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Bucky said Walker got in his head. Said he asked him if he could live with Sam’s blood on his hands, and Bucky let him through.
Sam couldn’t understand it.
Bucky, the man who blamed him for giving up the shield, who constantly gets on his nerves, starts fights, starts staring contests with him, for Pete’s sake, said he let Walker get into his head. Over Sam’s safety. When Sam confronted him about it, Bucky couldn’t look him in the eye when he told him.
“He asked if I could live with your blood on my hands, and I… it got to me. I’m sorry, Sam.”
At first Sam thought it was an excuse. I trusted you! He’d yelled, and Bucky had looked away and given his excuse. In the moment, Sam was pissed. But that night, Sam replayed the moment in his head over and over. The catch in Bucky’s voice, the way he looked away… Sam was more inclined to believe it the more he thought it over. But regardless, Sam couldn’t help but think that it was just Bucky not wanting any more guilt on his conscience. He’d have done it no matter who Sam was. Sam still didn’t understand it. How could you let someone get into your head like that over someone you didn’t even like ?
Until now.
Sam stands here, torn between going after Karli and the rest of her soldiers, and rushing to Bucky’s side. Bucky is yelling at him to go! Don’t let them get away! But his voice is strained, and he’s holding his flesh hand to his side as he fights off another of Karli’s soldiers. Sam can see he’s losing. The Winter Soldier may have been HYDRA’s most feared assassin, with the skills and knowledge to kill a man without even raising his heart rate, but James ‘Bucky’ Barnes refuses to use those skills lethally. Sam’s noticed he’s hesitant in fights, scared to even hurt people, especially after the events at the Princess Bar. And after their fight with Walker, they’re both feeling less than 100%. He knows something funky happened with Bucky’s vibranium arm, but the man wouldn’t talk about it. But now Sam sees that the Flag Smasher Bucky’s been fighting has managed to get a hit in with the knife that’s now gleaming with blood in his hand. Sam watches Karli run away, and he hesitates again. He hears Bucky cry out in pain behind him, and it’s so unnatural that Sam’s blood runs cold.
Can I live with his blood on my hands?
No. He can’t.
With a frustrated groan at the loss of Karli yet again, Sam turns back to Bucky and the Flag Smasher. The blood on the blade is bright and shiny, and it makes Sam’s stomach turn. Bucky got stabbed long enough ago that the blood should’ve been drying. Instead it still looks fresh, and Sam realizes that cry of pain must have been that knife striking true a second time. And if it drew that sort of reaction from Bucky, it must be bad. Sam kicks into gear. He activates the wings, launching himself into the back of the super soldier. Bucky grunts as the Flag Smasher’s grip is ripped off of him, and Sam flies past him, slamming their opponent into a nearby wall. The man crumples, dazed but not out, but Sam doesn’t even hesitate. He bolts to Bucky’s side, where the former Soldier is collapsed onto the ground like a puppet whose strings have been cut. Bucky reaches down to push himself to his feet, and Sam’s heart drops into his stomach. Bucky’s hand is coated crimson, not a sliver of skin left clean. He looks up at Sam through gritted teeth and glazed eyes, not even seeming to notice the blood as he tries to stand up.
“What the hell are you doing? You should be going after them!” Bucky yells, and normally Sam would snap back something like gee, you’re welcome for saving your life! but the blood on Bucky’s hand and the slight tremble in his voice makes him bite his tongue. Instead, he ignores both Bucky and the Flag Smasher getting to his feet behind them. He snags Bucky under the arms, trying to ignore the pained yelp it draws from the man as he launches them both off the ground. Bucky isn’t as heavy as Steve was, the first time he picked him up, and the memory sends a pang of grief through him. He quickly shakes it off, but it’s followed by another as he realizes that Bucky’s lack of limb and lack of the proper serum procedure accounts for the lack of weight. Sam shakes his thoughts loose again as he realizes that Bucky is yelling at him again. Sam looks down briefly, surprised by the wide-eyed look of terror on Bucky’s face as they fly. And then it hits him like a two-ton truck. The train. Sam immediately starts a descent, headed for the nearest rooftop. He’s not even sure the old wingsuit he’s using can even support the two of them much longer, anyway.
They land heavier than he would like, but Bucky is pale and almost shaking and Sam has a hard time controlling the landing. Bucky drops heavily to the gravel rooftop, grunting with the effort. Sam is by his side immediately.
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! We needed to get away, I didn’t have any other options, I–” he’s rambling now, he knows that, but right now Bucky is terrifying him and he doesn’t know what to do. Bucky looks at him, breathing heavily through his nose as he tries to calm down. “I’m sorry, Buck, I really am.” He realizes too late that he’s called him Buck again, but the man doesn’t react and that freaks Sam out even more. “Bucky. Talk to me. I need to stop the bleeding,” he pleads, and Bucky looks surprised, like he forgot he even was bleeding. He exhales deeply, finally seeming to calm down, and looks down at his blood-covered hand as if seeing it for the first time. Sam lets out a nervous chuckle. “Yeah, buddy. I need to know where that’s coming from. If it knocked you on your ass like this, it’s gotta be bad,” he says softly, trying to play for humor but he’s sure the tremor in his voice is noticeable. Bucky is seriously freaking him out and he needs to know how to fix it. Finally, finally, Bucky speaks.
“‘M fine, Sam. Just a little scratch,” he says, and Sam actually snorts. Bucky frowns at him, but Sam is unapologetic.
“Yeah right, and I’m not a pardoned fugitive. Come on, Bucky, I’m pretty sure you got stabbed twice. I had to jump in and save your ass, so you know it’s gotta be something more than a scratch.” Again, trying for humor, but he’s worried as hell. Bucky opens his mouth to answer, but he shifts his weight slightly as he does. He lets out a strangled yell instead, and Sam instantly surges forward. “ Shit!” Past waiting for Bucky to tell him what’s wrong, Sam pushes Bucky the rest of the way to the ground and starts scanning him for injuries.
He hates what he finds. Bucky’s blue jacket has two separate holes in it, both stained red. One is high up on his left side, it looks like the knife probably slashed across it during the fight. The second is what worries Sam. It seems to be the source of the blood. It’s low on the right, just under Bucky’s last rib, and so bloody that Sam can’t even see just how big of a rip it is. Wordlessly, he scrambles to pull open Bucky’s jacket. When he does, he thinks he loses his heart out of his chest entirely. Bucky’s entire left side is stained crimson from the wide, jagged hole ripped open in his skin. It looks like the knife went in deep and then was pulled down and to the side, almost completely to the navel, and Sam feels sick. No wonder he reacted . My God .
“Sam?” Bucky’s voice is quiet and strained, and Sam comes back to himself with a start. “You okay?”
“Am I okay? Am I okay?! Fuck’s sake, Buck, you’re the one with a four-inch hole ripped into your stomach! No I’m not okay!” Sam can’t help it. He sounds hysterical even to his own ears, but he doesn’t have the supplies to treat this, and it’s bad. It’s might-not-make-it bad, and Sam is most definitely not okay . Bucky has the nerve to crack a smirk, and Sam feels the irrational need to punch him. He doesn’t, instead settling for putting as much pressure against the massive wound as he can. He tries not to enjoy the grunt Bucky makes in response, but he is only human, after all. Bucky closes his eyes in pain, clearly fighting to control it, and Sam winces. “Sorry, buddy.” He realizes belatedly that he called him Buck for the second time, and once again Bucky didn’t yell at him. He imagines it’s just a product of circumstance, but he can’t help but feel a bit of pride in being allowed to use the nickname, even just for now. He knows that was Steve’s, and he knows how much of a sore spot that is for Bucky. For both of them. Bucky lets out a soft wheeze, opening his eyes and staring at Sam through the pain.
“Sam, I’m fine. I’m a super soldier, remember?” Bucky’s voice is tight and soft, and Sam nearly jolts at the reminder. In his panic over the severity of Bucky’s wounds, he’d practically forgotten about Bucky’s heightened state. It only does a little to alleviate his panic and worry, but it does help. Sam lets out a breath, but he doesn’t release the pressure. Bucky must not be satisfied by that, though, because he suddenly wraps his bloodied hand gently around Sam’s wrist. “Sammy,” he prods, and Sam pulls his eyes away from the wound to meet Bucky’s. Bucky gives him a steady smile, betrayed only by the pallor of his skin, and Sam can’t help but twist one corner of his lips up in response.
“Yeah. Yeah, okay. I still don’t like how much this is bleeding, Buck,” Sam mumbles, and Bucky has the nerve to roll his eyes. Sam winces internally, waiting for the chastisement of the nickname, only to realize that Bucky just called him Sammy . “Wait, did you just call me Sammy ?” Sam doesn’t miss the moment Bucky’s eyes widen fractionally, and he realizes Bucky didn’t even notice . Well, shit. Bucky looks away almost sheepishly, opening his mouth to most likely apologize, but Sam beats him to it. “Hey, I don’t mind. I’ve just never heard you call me that before,” Sam quickly amends, and Bucky snaps his mouth shut. Sam hesitates, and then– “Besides, it’s only fair. I’ve called you Buck a couple times,” he adds softly, barely meeting Bucky’s eyes this time. There’s a moment of silence, before Bucky’s fingers Sam hadn’t even noticed were still wrapped around his wrist tighten slightly.
“I know.” Bucky’s voice is soft and laced with a different kind of pain, and Sam waits for him to say more but he doesn’t. He simply tries to shift his weight a little, face screwed up in discomfort most likely over the gravel digging into his back, and Sam panics.
“Will you stop moving?? I get it, you’re superhuman, but there’s still only so much blood you can lose!” Bucky, damn him, actually laughs. Granted, it quickly turns into a grimace, but still.
“ Samuel , quit fussing and help me, this gravel is a bitch . And I sleep on the floor,” Bucky still snarks through gritted teeth, and Sam wants to run his hand down his face if it were free. He hesitates for a moment, assessing the situation, before carefully removing one hand from Bucky’s side, but not before making sure Bucky resumes pressure himself. With his now free left hand (he tries to ignore the matching bloody hand he now has), he slips his arm under Bucky’s neck, lifting him up as gently as he can. Rather than move Bucky entirely, Sam shifts his position, extending his left leg out and tucking the other one underneath it. He gets as close to Bucky as he can, carefully lowering the man back down so that he’s practically nestled into his lap. Bucky lets out an almost imperceptible sigh of relief as his head rests now on the softness of Sam’s thigh, and Sam lets out a small laugh.
“Better?” Bucky nods in response, closing his eyes and almost sinking into what is now essentially Sam’s embrace. Bucky’s still got his vibranium hand clamped over Sam’s across the wound, and Sam’s not sure but he thinks the bleeding might be slowing down. “Do we need to do anything about this? I don’t know how your superhero shit works, man,” he adds a moment later, and Bucky snorts softly.
“Is it still bleeding?” He asks, eyes closed and head still resting on Sam’s leg. Sam lifts his hand up, Bucky lifting the vibranium hand with him, and holds his breath. There’s still blood everywhere, so much he doesn’t understand how Bucky’s even conscious, but there doesn’t seem to be more blood. He hopes that’s a good thing. Sam pulls Bucky’s shirt back even more, wincing again at the horrible jagged wound. He catches a glimpse of an old, faded scar, and he frowns.
“You still get scars?” He doesn’t know why he asks it. It’s out of his mouth before he can even think, and he regrets it the moment Bucky tenses up against him. Sam holds his breath, waiting for Bucky’s response. There’s nothing for a minute, and then Bucky relaxes minutely.
“Yeah, I guess. I heal like everyone else, just faster. Not like Steve, though. He’s the only one who ever got the full treatment. Whatever I got was HYDRA trying to recreate the serum from Schmidt’s failed success, plus whatever the hell else they did to me after the accident.” Sam can’t help but notice a bitterness to Bucky’s words, a strange tightness when he mentions Steve, a thinly veiled note of disgust at the mention of HYDRA and Schmidt, a hint of remembered horror over the accident. Sam might be imagining some of it, maybe he’s projecting the feelings he’s certainly feeling at Bucky’s words. But he’s pretty sure he’s not just projecting. What he isn’t sure of is how to respond, but Bucky helps him out. “Most things don’t scar too bad. This one might, without proper stitches,” he continues, and Sam splutters indignantly.
“Then why the hell are we just sitting here? We need to get your ass medical attention!” Sam is horrified at Bucky’s blasé demeanor, and irritated that he’s been just sitting here instead of getting help. Bucky snorts.
“Come on, Sam, what are you gonna do, fly me to a hospital with half my blood volume pouring out behind us?” Sam opens his mouth to argue, but he quickly shuts it again when he realizes Bucky has a point. He can’t carry him all the way to a hospital, not in the state he’s in. It would reopen the wound and destroy all the healing Bucky’s body has already been doing. He sighs, dropping his head.
“Fine. You’re right. Is there at least anything I can do to make it heal better?” Sam has no earthly idea what he could do to help, but he hates feeling useless and right now he feels almost the most useless he’s ever been in his life. Sam was pararescue. He’s worked with vets when they return home. He’s always been useful, and he hates this. Bucky smiles softly, and Sam can tell he appreciates the sentiment.
“You got anything to stitch this up? Because short of a needle and thread, or a blowtorch, I don’t think you're gonna be much help.” Once again, Sam is struck by just how calm Bucky is about this. He’d mentioned a blowtorch so casually and matter-of-fact that Sam can’t help but wonder if that’s something Bucky has actually done. He’s stuck by a morbid curiosity to know the story behind that. He also feels a stab of pain over the idea of Bucky Barnes, brainwashed and on a mission, sealing up an injury with goddamn blowtorch because to HYDRA he was just an asset. But more importantly, he’s concerned at how pale Bucky has grown, and he looks back down at the wound under his hand. Sure enough, it’s started bleeding again, and Sam realizes in that instant with a terrifying surety that, supersolider or not, Bucky isn’t making it off this rooftop unless he can close that wound up. Bucky must notice something in his expression, because he suddenly tries to sit up, brow furrowing. “What?” Sam doesn’t answer, the words stuck in his throat, and Bucky grabs his wrist again, looking down at the wound. “Sam. What’s wrong?” He tries to sit up the rest of the way, and that finally galvanizes Sam to action. He quickly pushes Bucky back down, hating the way more blood gushes out under his hand at the movement.
“Stop! Bucky, you gotta stay still, okay man?” Sam hates the edge he hears to his own voice, and Bucky hears it too. He lays back down, staring at Sam with those big, blue eyes, and Sam can hardly look at him.
“Sammy. What is it?” Sam nearly loses his composure.
“You’re bleeding again, Buck. It’s bad. I-I’ve seen enough injuries to know that we gotta close this up. I know you were joking but-” He can’t even say it. He cuts himself off with a gulp, looking away from Bucky’s trusting gaze back to the bloody mess that is Bucky’s side. Bucky, damn him, doesn’t miss a beat.
“Yeah. I know, Sam. I…” Sam doesn't even let him finish.
“You know? You know you’re-you’re dying and you just act like everything is fine? The hell is wrong with you, James, you got a death wish or something?” Sam practically explodes, and the way Bucky instantly looks away from him is so telling. Well, shit. Sam feels something settle in the bottom of his stomach like a rock. He’s familiar with this, with vets he’s helped adjust, but with Bucky it feels different. The look of pure terror on his face when Sam had flown him up here belied Bucky’s near-confession of a death wish. He knows Bucky doesn’t actively want to die, he’s seen it. But this… this is the behavior of a man who has convinced himself that he deserves to die, and that’s worse than anything Sam has ever dealt with. It makes him sick, makes him angry, makes him horribly, terribly sad . This is a man who gave everything for his country, was Captain America’s right-hand man, who was captured, tortured, experimented on, and forced to commit atrocities Sam can only imagine. And Bucky remembers all of it. He’s never outright said it, but Sam had always suspected it. This just confirms that. Bucky wasn’t responsible for any of it, he’s been through more hell than Sam can even fathom, and yet he still thinks he deserves punishment. It’s heartbreaking. Sam feels all of this, but he settles on anger. “James Buchanan Barnes, don’t you dare pull this self-punishing shit with me. You don’t have anything to make up for, or pay for, you got that? You’ve been through more shit than anyone I’ve ever known. You’ve spent 70 years of your life with someone else using you as a puppet, it’s about damn time you take back control and live the life HYDRA took from you, ya hear me?” Sam is nearly shaking by the end of his speech, with either rage or sorrow, he can’t tell. Bucky’s jaw tightens, but he still won’t look at Sam. “And so help me God, if I have to seal your insides back together with a blowtorch to give you that chance, I will,” he finishes, trying to fight down the bile in his throat at the thought, and Bucky doesn’t look at him but his eyes widen just a little bit. “You heard me. I’m not letting you die here, James, it’s not happening. I am not leaving here with your blood on my hands.” That gets a reaction from Bucky. His head snaps back to focus on Sam, and his eyes are wide and just a little bit red. Sam swallows, willing Bucky to hold his gaze. “I will not leave this roof without you, Buck,” he finishes softly, voice tight with emotion, and Bucky’s eyes get distinctly watery. Sam realizes how important this is for Bucky, after everything with Steve. Bucky has probably spent the last 6 months feeling like nobody even cared about whether he lived or died. Sam is determined to change that. Bucky is silent for a moment, before his grip on Sam’s wrist tightens minutely.
“Yeah. Okay,” he mumbles, and Sam breathes a sigh of relief before he realizes just what he has to do. “Do what you need to,” Bucky continues, and Sam swallows hard. He knows this will be the second hardest thing he’s ever had to do, and he’s not looking forward to it. He doesn’t have a blowtorch, but he does have a small welding torch built into one gauntlet, usually used for small repairs on Redwing. He grimaces, steeling his nerves.
“Alright, Bucky, you ready?” Bucky nods once, clenching his jaw. Sam continues, fighting to speak past his heart pounding in his throat. “You’re gonna need to hold the wound closed with your metal arm, can you do that?” Again, Bucky nods, but it’s jerky and clipped and Sam hates this so much. He moves his hand a little, and Bucky begins pinching the jagged edges closed. Sam feels sick, and he pushes it down as best he can. Bucky looks up at him when he’s got a good grip, and Sam closes his eyes and sends a quick prayer heavenward. Please, let this work . He activates the torch, hating the way Bucky instantly tenses up against him. I’m sorry, buddy . Sam takes a deep breath, and gets to work.
He’s not sure how long it takes. He’s not really sure of anything, really. Time becomes nebulous, his actions feeling like the actions of someone else, and he’s simply watching through a warped lens. He’s grateful for it, honestly. He knows later, in his nightmares, he’ll relive it with 100% clarity. But for now, he’s grateful he’s only half aware of the smell of burnt flesh, of the feeling of Bucky tense and rigid with pain under his hand, of the half-swallowed screams the man is letting loose. He’s grateful he’s only half aware of the bile pushing against his throat, of the pounding of his pulse in his ears. But even half aware, it’s almost too much. It feels like it takes both an eternity and a single moment before he shuts the torch off and practically jerks his hands away from Bucky. He falls backwards, catching his weight on the gravel behind him, relishing in the feeling of the sharp pebbles digging into his palms. He lets it ground him, lets himself briefly entertain the idea that he deserves to feel some sort of pain after the amount he just inflicted on Bucky. The man in question has gone lax against Sam’s legs, and he almost hopes that he’s passed out. But of course Bucky gets no such luck. Sam sits back up, noticing the way Bucky is breathing raggedly, his face pale and his eyes screwed shut. Any normal human would have been out cold by now, but unfortunately for them both, Bucky is no normal human. Sam hesitates before resting a horribly bloodied hand on Bucky’s shoulder. The man flinches slightly at the touch, but he immediately relaxes.
“Buck. You with me?” Sam doesn’t even care that he keeps using the nickname. Right now it seems to ground Bucky and for that he’s willing to risk it. Bucky exhales shakily, and Sam watches as he slowly unclenches his vibranium hand from the now-sealed wound. Sam knows how much that hand functions like a human hand, knows it wouldn’t get stuck. Which means Bucky had locked himself into a death grip. God knows how much that had to hurt, even without the torch. Sam winces as Bucky finally pulls his hand away and he sees the results of his work. The wound is sealed, but the skin is burnt and blackened and the edges around it are red and irritated and Sam hates it so much. “Shit…” he breathes out, unable to stop himself. Bucky finally seems to be coming back to himself, because he weakly snaps his fingers under Sam’s nose, pulling his attention away.
“Sam. Hey. Don’t. It’s done, you did what you had to. Thank you,” Bucky mumbles, voice rough and scratchy from screams Sam hadn’t even heard. Somehow Sam knows Bucky isn’t just saying thank you for practically setting him on fire. Sam doesn’t know how to respond, so he just sets his jaw and nods. Bucky gives him a soft smile, weak and tired but it makes Sam realize he’s never actually seen Bucky smile. Sure, he’s seen him pull a self-deprecating grin, or smile sarcastically at him. But he’s never seen him smile with warmth in his eyes. It’s contagious, and Sam finds himself smiling back.
“Yeah. Okay. Anytime, Buck,” Sam tests the waters a bit, deciding to use the current situation to push his limits. Bucky squints at him a little, like he’s reading into Sam’s intentions a little, but he doesn't say anything. Sam grins, knowing he’s been caught. He’s not an ass though, so he sets the nickname aside for now. Maybe one day, when the time is right, Sam will bring it up again. For now, he simply exhales, trying to let go of the stress and chaos of the last few hours. He leans back a little, and Bucky subconsciously follows his movement. He turns a little onto his side, curling into him. At least Sam thinks it’s subconscious at first. Until Bucky practically melts into his side and lets out a little sigh as his eyes flutter closed. Sam raises an eyebrow, about to make some kind of comment about Bucky practically cuddling into him, but as he opens his mouth he catches the shift in Bucky’s breathing. The rise and fall of his chest evens out, slow and deep, a far cry from the quick, shallow movements he’d been making a minute earlier. Sam sits in wide-eyed surprised as Bucky falls asleep tucked into his side. Sure, the man had just been through a pretty physically traumatizing ordeal, and Sam assumes he doesn’t sleep well, but he was not expecting this. This is… not the Bucky he first met all those years ago. This is not the Bucky he’s seen the last six months. This is the Bucky Steve always talkies about, the Bucky Steve convinced him to risk everything for. Sam never thought he’d see this Bucky. He smiles down at him, taking in the calm and peaceful look on the former Winter Soldier’s face. He has no idea how they’ll get off this rooftop, or how the rest of this goes between them, but for now he shifts his weight into a more comfortable position atop the gravel, careful not to disturb Bucky. He freezes when Bucky shifts slightly, but the other man is just trying to follow Sam’s movement in his sleep and Sam can’t help but chuckle. Right now Bucky is like a small kitten tracking his mother for warmth, and Sam can’t resist. Once he’s situated, he slips his phone out of his pocket and snaps a quick selfie, making sure to fully capture the moment. He will absolutely use this against Bucky for as long as they both shall live.
An hour later, they’re still there, Sam sitting awkwardly on the gravel with one leg outstretched, Bucky curled up around him like a small, sleeping kitten. They’re both still covered with blood now dried and flaking and itching horribly on Sam’s skin, and Sam feels some of the gravel digging painfully into his legs, but in this moment, he thinks this is the most peaceful he’s ever felt. He thinks about the fact that he’s literally got Bucky’s blood on his hands, and he’s infinitely grateful that it’s not in the way Walker’s voice keeps repeating in his brain. Because at the end of the day, he doesn’t know what he would do without Bucky here, alive at his side. The answer to Walker’s question rattling through his brain? No, he can’t live with Bucky’s blood on his hands. He’d much rather live with him standing right at his side.
Thought I had nothin to lose
But that’s not the truth
Don’t know what I’d do
If I didn’t have you