemed to hit the best, though, was the story of the first time Sam babysat his nephews.
Sam wasn’t sure how long he talked, but by the time he was done, Bucky was visibly relaxed, and engaging in the conversation.
“Sarah sounds like quite a woman,” Bucky said, a ghost of a grin playing on his lips.
“She is,” Sam agreed. “Strongest I know. She takes after my Dad. Stubborn as hell, both of them.”
Bucky trailed off, and Sam could see him struggling with something.
“Spit it out, man,” he said, nudging Bucky. Without noticing, they’d drawn close together, sides pressed against one another. Bucky was warm.
“I should have told you about Isaiah.”
The words startled Sam, and it must have shown on his face.
“You deserved to know. I was just thinking about protecting him. He’s been through a lot of shit. But I wasn’t thinking about… well, of course knowing there was a black supersoldier would have been important for you to know.”
“You know, since you’re 106, I’ll give you a bit of a pass on not knowing all the intricacies of race in America. But thank you.”
“I am trying,” Bucky said, an earnest expression on his face. “I should have checked in with you after the police.”
“Buck.” Sam put a hand on Bucky’s knee. “There was kind of a lot of shit going on. And that’s my life. Now you know for the future.”
Bucky nodded, eyes trained on Sam’s hand resting on his knee, but he still looked troubled.
“I don’t want to never see you again.”
Bucky’s words hung heavily in the air. It took Sam a second to realize what he was referring to.
“Ah, shit,” he said, rubbing the back of his head. “Bucky, I didn’t-”
“I get why you said it,” Bucky said. “And I agreed because I was pissed off. But that’s not how I feel.”
“I was pissed too,” Sam admitted. “Pissed and upset. I didn’t think through what I was saying.”
“You're… a good man, Sam. I know we fight, and shit, but-” Bucky swallowed, moving his hand to rest on Sam’s. He looked up, and Sam was suddenly hit with just how close their faces were. His breath hitched.
“You’re important to me. I’m just not good at any of this,” Bucky said, scanning Sam’s face.
“You’re important to me too,” Sam said, sincerely. “Even though we fight and shit. I didn’t like seeing you like this today.”
One side of Bucky’s mouth quirked up.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
In terms of confessions, it wasn’t exactly what Sam had planned, but this felt… good. It felt authentic. And with Bucky this close to him, Sam’s brain was feeling a bit fuzzy, and he couldn’t bring himself to complain.
“Man, I hope I’m not reading into this,” he muttered, mostly to himself, but Bucky let out a quiet laugh, breath ghosting over Sam’s lips.
“You’re not,” he murmured. And that was what broke Sam. He brought his hand up to Bucky’s face, thumb resting on his cheek. Bucky leaned into the touch with a content hum. Sam leaned in slowly, heart hammering in his chest, giving Bucky enough time to pull away if he didn’t want this, but Bucky leaned in too, meeting him halfway.
It felt like fireworks. Sam always thought that was cheesy, but there was no other way to describe the feeling of Bucky’s lips on his own.
Sam kept it chaste, as much as he could, just trying to pour reassurance and affection into the kiss. It was too early for anything else. Bucky let out a quiet groan, and that nearly broke Sam’s restraint.
Sam pulled away, Bucky’s lips still tantalizingly close to his. Bucky’s blue eyes opened, boring into his own.
“Do it again,” Bucky breathed, and Sam happily complied.