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one.
It turns out that being an Avenger is a lot of work.
Technically speaking, Bucky’s not an official Avenger. Officially, Bucky is semi-retired. But Sam taking on the mantle of Captain America also meant taking on the title of the leader of Earth’s — or, more accurately, the universe’s — mightiest heroes, and at this point, Sam and Bucky are pretty much a package deal, so Bucky finds himself falling into the whole superhero routine more often than not.
Because the Avengers compound is still in the rebuilding stage, he and Sam are sharing a two-bedroom apartment in Brooklyn as they try to build a team together. And by “they,” Bucky really just means Sam.
In fairness, Sam is taking the whole Avengers thing in stride. And Bucky can tell that despite the tightness in his shoulders after long days in the field and the extra shots of espresso he adds to his morning coffee, Sam enjoys the work. Sam is someone who takes pride in shaping a foundation and watching something build from the ground up, in making a difference and showing others that they can make a difference, too. It’s good for him, working with a team — Bucky can see it in Sam’s face, the way he lights up just like the sun, or something else that’s so bright it hurts your eyes to look at for too long.
And maybe having a team is good for Bucky, too. He never thought he’d end up as one of the Avengers, but when Sam told him he was putting a team together and hadn’t asked outright, but looked at him, hesitant and a little hopeful… well. Bucky’s been finding it harder and harder to deny Sam anything these days, and somebody’s gotta cover Captain America’s ass, so it might as well be him.
Besides, this new team of Avengers isn’t too bad. Sure, it’s strange to think about how the majority of the people he interacts with regularly are wizards or aliens or some kind of bug-person, but he figured out a while ago that the world’s gotten a lot weirder since the 1940s, and he’s mostly accepted that. Besides, as long as they get the job done, he doesn’t really care what weird powers the rest of the team have.
If he’s honest, his biggest problem with Avenging is that it’s not exactly a nine to five. One minute he’s heading to the local coffee shop and picking up two coffees and some pastries for breakfast, and the next he’s walking into their apartment to a fully suited-up Sam standing in the hallway.
Bucky sighs, long and resigned. “Alright, Cap. Where we headed this time?”
It turns out, a potential alien threat has landed in the middle of a beach town in Maine — Sam frowns when Bucky doesn’t get his Stephen King reference, like it’s his fault he’s been mostly frozen since the 1940s — and the Avengers have been called in to assess and respond. So, you know, just a typical Wednesday morning.
“You better at least drink your coffee,” Bucky grumbles as they board the quinjet. “I paid like five bucks for that thing.”
Sam takes the proffered cup. “Did you get the — ”
“Hazelnut latte with oat milk, two sugars, and two shots of espresso, yeah, yeah.”
“You should try it sometime,” Sam says with a grin. “You know, join the modern world.”
Bucky takes a sip of his own coffee, straight black, and says, “If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.”
The quinjet trip to Maine is quick — he has to admit, there are many perks to modern technology. But the trip feels a lot longer than it is because the Spider-kid never seems to know when to stop talking.
It’s not that Bucky hates Peter Parker. He’s actually a pretty good kid, though Bucky has no idea how he manages to juggle Avenging and Pre-Algebra, or whatever the hell they make kids take in high school these days. But Parker can also be an annoying little shit, so Bucky can’t help but bully the kid every now and then. Sam always tells him to knock it off, but Bucky can tell he thinks it’s funny, so he doesn’t. And anyway, it’s building character and increasing team camaraderie, and all that other bullshit Sam cares about, so Bucky’s pretty sure it’s fine.
It also guarantees that the kid leaves him alone most of the time, which is why he’s surprised when Parker suddenly drops into the seat next to him and asks, “Hey, are you doing the escape room on Friday?”
“What?”
“Did Mr. Wilson not say anything to you?” Parker asks, and Bucky rolls his eyes at the weirdly formal title. “He told me he was thinking about booking an escape room for the whole team. It’s this thing where you get stuck in this room for like an hour, and you have to work together to break out before your time runs out. They all have really cool themes, too. I think they’re supposed to be good team-building exercises or something.”
Bucky sighs, because being stuck in a room together for an hour as a team-building exercise sounds like the exact kind of thing Sam would suggest, and it also sounds like the exact kind of thing Sam knows Bucky would hate, and would purposefully not mention to him.
“I’m not doing an escape room,” he says shortly.
“Oh. Okay,” Parker says, not even sounding that put-out about it. The kid’s relentless optimism and rolling-with-the-punches attitude should probably be admirable, but Bucky finds it a little irritating. He stands up to find his next victim. “Hey, Star-Lord, are you gonna do the escape room with us?”
Quill — Bucky refuses to call him Star-Lord — is one of his many new alien colleagues. He guesses that technically Quill isn’t an alien — he’d explained once about how his mom was from Missouri and his dad was this giant planet he’d had to kill once, but Bucky had only been half paying attention at the time. He and Gamora — who’s green, so Bucky’s pretty sure that makes her an actual alien — are sort of Unofficial Avengers, too. If anything, they’re more like Space Representatives; they split their time helping out with missions here on Earth, or assisting the rest of the Guardians in space, who Bucky’s pretty sure are being led by that talking raccoon now.
“Nah, Friday’s date night,” Quill says, tilting his head towards Gamora with a grin. “She’s trying sushi for the first time.”
Gamora, who sits across from Bucky and to Quill’s right, doesn’t look up from the sword she’s sharpening. “Don’t remind me,” she grumbles.
Out of all their alien colleagues, Bucky probably likes Gamora the best — she’s not nearly as ridiculous as Quill or the others, and she’s good in combat. Although she doesn’t talk about her past much, he’s picked up bits and pieces about the soul stone and sacrifices and time travel. And he does know she and her sister worked for Thanos before she left to make a newer, better life for herself, and he gets that, in a way. She’s never said it in so many words, but he thinks Gamora knows that he gets it, too, and so the two of them have a quiet understanding that’s actually pretty nice.
So when Bucky offers, “Sushi’s actually pretty good,” Gamora looks up from her sword and gives him a short nod.
Quill perks up at this. “Hey, you should join us.”
“Join you for what?”
“Date night.”
Bucky blinks. “You...want me to crash your date?”
“Nah, dude, you can bring Sam,” Quill says like it’s obvious.
Bucky glances around, confused, but Parker’s gone off to bother Lang and Van Dyne, and Sam’s at the front of the jet talking with Torres, meaning he’s left to deal with this bewildering situation on his own.
“Thanks,” he finally manages. “Uh, but I think we’ll pass.”
Quill shrugs. “Eh, that’s okay. Maybe next time.”
And Bucky knows he’s 107, but he doesn’t think dating’s changed so much in the past fifty years that it’s normal now for a couple to ask random people to join them on their date. Not to mention, Bucky isn’t even close with Quill. Honestly, he finds him kind of annoying, but Sam seems to like him, for whatever reason. It’s probably because they share a similar love of stupid jokes and Marvin Gaye, plus Sam’s successfully managed to introduce Quill to all the music he missed while he was off-planet. (Bucky has remained largely disinterested in anything released after the 1940s.)
But he’s pretty sure Sam and Quill aren’t “sure, it’s fine if you crash date night” levels of close, if such a thing exists.
I’ll ask Sam about it later, Bucky decides. Maybe he’ll tell him it is normal to ask your friends to join them on date night, and he missed the memo. Or maybe Quill and Sam are closer friends than Bucky thought, and Sam’s been crashing their date night for months, and the invitation’s been finally extended to him. Hell, it’s even possible that getting sushi together was something the two of them had already talked about, and Bucky just accidentally canceled the plans Sam already set up.
But then the quinjet lands, and Bucky finally finds himself standing in the middle of a bunch of weird, ugly, bug-like creatures, and naturally, the entire interaction slips his mind altogether.
two.
With Sam as the new Captain America, there’s no one to fill the role of the Falcon; that is, until Joaquin Torres steps in. It’s fitting; Torres is similar to Sam in that he takes pride in helping others, and isn’t afraid to bend a few rules to do so. He’s not so bad with Sam’s old wings, either, but that’s mainly due to the amount of time Sam’s dedicated to helping him get used to them. On days where there’s no HYDRA intel to obtain or an alien threat to respond to, Sam and Torres head to the field behind the still-under-reconstruction Avengers compound, and Torres practices soaring around the sky while Sam shouts pointers up at him. And because Bucky usually has nothing better to do, he ends up tagging along more often than not.
Sam typically doesn’t mind the company. What he does mind is that the helpful pointers Bucky shouts up at Torres from the field usually aren’t so helpful, so Bucky tries to keep his sarcasm to a minimum. Mostly. It’s just kind of funny to watch Torres stumble and spin in the air, sometimes.
“I don’t know what you have against him,” Sam says to him after one of their practice sessions.
“I don’t have anything against him,” Bucky says, which is true, mostly. He doesn’t hate the guy or anything, but he doesn’t really like him. He’s never told Sam this outright because then Sam would ask why Bucky doesn’t like him, and honestly, he doesn’t know. Torres is a nice guy, he knows how to follow orders, and he’s good at watching Sam’s back. He just… rubs Bucky the wrong way.
Take a couple of weeks ago, for example. Sam had spent the day in D.C., doing meetings and pressers and all the typical Captain America PR bullshit. At the end of the day, he’d given this speech that they’d aired on the news, over and over, where he’d talked about the legacy of the shield and how meaningful it’s been to be a role model for kids who look like him. And the next day, when Sam and Bucky had boarded the Avengers quinjet for a mission, Torres had looked at Sam with stars in his eyes, practically gushing about how good the speech was, how great Sam had been.
It’s not like Sam doesn’t deserve the compliments. The speech was great, and with all the flack he’s been getting lately, Bucky isn’t going to deny him an ego boost. It’s just that Torres is always like that, eager to praise Sam every time he does something as insignificant as blowing his nose, and Sam takes it in stride every time, positively beaming at Torres every time he compliments him, and every time, Bucky finds it more and more aggravating.
But wing practice isn’t so bad. For one thing, with Torres in the sky, he’s too far away to gush about how amazing Sam is. And for another, it’s hard to be annoyed with Torres when it’s so easy to see how much he’s improved with the wings since he started practicing with Sam. Torres moves through the sky not with the same ease as Sam — Bucky doesn’t know if anyone else will ever be able to pull off those kinds of maneuvers — but he’s definitely getting comfortable, going into flips and barrel rolls without even hesitating beforehand.
“You’re getting really good, Joaquin,” Sam says when Torres descends towards the ground, and yeah, that’s another thing that bothers Bucky — what’s with the first name? He doesn’t know why Sam just doesn’t call him Torres. Everyone else on the team does.
“Thanks,” Torres says breathlessly when he lands, without stumbling once.
“Wanna take a break? I think I’ve got some water in the car,” Sam says, jerking a nod towards the car they parked a few feet back.
“Yeah, that’d be great, thanks.”
Sam takes off towards the car at a slow jog, leaving Torres and Bucky standing alone in an awkward silence that’s only broken by Torres’ occasional panting as he catches his breath. Meanwhile, Bucky tilts his head back to stare up at the horizon, just for something to do until Sam gets back.
“So, I started dating someone.”
He tears his gaze from the sky, fully expecting to see that Sam’s rejoined them. But he can still see Sam over at the car, which means the only person Torres is speaking to is him.
“Oh,” he says, because he isn’t quite sure how else to respond. Then he tries, “Uh… congrats?”
Torres shrugs, but he smiles a little. “Well, it’s only been a couple of dates, but yeah, it’s going good so far. He’s really great. And he doesn’t ask too many questions about…” He gestures behind him to the compound as if to imply, “my very interesting life working with superheroes.”
“That’s… great,” Bucky says slowly, because he still isn’t sure why Torres is telling him this. He knows Torres can be a little oblivious, but Bucky’s pretty sure even he’s picked up on the very obvious please do not talk to me energy he gives off every time he and Torres are in the same room together.
“Well, anyway,” Torres says finally. “I just thought I’d let you know because… you know.”
“Uh… no, I don’t know.”
Torres scratches the back of his neck, looking a little embarrassed. “Well, I guess I just… wanted to let you know… nothing is going on between me and Sam.”
Bucky lifts his eyebrows. “You and Sam?”
“Yeah. Don’t get me wrong, Sam is great and all, but I don’t… you know. Like him like that .”
“Oh,” Bucky says, realization dawning. He’d had suspicions before — the heart eyes Torres had when he saw Sam in the Captain America suit seemed to verge a little more on the “crush” side of hero worship.
Torres beams, seemingly satisfied with the way this very awkward conversation has progressed. “Yeah. I just wanted you to know you have nothing to worry about, that’s all.”
Bucky frowns. Worry? He’s never been worried about Torres’ little crush on Sam — the crush Torres is now telling him does not exist. He was annoyed by the idea of it, sure, but not worried. Does Torres think Sam needs some sort of bodyguard or something? He knows he can be a little protective when it comes to working in the field, but it’s not like that translates into Bucky vetting his dating choices. Sam’s a grown man, and he can handle those kinds of decisions himself. It’s almost a little demeaning for Torres to suggest otherwise.
He’s just about to say something to this effect when Sam jogs back over to them, tossing Torres a water bottle.
“Thanks.” Torres catches the bottle. “Hey, Sam, I tell you I started dating someone?”
“No shit?” Sam says, with a teasing lilt to his grin. “What, you found someone who’s just as into The Twilight Zone marathons as you are?”
Torres laughs, and so does Sam, and despite the awkward interaction from a few minutes ago, Bucky feels himself begin to smile, too.
three.
When they get the chance, they visit Sarah and the boys in Delacroix.
Due to the demanding nature of the life of an Avenger, they don’t visit as often as Sam would like to. Bucky either, for that matter. He likes Delacroix — Sam was right, the people there really are nice. And as much as New York is home, he feels comfortable in Delacroix, too. There’s something about the sound of friendly laughter and buzzing cicadas and waves lapping against the side of boats that’s peaceful, that makes Bucky relax in a way he never thought he’d be able to.
Plus, he likes spending time with AJ and Cass, too. They’re good kids, and they’ve never been weird about his arm — if anything, they seem to think it’s cool. Sarah’s the same way; she’s never looked at him differently, never treated him as anything other than Sam’s partner and roommate. It feels important, both that Sam trusts him enough to bring him into his family’s lives, and that Sam’s family has welcomed him without a second thought. After everything, it’s the kind of treatment he isn’t sure he deserves, and he isn’t quite sure how to articulate how thankful he is for it all the same.
So, he does stuff. He helps Sam out with any maintenance the boat needs, he offers to babysit AJ and Cass, and he picks up groceries so Sarah doesn’t have to. He thinks Sam’s caught onto what he’s doing if the little frown he gets every time Bucky offers to help out is any indication. He’d probably say something about how it’s unnecessary, that Bucky doesn’t need to do anything to earn his place there, but that’s not why he does it. The Wilsons have been kind to him, and Bucky just wants to extend that kindness back.
Besides, Sarah certainly never turns down the help, which is how Bucky finds himself drying dishes with her after dinner on Friday night. He and Sam arrived in Delacroix earlier that morning, and they’d spent most of the day helping Cass with his science project while AJ asked Bucky questions about the book he’s making him read, since it’s evidently his mission to make sure Bucky’s all caught-up on the classic fantasy books he’s missed since the 1940s. He started with The Lord of the Rings, after AJ’s insistence, and he liked it, but not quite as much as he liked The Hobbit. AJ has since lent Bucky his copies of The Chronicles of Narnia, telling him on no uncertain terms that he has to start with The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, which he’s halfway through now, and is enjoying more than he thought he would.
Then Sarah came home and started dinner, and they all watched a movie after, and then Bucky offered to help Sarah with the dishes while Sam put AJ and Cass to bed. It all feels very domestic, especially for former assassin standards. Bucky really enjoys it.
“So, how have you two been holding up?” Sarah asks, passing him a bowl which he dutifully dries.
“Alright.” Sarah gives him a look, and Bucky laughs. “Seriously. We’re good.”
Bucky likes talking to Sarah. She intimidated him at first because she comes across tough, and she is. But she’s also honest — she doesn’t hold back, and isn’t afraid of giving it to people straight. Too many people in Bucky’s life have tried to treat him delicately, either because they were afraid of him or they felt sorry for him. Sarah does neither. It’s pretty nice, actually.
“Alright, I believe you,” Sarah concedes. “Sam looks tired, though.”
“He is. But that kinda comes with the job description.”
Sarah snorts. “Yeah, I know. I just worry about him. Guess I worry a little less knowing you’re looking out for him, though.” Bucky flushes a little, shrugging. “Sam needs that, you know? He spends too much damn time looking out for everyone else.”
“He does,” Bucky agrees. “It’s pretty annoying.”
Sarah laughs, loud, and Bucky grins to himself.
“Seriously,” Sarah says. “I’m glad he’s got you. You make him happy.”
“Oh,” he says. His face feels like it’s burning. “That’s — I mean, he — ”
He isn’t quite sure how to say Sam makes me happy, too, because while it’s true, it doesn’t quite cover it. It’s more like he didn’t realize he could be happy, until Sam.
But Sarah must understand anyway, because she just grins and pats his arm with a soapy hand.
“You two are going to the farmer’s market tomorrow, right?” She asks suddenly.
Bucky groans, because he’d almost forgotten. Sam coerces him into going to the farmer’s market with him every time they visit Delacroix, even though Bucky always insists that eight AM is way too early to be out of bed on a Saturday.
Sarah takes Bucky’s groan as an answer and continues, “My friend Jill has a flower stand down there most Saturdays.” Bucky blinks, confused, as she hands him the last dish to dry. “Sam likes sunflowers best. Just in case you were wondering.”
Then she walks away, just as Bucky drops the plate, only barely catching it before it smashes into the sink.
The next day, as Sam checks apples for bruises at the fruit stand, Bucky thrusts a very small bouquet of sunflowers towards him.
Sam blinks in confusion and doesn’t take the flowers, and Bucky feels himself start to panic. Why did Sarah tell him to get flowers? Why did Bucky listen to her? Friends don’t get each other flowers. Neither do roommates, he’s pretty sure.
Finally, after Sam still hasn’t said anything, he blurts out, “Sarah wanted them. It’s a centerpiece.” When Sam just raises his eyebrows, he stammers, “You know, for the kitchen table.”
Sam carefully takes the flowers, sniffing them.
“They don’t have a smell, dummy.”
“What would you know, Cryofreeze?”
“They had sunflowers in the 1940s, Sam!”
Sam laughs. “You know, sunflowers are my favorite.”
“Huh,” Bucky manages. “What a coincidence.”
Sam carries the sunflowers for the rest of their time at the farmer’s market, not that Bucky notices. And when they’re back at Sarah’s, and Sam puts the flowers in a vase in the center of the kitchen table, smiling to himself, small and secret, Bucky doesn’t notice that either.
four.
Contrary to many assumptions, the life of an Avenger isn’t as luxurious as it’s made out to be. It turns out being a superhero doesn’t necessarily guarantee five-star overnight accommodations. Since working with Sam, Bucky’s spent the night in quinjets, the backseat of a car, and threadbare sleeping bags.
By comparison, on the way back from a mission with Lang and Van Dyne, the motel they spot on the side of the road is a classy bed and breakfast. Sure, it looks seedy as hell, but at least he’ll get to sleep in a real bed.
Except...
“So, slight catch,” Sam says. The two of them are leaning against the rental car SWORD gave them for the mission, in the parking lot of a Motel 6 somewhere in Ohio. Bucky’s not sure what time it is, but last he checked, Lang was dozing on Van Dyne’s shoulder in the backseat. Bucky doesn’t completely blame him — with the sound of the rain drizzling against the car’s windows, the Marvin Gaye Greatest Hits CD, and Sam’s gentle humming under his breath, Bucky was pretty close to passing out himself.
“I checked with the guy at the front desk, and they’ve got two rooms available, but they don’t have any rooms with two beds,” Sam says.
“Oh,” Bucky says. “I mean, I’m okay with taking the floor, or — ”
“What? No, man, I’m fine with sharing. I just wanted to make sure you were okay with it.”
This is a nice sentiment, but seeing as they have no other option, Bucky just shrugs.
“Okay, well, just wanted to check,” Sam shoves his hands into his pockets. “I know how you feel about your space.”
Which Bucky thinks is a strange thing for Sam to say, because sure, maybe he’s weird about his space when it comes to other people, but it’s not like he’s ever stopped Sam from clapping a hand on his shoulder or kicking his feet onto his lap while they’re watching TV on the couch.
Still, he says, “I suppose I can find it in the goodness of my heart to put up with your ass for one night.”
Sam laughs, patting Bucky on the shoulder before heading back into the motel office to pick up their room keys, and Bucky slides back into the passenger seat of the car to wait.
“What was that about?” Lang mumbles from the backseat, yawning and lifting his head off Van Dyne’s shoulder. “The motel owner isn’t some sort of intergalactic beast from another dimension we have to fight off to get a room, is he?”
Van Dyne rolls her eyes, but she looks fond. The look Bucky gives Lang is definitely not.
Though Bucky had his doubts about a superhero named Ant-Man, he doesn’t mind working with Scott Lang. He can be a lot to handle, sure, but Bucky feels that way about most people. It’s just that Lang’s basically a Golden Retriever in human form, which can get a little aggravating after a while. Bucky usually prefers Van Dyne, who’s a lot better in combat, as long as she’s not distracted by exchanging heart eyes with Lang at inopportune moments on the field.
“No,” Bucky answers finally. “He just wanted to let me know they don’t have any two-bed rooms.”
Which isn’t exactly a conversation he wanted to hash out with Lang of all people, but maybe saying it out loud will make it stop feeling so weird. Because it shouldn’t feel weird, right? He and Sam have shared sleeping spaces before, sort of. Back when they were fighting the Flagsmashers, they slept in tighter places than this. Plus, they’ve fallen asleep on their couch while watching a movie numerous times. It’s practically the same thing.
“Why would that be a problem?” Van Dyne asks.
Bucky looks over his shoulder at the two of them. Lang still looks half-asleep, but Van Dyne’s question seems to be in earnest.
He frowns. “Uh… for you two? It’s not.”
He figures that’s about as clear as he can make it — doesn’t even know what he needs to clarify, actually. But now Van Dyne looks confused, and so does Lang, until his mouth pulls down into a frown that Bucky can only describe as concerned.
“Are you guys… good?” Lang asks finally.
Bucky blinks. “Me and… Sam?”
“Well, yeah.”
“Scott,” Van Dyne hisses, giving him a nudge and a sharp look.
“What? I’m just asking, ” Lang whispers, as if his voice doesn’t carry regardless in the cramped confines of the car.
“Sam and I are fine,” Bucky says, a little defensive. He can’t quite decipher the look Lang’s giving him, but he doesn’t feel good about it.
Are he and Sam good? Did Sam tell Lang something? He didn’t think the two of them were that close, but —
“Okay,” Lang finally replies, but he still looks dubious. “Just — not really sure why you wouldn’t be okay sharing a bed, if — ”
“ Scott, ” Van Dyne says again, a warning tone in her voice.
“I never said I wasn’t okay sharing a bed,” Bucky grits out, feeling the back of his neck burn even as he says the words out loud. What is Lang even on about, anyway? It’s not like this is a situation he and Sam are used to. What, does he think they have sleepovers in their apartment every night or something? Avenging doesn’t pay much, sure, but they can at least afford two separate beds.
“Hey, dude, don’t worry about it,” Lang interrupts, holding up his hands in defense. “Whatever little fight you guys are in the middle of is none of my business.”
Bucky scowls. “We are not in a — ”
“Hey!” Bucky stiffens as the driver’s side door opens and Sam sticks his head inside. “Got the keys.” He tosses one pair to Bucky and the other to Van Dyne. He looks like he’s going to say something else, but he must take note of the energy in the car, because he pauses, looking concerned. “Uh… everything okay in here?”
“Just great,” Bucky says in a voice that clearly indicates the opposite, and climbs out of the car as fast as he can.
Next time, he’s picking the mission with the Spider-kid instead.
They make their way to their rooms in silence, Bucky stuffing his hands in the pockets of his jacket so Sam can’t see that his fists are clenched. Despite this, Sam still hovers uncertainly at Bucky’s side, and before Bucky can unlock the door to their motel room, shoots his hand out to grab his arm.
“You sure you’re good?” Sam asks.
“Yeah,” is what Bucky means to say, but what comes out is, “We’re not fighting, are we?”
Sam immediately looks confused, and it’s pathetic, but Bucky feels himself instantly relax.
“Uh, not that I know of. Why?”
“Nothing,” Bucky mutters. “Just something Lang said.”
Sam just rolls his eyes with a grin. “I never know what that dude’s talking about half the time.”
“Half of it is hero worship and the other half is complimenting your ass,” Bucky says, dead-pan, and Sam laughs, and Bucky feels something warm like relief settle inside him.
The motel room is just as dingy as he imagined it’d be, with an odd smell hanging in the air, and of course, the singular bed with a comforter that looks like it hasn’t been updated since the ’90s.
Bucky tries to tell himself it isn’t weird. It’s not like he’s a stranger to physical contact, especially with Sam.
But there’s a definite difference between bro hugs and sharing a bed with someone for an entire night.
Sam showers first, and Bucky does a quick sweep while he’s in the bathroom, but besides another weird stain and a dead roach in the window sill, he doesn’t find anything out of the ordinary. When it’s his turn in the bathroom, Bucky stands underneath the showerhead long after the water’s gone cold, and tries to convince himself that he’s turning this situation into a bigger deal than it really is. This is Sam — the person he spends almost the entirety of his time with, the person he trusts more than anyone.
But nothing Bucky tells himself stops the twisting he feels in his gut, so he finally shuts the water off and climbs out of the shower.
His apprehension must show on his face because when Sam looks up at him as he emerges from the bathroom, he shoots him a reassuring smile.
For some reason, that just makes things worse.
They’re quiet when they slide into bed back-to-back, Sam closest to the bathroom and Bucky closest to the door. It’s not so bad, not at first, but as the silence stretches on, it becomes less peaceful and more and more suffocating. Sam must feel it too, because after a few minutes he shifts in the bed next to Bucky, like he’s glancing at him over his shoulder, and asks, “Is this okay?”
“Yep,” Bucky says, short.
“Okay, ‘cause I feel like I’m sleeping next to a giant rock.”
“Sorry,” Bucky mutters with an eye-roll, and Sam huffs out a laugh.
“It’s fine, just relax.”
He tries to relax, he really does. But it’s hard to relax when he’s trying to make sure that not a single part of his body is touching Sam’s, when he’s concentrating on staying as still as possible and not accidentally crossing the invisible boundary between Sam’s body and his, when —
“Jesus Christ, just — ” Sam finally mutters, before flipping over, and suddenly his arm is across Bucky’s waist and he’s gently pulling Bucky’s back against his chest. “Better?”
“Uh,” Bucky says unintelligibly.
“Good,” Sam says, wriggles a little more until the comforter is pulled up to their chins, and then goes still.
Bucky intends to wait and listen for the sound of Sam’s breathing to even out, but the exhaustion of the day begins to catch up to him, and that combined with the whirring of the motel’s A/C and the weight of Sam’s arm across his waist, not heavy but grounding, makes his eyelids grow heavy, and before he knows it, he’s asleep.
When they wake up in the morning, Sam’s arm is still around his waist, but Bucky’s now turned towards him, his face pressed against the soft material of Sam’s sweatshirt. They don’t talk about it; just disentangle themselves quietly, changing on opposite sides of the room without looking at one another.
It’s the best night of sleep Bucky’s had in a while, but they don’t talk about that either.
And when he and Sam meet Lang and Van Dyne at the car a few minutes later and Lang gives him a knowing look, Bucky just glares at him without saying a word.
five.
Sam isn’t speaking to him.
At first, this was only mildly annoying. But now it’s been almost a week, and Sam has yet to say more than three words to him, and it’s starting to drive him crazy.
In fairness, Bucky’s mature enough to admit to himself that it’s his fault. What he can’t figure out is what has Sam so damn angry that he’d resort to the silent treatment. Sure, he went against the plan, put himself in between Sam and a loaded gun, but what the hell else was he supposed to do? Just let Sam get shot? Not to mention it doesn’t even matter, because Bucky’s fine, and Sam’s fine, and the mission was a complete success. They obtained valuable information about HYDRA, saved some lives, and got everyone home with no injuries.
But evidently, none of that matters to Sam, because he’s still not speaking to him.
Naturally, Bucky’s pretty irritated about the whole situation, but he’s not letting it affect his work. The fact that the rest of the team has been avoiding him more than usual lately is probably unrelated.
About five days into being on the receiving end of Sam’s silent treatment — not that Bucky’s keeping track — Thor drops by the Avengers Compound to visit. Construction is almost done; they’re in the finishing touches stage, and the team started making use of it a few weeks ago, so Thor’s dropped in to check on the progress of the building and the team. It’s not his first time stopping by, though he never sticks around long; just checks in to see how Sam’s handling the team, asks how everyone is doing, shoots the shit with Quill and Gamora, and offers some Former Avenger expertise (even though none of them have ever asked for it.) It’s kind of thoughtful, in an annoying sort of way, so Bucky decides he likes Thor alright, though it’s not like they’re particularly close, or anything.
Which is probably why Bucky gets so on edge when, while they’re in the Hangar, Thor takes one look at him and mutters to the Spider-kid, “What’s up with him?”
Bucky, who’s standing a few feet away from them, purposefully doesn’t look up from the knife he’s been cleaning for the last twenty minutes as an attempt to look like he’s busy doing something very important, and not just trying to avoid running into Sam.
Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Parker pull a face. “He and Mr. Wilson are in the middle of a fight,” he says quietly.
“Ahhh,” Thor says, like it all suddenly makes sense, and Bucky feels the back of his neck go hot.
“You know I can hear both of you, right?” he mutters, still not looking up.
Parker goes pale.
“Sorry, Barnes,” Thor says, though he doesn’t look very remorseful. He walks away from Parker, coming to stand next to Bucky instead, offering him a friendly grin that Bucky pointedly doesn’t return. “You know, Valkyrie and I have had our fair share of fights as well.”
“You don’t say.”
“Yes, I’ve been on the other side of her silent treatment more times than I should admit,” Thor continues, either not noticing Bucky’s irritability or choosing to ignore it. “Most times, I find that apologizing helps.”
“Yeah, well, not that it’s any of your business, but I don’t have anything to apologize for.” When he glances up at Thor, he’s wearing a dubious expression on his face, and Bucky feels his shoulders start to hunch. “Don’t you have a dick measuring contest with Quill to get to, or something?”
“No, I already won that this morning,” Thor says easily. “You know, you could always talk to Sam, figure out what’s really bothering him. Communication is key in any relationship. Most times when Val is angry with me, it’s not because of something I did, but because she feels like I haven’t been listening to her.”
Bucky stops in the middle of wiping down his knife. Is that why Sam’s mad at him?
Thor, noticing his pause, shoots him a grin, and then pats him lightly on the elbow. “Just some godly advice,” he says, then saunters off.
Bucky rolls his eyes, but when he gets back to the apartment later that night, he’s still thinking about what Thor said. The thing is, he’s right; Bucky doesn’t know what’s bothering Sam, not really, and waiting out his icy silence doesn’t seem to be getting him anywhere.
Besides, if he’s being painfully and embarrassingly honest, he sort of… misses Sam. He didn’t realize they’d settled into a sort of routine until he had to go without it for a week, but he misses watching movies together, judging Sam for the fancy and ridiculously expensive lattes he gets every morning, arguing over what to get for dinner.
So maybe Thor’s onto something. He and Sam are adults, right? Adults communicate. Maybe Bucky should take a stab at it.
The problem is that it’s hard to communicate with someone who isn’t speaking to him. The door to Sam’s room is closed, and infringing on that space doesn’t seem like a good tactic, but Bucky’s been waiting in the living room for Sam to open his door for half an hour, and it doesn’t seem like that’s going to work, either.
Which means that his only option is to draw Sam out of his room voluntarily.
Bucky’s not exactly an experienced cook. In the 1940s, everything they ate was boiled, and while he was on the run he ate mostly takeout and frozen dinners. But he’s been practicing different recipes lately, and even though Sam usually tells him he needs to add more seasoning, most of what he cooks doesn’t come out half-bad. There’s something peaceful about the repetition involved in cooking, the methodical feeling of following instructions and creating something out of it that’s… good. It’s mundane, but he’s been gravitating more and more to things that are mundane lately, and cooking is one of the things he’s discovered he actually likes.
He’s not sure he’s good enough at it to let it serve as an apology, but he might as well take a shot.
Their entire apartment smells like garlic and shrimp when he finally hears the sound of a door opening, and Sam wanders into the kitchen, regarding Bucky with a suspicious look.
“Hey,” he finally says. “You making dinner?”
It’s the most he’s heard Sam speak in several days, but he tries hard not to react to it. “Yep. Want some?”
Sam moves behind Bucky, peering over his shoulder at the stove. “Is that… shrimp gumbo?”
“Yeah,” Bucky says, stirring. “You like it, right?”
“I do,” Sam says with a guarded expression. “Where’d you get the recipe?”
“Uh, Sarah gave it to me,” Bucky says, hoping it sounds casual, like maybe he got the recipe from her the last time they were in Delacroix, and not like he texted Sarah an hour ago asking for the recipe for Sam’s favorite food.
Sam’s quiet for a concerningly long time before he finally says, “You put seasoning in it, right?”
Bucky rolls his eyes, even as he feels his hand loosen around the spoon he’s been clenching. “I followed the recipe, yes.”
Sam just gives him a look, eyes the pot, and then leans around Bucky to add in the leftover garlic he left on the cutting board. “Just in case,” he says in response to Bucky’s offended glare.
When Bucky’s finished, he fills two bowls with the shrimp gumbo, and they both sit opposite each other at the dining table for the first time in over a week. In fairness, this isn’t out of the ordinary — the Avenger lifestyle can get pretty busy, so it’s not often that they find time to sit down and eat. But when they do get the chance, it’s nice — to sit together and just talk and eat and not worry about aliens attacking or having to save the world. It’s another one of the mundane things — the normal parts of life that he never thought he’d get to have — that Bucky privately savors.
“This is pretty good,” Sam says, after a few minutes of silence, and Bucky feels something warm curl in his stomach.
“Yeah, well,” he says, and then decides to take the jump. “Think of it as an olive branch.”
Sam lifts an eyebrow. “So this is an apology?”
“It’s not… not an apology,” Bucky tries, and Sam looks back at him, unimpressed. “But in my defense, it’s hard to apologize when you never even told me why you’re mad.”
It’s the wrong thing to say. Sam’s gaze gets hard, and he sits up straight. “Oh, that’s how you’re gonna play this?”
“Well, I don’t know how else to play it,” Bucky says, suddenly defensive. “Seeing as you’ve been ignoring my existence for the past five days like some sort of petulant child.”
“Well, what you did was childish and stupid, so I thought it was fitting.”
“How?” Bucky demands. “Sure, fine, I went against the plan, but it ended up fine in the end, anyway! What do you even want me to apologize for, saving your ass?”
“I had that handled.”
“You were almost shot! ” Bucky exclaims, and it’s not until he’s finally said it out loud that the severity of the situation weighs down on him. “If I hadn’t been there — ”
He cuts himself off, because suddenly, he can’t bring himself to say it, can’t put into words what could’ve happened if he hadn’t leaped in front of Sam, knocking the gun out of the man’s hands and punching him square in the jaw before he could fire.
“I know,” Sam says, gently, but he doesn’t, really, doesn’t understand the terror Bucky feels just at the thought of losing Sam. “But you can’t just step in front of a gun for me, okay? I don’t want you to get hurt because of me.”
“I didn’t get hurt.”
“Yeah, this time.”
“I can heal, ” Bucky insists. “You can’t.”
“Bucky — ”
“Look, I’m sorry I ignored orders, and I’m sorry I made you worry,” Bucky interrupts. “It was risky, sure, but it turned out okay, because I know what I’m doing, and I need you to trust that. And I’m not going to apologize for protecting you, because I’d do it again.”
For a moment, Sam just stares at him, and though he has difficulty meeting his gaze, Bucky stares back. His expression is one Bucky’s never seen before, some mix of surprise and awe and something else he doesn’t quite recognize.
“Buck…” Sam begins again, voice soft and careful. “I… I just want you to be careful. I know you’re a super-soldier, but you’re not indestructible. I worry about you, too.”
“Yeah. I know,” Bucky says, and his voice comes out rawer than he intends it to, so he clears his throat. “I didn’t mean to make you worry.”
“Well, I probably could’ve reacted more maturely instead of giving you the silent treatment.”
“Probably,” Bucky agrees, and Sam rolls his eyes, but there’s the beginning of a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “So… are we good?”
Sam’s eyes crinkle when he smiles, sometimes. Bucky likes it.
“Yeah,” Sam says. “We’re good.”
Bucky spends most of the rest of dinner smiling around bites of shrimp gumbo, but Sam’s smiling too, so he can’t really find it in himself to be embarrassed.
The next day, Bucky feels lighter, now that the tension between him and Sam is gone, and the two of them are back to their usual bickering. Maybe it’s just his imagination, but the team feels more at ease, too, and it doesn’t feel like anyone is going out of their way to avoid him anymore.
Thor’s leaving, heading back to space to save the universe or something, probably, but he says goodbye to everyone before he leaves, even Bucky.
“I see you two worked things out,” Thor mentions, giving a nod towards Sam, who’s on the other side of the conference room, chatting with Torres.
“Uh, yeah,” Bucky says. He should probably say thanks, but that feels awkward, so he doesn’t.
Fortunately, it seems he doesn’t have to, because Thor just beams at him and says, “You’re welcome,” patting him on the shoulder. Bucky’s jaw tenses in irritation. “Let me know if you need any help with future lover’s quarrels, Barnes.”
Bucky feels his face burn. “Wait, it wasn’t — ” He starts, but before he can finish, Thor is already walking away.
+ one.
The Avengers Compound officially finishes reconstruction in May. The celebration party is, naturally, Scott Lang’s idea, but Sam agrees to it easily.
“Look, life is pretty shit most of the time,” Sam explains when Bucky protests. “Taking the time to celebrate accomplishments makes it a little less shit. Even if the accomplishments are small.”
And Bucky can’t disagree with that, but it doesn’t mean that he’s happy about being forced to go to a party.
“Besides. Parties are good for team morale,” Sam adds, smirking when Bucky scowls at him.
It turns out to be less of a party and more like a small gathering. Sam orders a pizza, Parker bakes cookies, and Scott Lang hangs up streamers and a giant “WELCOME” banner in the conference room. Pretty much everyone else just begrudgingly shows up. Gamora and Quill are in attendance, and Torres seems pretty happy about being included, and Hope and Cassie tag along with Scott. It’s a perfectly acceptable number of people in Bucky’s opinion, but somehow they still manage to run out of ice cream only an hour in.
“It’s okay,” Sam says. “I have extra in the freezer in the kitchen.”
Bucky raises his eyebrows. “Mr. ‘Never Skips Leg Day’ has extra ice cream in the freezer?”
Sam narrows his eyes. “Hey, it’s a party. Plus, I figured we’d run out early. You know how Quill is.”
“Don’t forget the chocolate syrup,” Bucky calls as Sam leaves. “I know you got extra of that, too!”
Sam flips him off without turning around as he heads out the door, and Bucky meanders back to the rest of the group, where Cassie and Parker are in the midst of a heated discussion about whether or not movies were better before or after the Blip.
Bucky’s actually inclined to take Parker’s side — he’s seen some of the stuff they put out after everyone was dusted, and it’s weirdly depressing — when he says, “We need to have a full debate, make everyone take sides. Mr. Wilson, do we have a whiteboard around here?” And when he glances around the room and sees that Sam is nowhere to be found, he turns to Bucky. “Where’s Sam?”
“He went to get ice cream.”
“You think if I helped him with the ice cream he’d help me find a whiteboard?”
“No.”
“I bet he would,” Parker insists. “Your boyfriend likes me better than you do.”
Bucky stills. “What?”
Parker winces. “It was just a joke! Please don’t kill me or — ”
“Jesus, I’m not going to kill you, just — ” Bucky breaks off, frustrated. “Why did you call Sam my…”
“What, your boyfriend?” Parker blinks. “Because… you’re dating?”
For a moment, it feels like the world stops spinning.
“No we’re not,” he gets out. “We’re not dating.”
Parker laughs, but when Bucky doesn’t, he immediately stops. “Wait, you’re serious?”
“Of course I’m serious. Why would we be dating?” Bucky snaps, suddenly irritable. He begins to realize that the room around them has gone silent, and when he glances around, sees that everyone is watching their interaction, something like surprise reflected across their faces.
“Well, you live together, for starters,” Parker says, like he’s never heard of the concept of roommates before.
“And you’re very… domestic,” Van Dyne says hesitantly. “You pick up his coffee almost every morning. And you’re always lending him your jacket.”
“Wait, you thought we were dating too?” Bucky demands.
“Uh…” Torres says hesitantly, then glances around. “I think we all did.”
Everyone else nods in agreement.
“I can’t believe this,” Bucky mutters.
Only, he sort of can, because now everything is starting to make sense. Like Quill inviting the two of them on a double date, Thor implying they’re having a lover’s quarrel, Torres making it clear he was never romantically interested in Sam. Even Sarah’s suggestion to get Sam flowers, which had seemed so out of the blue at the time, can be explained by the assumption that he and Sam were together.
God, even Sam’s sister thought they were dating. Bucky can’t tell if he’s annoyed or mortified. Probably both.
“But wait, that can’t be right,” Lang says, looking confused. “What about that mission where we stayed at the hotel, and you guys had that fight and you guys were all weird about sleeping in the same bed.”
“I told you we weren’t in a fight,” Bucky gets out, teeth gritted. “We were being weird because of the whole sharing a bed thing. Because we aren’t dating. ”
Lang blinks. Then, he says, carefully, “…Are you sure? ”
“Yes!” Bucky bursts out. “I can’t believe you all just… assumed. No one ever thought to just ask? ”
“Well…” Torres says, then rubs the back of his neck. “You guys seemed kind of obvious about it.”
“You are weirdly territorial with each other,” Gamora points out.
“Yeah,” Quill agrees. “When Sam got injured on that mission a few months back, you were practically breathing down the nurse’s neck. You looked like you were gonna lose it.”
“So?” Bucky demands. “We’re partners. If something happened to Gamora, you’d be worried too.”
“Yeah, but Quill and Gamora are practically married ,” Parker points out.
“Exactly,” Quill agrees, then must realize exactly what Parker said, and flushes bright pink. “Wait, no — ”
“The point is, all of us reached the same conclusion,” Van Dyne says, interrupting Quill’s meltdown. “Maybe you should be asking yourself why you’re not dating.”
“That’s…” Bucky manages to get out, and he does not stammer, because he’s a 107-year-old super-soldier, for God’s sake. But it’s a near thing. “We’re not… I don’t even…”
But Bucky can’t finish the sentence, because he knows anything he’d say wouldn’t really be the truth, anyway.
Because he’s starting to make some other realizations, too. Like why he brings Sam coffee the exact way he likes it every morning, or why he was so nervous about sharing the same motel bed as Sam, or why he gets so irritable every time Sam beams at Torres’ compliments. Why he was so upset when Sam wouldn’t talk to him, why he’s so terrified at the thought of losing him.
It feels a little obvious, now. Maybe it always has been. Still, it makes sense that he never realized until now. Because Sam is strong, and kind, and beautiful, and he gives so much of himself up to everyone, including Bucky, that it would be selfish for him to ever ask for more. He’s already dealing with the title of Captain America and the complicated legacy that comes with that, not to mention fending off the press, reconstructing the Avengers, and saving the world, all on top of that. What Sam needs from him is a partner, and Bucky was ready and willing to give him that, so much so that he never even stopped to realize that he wanted more.
And apparently, it’s been so obvious to everyone else that everyone he knows has thought he was dating Sam this whole time.
Before he can ruminate some more about just how mortifying this entire situation is, the door to the conference room opens, and Sam walks in carrying a giant grocery bag filled with tubs of ice cream. He comes to an immediate stop, though, when he notices the awkward expressions on everyone’s face. “Did I miss something?”
“No,” Bucky says before anyone else can respond. “Everything’s fine.”
Sam doesn’t look convinced, but no one else says anything either, because evidently, Bucky’s teammates have finally decided to mind their own business.
In Bucky’s defense, he tries to enjoy the rest of the party. Really, he does. But every time he looks at his teammates, a small voice in the back of his head whispers, They all thought you were dating. And when he looks at Sam, that voice whispers, You practically are dating, already. And worse, when Sam looks back at him, it whispers, You want to be dating.
It’s late when they get back to their apartment, and all Bucky wants to do is retreat into his room and pretend the entire day never happened. But they’ve barely gotten in the door when Sam stops Bucky with a hand at his elbow and says, “Hey, are you alright? You’ve been really quiet.”
Bucky intends to say something about how he’s fine, that it’s nothing, that Sam doesn’t need to worry about it.
Instead, what comes out of his mouth is, “Did you know everyone thinks we’re dating?”
Sam freezes.
Shit, Bucky thinks.
“No,” Sam answers, the brief alarm on his face smoothing out into an unreadable expression.
“But you’re not surprised,” Bucky says. It’s not a question, because he already knows the answer.
Sam lifts one shoulder in a shrug, and there’s a forced casualness in the movement that Bucky can’t help but notice. Not because he’s a former assassin, not because he’s been trained to notice body language, but just because he notices Sam. He always notices Sam.
“Quill’s made some comments before. Scott, too,” Sam finally says. “But I didn’t know for sure.”
“And… you never thought to correct them?”
“Well, I didn’t want to burst their bubble,” Sam says with a small smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.
Bucky inhales, and then, in a voice that comes out far quieter and more vulnerable than he means it to, “Are we dating?”
“No,” Sam says, and something in Bucky’s gut twists. “But… it felt like something we were building up to.”
He blinks. “What?”
Sam turns away, heading towards the kitchen, and Bucky follows him helplessly, like they’re magnets being pulled together. If Sam notices that Bucky’s followed him, he gives no indication. Instead, he busies himself by opening the fridge, pulling out their Brita pitcher, and pouring a glass of water.
“I don’t know,” Sam says to the kitchen counter. “It just felt like… we were gravitating towards it, you know? Like, being together was always going to be where we’d end up.”
“You never said,” Bucky says dumbly.
Sam finally turns back to Bucky, but just as quickly looks away. “I didn’t want to pressure you into something you weren’t ready for,” he says. “And I was okay. I didn’t mind waiting for you.”
Bucky inhales, a breathless sort of feeling lodged in his throat. It feels like walking up the stairs and missing a step, and it should feel scary, but it doesn’t. He feels… he feels sort of happy. He feels really, really happy, actually.
“So,” Bucky says finally. “I think maybe I’ve been an idiot.”
Sam looks at him, something like hesitation and careful hope in his expression. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Sam smiles a little. “Well, that’s nothing new.”
“Yeah, the thing is,” Bucky begins. “I didn’t realize how I felt until very recently. Today, in fact. But I think if I knew you felt the same way, I probably would’ve done something about it a long time ago.”
Sam’s grin widens, bright, like the sun, but Bucky finds he doesn’t have to look away this time. “And what kind of feeling would that be, exactly?”
Bucky rolls his eyes. “Oh, shut up,” he mutters, and then he kisses Sam.
It’s been a long time since Bucky’s kissed anyone. About seventy years, maybe. Long enough that he doesn’t have anything solid to compare this to, at least. But even if he did, he’s not sure anything would come close to this moment with Sam in the dim light of their kitchen, the feeling of Sam pressed against the counter, his lips pressed against Bucky’s. His heart pounds, and his hands shake slightly when they press against the kitchen counter, but Sam’s hands are gentle around Bucky’s waist, and when he kisses him back he smiles against Bucky’s mouth, almost like he can’t help it.
It’s minutes, or maybe hours later, when they break apart, and Bucky feels embarrassingly breathless, but Sam looks a little out of it, too, so maybe it doesn’t matter.
“So,” Bucky says finally. “Now that we know every single person in our life thinks we’ve been dating since forever… maybe we should actually start dating, for real, this time.”
“That could probably be arranged,” Sam says, and his voice sounds teasing, but the way he smiles blindingly up at him lessens the effect.
“Okay, good. Glad we’re on the same page.”
“Took you long enough,” Sam says.
He wants to argue that Sam’s just as much to blame as he is, that if he’d said something instead of assuming Bucky knew how he felt then they wouldn’t be in this situation.
But then Sam’s kissing him again, hands tender and sure on either side of his face, and Bucky decides they can argue over who’s to blame later.