you're just too good (to be true)

by team_avatars_eyebags

Summary:

Bucky put one of his hands– well, the only one he currently had– to his chest with some sarcastic flair. “I’ll have you know, Cap, that white chocolate wasn’t even a thing until I was in my twenties,” he huffed, “Brush up on your history.”
“Why would I do that when I have a walking primary source to bother?”
-
Sam and Bucky are not the kind of partners who play 20 questions on their way to beat up bad guys. They get to know each other by taking life as it comes.

(Drabbles of Sam and Bucky getting closer between TFATWS and CABNW.)

Notes:

hi im coping with my awful life by writing about gay ppl in louisana i hope u enjoy *kisses*

let me know if i need to add other tags cuz my head feels kinda empty rn

Chapter 1: ain't no mountain high enough

The late sun spread across the recently waxed deck of the Paul & Darlene, making it shine gold. That feeling welled in his chest again. That feeling Sam got when Bucky had joined him to see the sunset that day at the cookout. The feeling was something near to peace but it didn't lack excitement and hope. 

“You were a skinny-ass kid.” 

Feeling: gone. 

Sam gave Bucky a look through the now-clean window of the helm. Sam watched Bucky’s eyes flicker over the printed pictures wedged into every corner of the old wood of the boat. 

Sam sighed, tossing his rag over his shoulder and making his way into the room. 

“Isn’t that how all Captain America’s start out? Sticks?” 

Bucky snorted.

“These are your folks, right?” He said, pointing. 

“Yup.”

The super soldier’s eyes kept flickering around the picture. It was slightly faded, but you could clearly see three figures eating happily around a hospital bed.

For someone who was trained out of any and every emotion, Bucky sure was bad at keeping them off his face. 

“You want the story, don’t you?”

“What? No.”

“Yeah, you do. Gonna say no to a Wilson storytime?” 

It wasn't official, but more often than not Sam would sit across from Bucky on the boat and tell some grand story about someone who lived in town that they had made conversation with earlier at the shop. Sam liked to talk, especially about his home.

Bucky stared at Sam for a few seconds and hung his head. Defeat. 

Sam smirked. “Pass me a beer, will you?” 

Bucky grabbed two from the cooler even though he couldn’t even get buzzed from five. He had told Sam that nowadays alcohol didn't taste like the bottom of a sailor's boot, so he was okay with it. Bucky's words, not Sam's. Sam waited as the super-soldier popped off the caps with his metal arm, then graciously took a sip of his when it was given. Sam had to give a good story here, he couldn’t disappoint the cyborg across from him. 

“‘Kay, I think I got one,” Sam started, noticing how Bucky’s eyes focused on him. Say what you will about the bionic-staring machine, but he was a great listener. “So, my Mom’s in the hospital. I had a few months to be at home with her after this big rescue in Iran. The cancer was getting real bad. But my Mom was stubborn. Always insisting she felt better than she was. And she hated hospitals. She had a good reason for it, too, ‘cuz as we both know, hospital food is absolute shit. At least compared to literally anything else.”

Bucky nodded. The both of them had been through tons of different hospitals, and while Bucky rarely had standards for food, they’d seen the whole spectrum of hospital food. Sure, some were great, but others? Sometimes that green jello was the only edible thing on the tray. 

“She missed food from home. Understandable. So my Dad makes this big pot of crawfish boil after a really big catch that morning. Sarah asks, ‘Who’re we inviting over?’ and Dad just got a look on his face, like he was planning to break into Louis Vuitton. I’m pretty sure Mom would’ve liked that just as much as Dad’s actual plan but… anyway. Visiting hours were ending in just an hour. Dad hauls ass to the hospital, this huge pot just barely being held back by me and Sarah in the back. We get to the place, and he just shouts to us, holding the pot, to run to Mom’s room. I’ve always been faster than Sarah, so she was being dragged in. The nurse at the front desk was shouting after us and I glanced back to see my Dad running like he was still the linebacker in high school football, and boil splatter all over Sarah’s blouse. So now I got my Dad, the nurse, and my sister screaming at me for all different reasons.”

Bucky’s smiling now, probably being able to hear Sarah’s shouts in particular. Sam took another sip of his beer. 

“We get there, finally, and Dad slides into the room on his side like it was home base. He shut the door and we presented the pot to Mom, who looks absolutely done with us. But she realizes what’s in the pot and says, ‘Y’all better not have messed with my boil,’ and that was all Dad needed to bring out paper plates. The nurse, bless her heart, finally catches up to us. She slams the door open. Now, our seafood is known throughout the town, because y’know, we’re the best,” Sam said, raising his eyebrows and shooting Bucky a 'admit we're the best or die' look. 

Bucky nodded and murmured a soft, “Of course, of course.”

“So while the nurse is catching her breath, she realizes we brought our famous crawfish boil into her hospital. She gets real quiet before quietly shutting the door. She sniffs the room before telling us,” Sam begins an impression of the woman, “‘I’ll tell y’all what, I won’t tell nobody you brought this in if you give me a fair share,’ And so we did! We ended up sitting around Momma’s bed and cracking open crawfish, getting everything all smelly. Guess who the nurse was.” 

“Who?” Bucky asked.

“Theresa. Theresa Roberts. Y’know, from the third house over?”

Bucky blinked. “Is that why you guys give her a discount on crawfish boil?” 

Sam laughed, taking a sip. “You noticed?”

“I was trained to be nosy by Hydra. Trained to clean the register by Sarah,” he shrugged.

Something that sounded annoyingly like a giggle escaped Sam’s lips. “Poor woman, Theresa said it took her five cans of Febreze to cover up the whole thing.”

“Smart woman,” Bucky countered, “Discounted boil for life.” 

“Says the guy who gets it for free almost every time we make it.”

“Yeah well this guy,” Bucky pointed to himself, “also manages to miss it every time he goes up to Brooklyn. Thank you, Mrs. Wilson,” he smiled softly, pointing to the sky before taking a sip of his beer. Sam mirrored him. 

“Thanks, Mom.” 

Chapter 2: play that funky music, white boy

Notes:

chapter title is from one of my favorite songs ever its just so goddamn catchy

enjoy suckers

Not that anyone knew, but Spotify was Bucky’s favorite app. Being over a hundred, music was incredibly helpful when he felt like he missed out. You could find playlists of decade-based music and find its sound. 

It was especially helpful when being around Sam Wilson. Mostly because the man held music to a standard. Or, it seemed everyone held some type of pop culture close to their heart these days. Which made sense, it’s not that Bucky was different. Sure, he was especially fond of certain artists in the forties, but as his existence miraculously dragged on, he just found it harder to care. 

Usually, he simply liked anything he listened to. Which for some reason would annoy the shit out of Sam. To satisfy him Bucky had to at least give a few sentences dedicated to any artist Sam would recommend him. 

Which would annoy the shit out of Bucky. Mainly because when he said he liked something, he meant it . People were just straight up insincere these days, that’s what it was. 

Anyway, he'd finally moved onto 60s music. Bucky usually read a book while listening to music, but he had already finished one yesterday. He supposed he should go look for a new one but the sun was so warm on the couch right now he could just maybe… take a short nap…

“Whatcha listening to?” 

Okay, so no nap then. Bucky cracked one eye open to see Sam standing over him, his body language exposing him as open and curious. Bucky took a second to register what song was coming through his headphones. 

“Uh, Can’t Take My Eyes Off You, ” he said. 

Sam looked surprised. “The one by Lauryn Hill?”

Bucky picked up his phone to glance at the artist. “No, Frankie Valli.” 

“Oh, the white people version, okay. You’re still on the 60s then?” 

The super-soldier nodded. “I might be for a while, they had good music.” 

“Of course they did,” Sam drawled, “It was Marvin Gaye’s prime, you know.” 

Bucky rolled his eyes. He was 90% sure the whole Marvin Gaye thing was becoming a bit between the two of them. 

“Hey, I saw that,” Sam called him out before motioning for him to scoot over. The couch dipped with his weight and Sam and Bucky sat thigh to thigh. “Gimme your phone, we’re listening to the better version.” 

Bucky sighed but handed it over.

Sam pulled up the song on YouTube, and much to Bucky’s non-amusement began to lip-sync dramatically towards the super-soldier on his side. 

Bucky tried not to think too hard about the lyrical implications. Keyword: tried. 

Sam, apparently unaware of Bucky’s internal malfunctions, clung to the super-soldier's arm (the metal one, it would never stop surprising Bucky how comfortable everyone was with his arm) and shook him back and forth, lost in his own dramatics. Bucky tried, really tried, his best to keep a straight face. Like it did so often these days, his face betrayed him and he smiled. 

When the song ended, Sam turned to him with his gap-toothed grin. 

“So, which one do you like better now?” 

Bucky blinked. He internally winced, as he hadn’t really been listening to the song and instead had been paying attention to the man next to him. 

“I uh… liked her voice. Smooth.” 

“Of course man, it’s Lauryn Hill,” Sam smacked his shoulder lightly, “God, it’s been forever since I listened to her… she was real popular when I was in my twenties. Maybe younger.” 

“Huh. She was popular in my thirties,” Bucky joked. 

Sam turned to him. “You were in your thirties in the 90s?”

“Physically, sure. I still am in my thirties. I’ve been in my thirties longer than anyone ever should be,” he shuddered. 

“No,” Sam shook his head, “You are not younger than me. That’s illegal.” 

Bucky pursed his lips. “I’ve existed a lot longer than you. Princess Shuri, she- don’t you dare laugh- she went through this long process of figuring out how old I am physically… turns out I’m… I think thirty-eight. Now.” 

Sam stared at him for a second, then scoffed. “I can’t believe you’re younger than me. And I also can’t believe you had to be dated like a goddamn fossil.” 

“Well, how old are you?” Bucky asked.

Sam furiously typed on the phone. “You know, I’m going to make you a playlist-”

“No, don’t change the subject-”

“-Of Lauryn’s music, because honestly, I’m not patient enough for you to get to the 80s and 90s…” 

Bucky just shook his head and sighed. He’d ask Sarah later. Or AJ. Or Cass. 

Sam tapped his ribs and Bucky turned. 

“You got a playlist named after me?” Sam showed him said playlist. 

Bucky felt his cheeks warm. He coughed and wiped his nose, looking away towards the window to his right. “It’s just um… the songs you drill me to listen to, I gotta put them somewhere, so…” 

He felt Sam’s eyes bore into his side profile for a few moments. 

“Should I put her songs on that playlist then?” He asked softly.

“Uh, yeah,” Bucky replied, inexplicably breathless, “That’d… be good.” 

Sam leaned into him as he finished adding the songs to the playlist and handed Bucky’s phone back. But before Bucky could take the device, Sam took it back and switched to the camera app.

“Smile,” He said, before laughing and taking what Bucky was told by AJ was called a selfie. In the picture, Bucky’s eyebrows were knit together like he didn’t know what was happening. Mostly because he didn’t. 

“The sun’s nice right now, Sarah says it's golden hour, prime time for pictures, I dunno, something I’m too old for,” Sam grumbled. 

“Yeah, I think we established that you’re old, Sam,” Bucky said, a fake sympathetic frown plastered on his face. Sam shoved him. 

“Man, shut the hell up,” He said, finally giving back the phone. Bucky put his earbud back in and pressed play on the first playlist open. He did not know if it was Sam’s, as his partner’s music taste had considerably consumed anything he listened to. He twirled the other earbud in his metal fingers before offering it to Sam. He took it, sliding it in his ear then leaning back on the sofa and closing his eyes. Bucky took more seconds than necessary to pull his own eyes from Sam’s resting side profile. 

Eyes back on his phone, he opened the photo app to study the selfie Sam had taken. 

The default homepage wallpaper was pretty boring anyway, Bucky figured it was time for a change.

 

Notes:

i am simple being; i yearn, i listen to music, and i gay

idek if sam would actually like Lauryn Hill but i like Lauryn Hill and i am the ringleader of this circus

the title of the "sam playlist" probably is very literally titled: sam. (period included)

leave a comment or kudos if ur up for it, hopefully there will be another chapter mwah <3

Chapter 3: for once in my life

Notes:

this chapter is a little sadder

also as I post this I JUST watched the suicide squad that shit was fucking baller i swear

anyway enjoy

‘Will the American government ever shut the hell up?’ was what Sam had been thinking when he heard his door creak open. An abnormally loud thump! let him know Bucky had just very ungracefully flopped onto the guest bed in the office. 

This was concerning, firstly because Bucky usually made his footsteps loud on purpose so he didn’t ‘Winter Soldier Jumpscare’ an unsuspecting Wilson. Thank God for the rickety office door. Secondly, Bucky Barnes, ever the grown man, never really flopped onto a bed like a teenager having a fit. And this flopping business could be detrimental to the guest bed, considering a dense-ass super-soldier was doing the flopping. 

Sam spared a short glance behind him at the mass of old man laying face-down on the bed. After a few weary blinks, he turned back to the computer because this email had been at least a few hours in the making and he could not afford to stop now. 

Sighing, Sam finally pressed send and turned in his swivel chair. The lump of old man was still draped across the bed. Now, looking closer, Sam noticed the lump was just slightly trembling. 

“Hey,” He tried. 

The muffled answer came out with a crack, “Hey.”

“Um,” Sam held back a weird urge to laugh, “You good man?” 

“Totally. Hundred-percent,” Bucky grumbled, voice thick. 

Sam moved to sit on the edge of the bed. Either his partner was being over-dramatic or something was actually wrong. When it came to Bucky, the latter was rare. 

“Something… wrong?” Sam asked. 

Bucky was quiet for a moment. 

“... Cass called me ‘Uncle Bucky’.”

“Really?” 

“Yup. I was just helping him with the um… the little remote car thing they have… I had to find the batteries and he thanked me…” Bucky trailed off, the barely noticeable trembling becoming noticeable. 

Sam blinked. “Dude are you- are you crying? Listen, I can go talk to him if you didn’t want him to call you that-” 

“No!” Bucky’s too-quick shout was pathetically stifled by the sheets, “... No. It’s- it’s fine.” 

“... Are you sure?” 

Bucky sat up, quickly wiping his face clean and forcing his usual resting poker face to settle. He pointedly did not look at Sam. 

“Yes, Sam. I am sure.” 

The two men sat in silence for a moment longer. 

“Sorry for coming in while you were working,” Bucky said. 

Sam shrugged. “I was practically finished. Technically it’s your bed anyway,” he said, looking down at the newly bought bed, taken from the Baker family garage sale for a certain super-soldier that liked to occupy the couch. 

“I’m really bad at using it,” Bucky scoffed. It was true, he usually ended up on the floor. But hey, so did Sam.

Sam snorted. “It’s the principle of the thing,” he insisted. The thing being the fact that Bucky was family now, but that went unsaid. 

Comfortable silence washed over them again, only the spin of the old ceiling fan to be heard.  

“I had a younger sister,” Bucky broke the atmosphere, staring straight ahead. 

Sam blinked. “Uh- oldest of four, right?” 

The edge of Bucky’s mouth quirked. “Read my display?” Sam nodded. The super-soldier sighed. 

“It was me, Becca, Winnie, and Joseph. In that order. Joseph died from fever around twenty-three months, and Winnie… was a bit wild for our Ma, always dressing in pants, hanging around boys. She went off to college way out of state and always forgot to send letters home. But Becca and I were especially close.” 

Bucky was not a storyteller. He wasn’t the type to sit down around a campfire and talk about the glory days. What he was telling Sam was probably leading up to a point of some sort. And Sam was curious. So he gestured for Bucky to keep talking. 

“When our parents died, Becca and I decided we had to become adults right then. I got a second job, but it still wasn’t enough. So Becca went and decided it was time she got married. I… couldn’t say I wanted her to, she was a little young, just about seventeen, but she was goddamn stubborn and had already been dating a guy. I didn’t get along much with him. With the married life she had, and my multiple jobs, plus you know I had Steve around… we didn’t see each other much,” Bucky tilted his head to the side, and his eyes narrowed in thought. Or in a memory. 

“She had a fit when I got drafted. I-”

“Drafted?” Sam interrupted. Bucky’s face settled on a small frown. 

“Yeah. Sorry, thought you knew.”

Sam shook his head. “The records say you volunteered.”

“The records Steve gave. Didn’t think that little lie would go that far.”

“Why would you lie about that?” Sam asked, “Especially to him .”

Bucky ran a hand down his face. “Honestly? Maybe it would’ve broken his heart. His… resolve or whatever. He saw fighting that god-forsaken war as heroic, and well… he was this sick little guy. He was never supposed to get into it anyway, so I just didn’t… I didn’t think it would matter.”

“How did no one ever find out? That’s insane.” 

Bucky reached under his shirt and pulled out his dog tags. “The only way anyone could tell was with these, or if they went through a bazillion documents. I died, why not take Captain America’s word for it and make me look like a hero.” 

Sam reveled in that for a moment. It made a lot of sense now. That tired, grumpy demeanor. Bucky never wanted to fight. Yet here he was, over seventy years later anyway. 

Damn. 

“But anyway,” Bucky said, obviously eager to get away from the topic, “Becca’s husband was upper class and had some big important job that kept him away from the war. I was able to come by in December of ‘44, my last home visit. We had a nice dinner. Becca was doing great. We’re drinking and I realize Becca hadn’t poured herself any wine.”

Bucky smiled, crooked and uncompleted by his shining eyes. 

“She told me she was pregnant. Her husband didn’t know, so we both went insane, clinging onto each other and clapping each other's backs like we were buddies for life. Must’ve been hilarious for Becca to watch.”

Sam took that image in. 1944. And it clicked. 

“Buck…” 

The super-soldier sighed and turned to give Sam a watery smile. “I’m sorry I overreacted. It’s just… I never thought that after everything I’d ever be called ‘Uncle Bucky’.” 

Sam punched his shoulder, “Don’t be stupid. That wasn’t an overreaction, man, I’d be crying too. Your life is straight-up sad.”

“Thanks for that, Sam,” Bucky deadpanned, but the twinkle of amusement in his eyes gave him away. 

“You ever catch up with your descendants?”

Bucky made a face. “C’mon, don’t call them my descendants, that makes me feel old.”

Sam smiled. “Great-Uncle Bucky, World War II hero! Mr. America!” 

“Yeah, no.”

“You never want to visit them?”

Bucky shook his head. “It’s been too long. To them, I’m just some random guy. Plus, Becca’s gone. Winnie… she’s in a nursing home with dementia. I’m pretty sure I’d give her a heart attack walking in there. But with how my life usually goes I guess I shouldn’t say never.”

“That’s a decent sentiment for the both of us,” Sam chuckled, “Never say never.” 

The sound of the ceiling fan occupied the noise between them once again. 

Sam patted his knees with his palms and stood. He shut down his desktop and his laptop, deciding his work time was over. Everyone needed some family time once and awhile. He didn’t really think about what came out of his mouth next, as he made his way to the door. 

“Well, families change. Welcome to the Wilson’s. You aren’t allowed to be the favorite uncle though,” And with that, Sam let the door click and made his way downstairs, faintly hearing the tornado of noise that was AJ and Cass. A few moments later, behind him, came the telltale clunky footsteps of a super-soldier. 

Notes:

why did bucky come to sam while in distress instead of hiding away on his own is it
a) bc he trusts sam
b) bc he knows sam won't judge him
c) bc bucky wanted sam to know that this begins their competition of 'who is the best uncle'
or d) all of the above

hope yall enjoyed this chapter, don't know when the next will be up as it is not written yet.
leave a comment or kudo if you so please, bye!! <3

Chapter 4: we all need somebody (to lean on)

Notes:

ok THIS is my most insane fic comeback LMAO ive been doing too many of them recently

once again sorry to my other neglected projects but my 15-year-old self needs this after cabnw

FUCK i literally have a research paper due and this is what im doing instead this is so dumb pls like it for my sake

Ow . 

No one likes to think about losing. About failure. Sam Wilson certainly didn’t. Well, he wasn’t really allowed to. But it happens anyway.  

Westchester was a stupid fucking place for a neo-Nazi hideout. Sorry, Serpent Society . What a stupid ass name. 

Sam was hurt. Mildly, he’d argue. Joaquin, for once, came out unscathed, thank god . Sam didn’t have enough fingers or toes to count how many times that kid gets his ass beat. 

Guess it was his turn. 

He was pretty agitated, and he didn’t just mean his ribs. The guy got away. Some white, ugly, scar-faced Nazi maniac had gotten away, and had ordered his only other accomplice, an intelligence officer of sorts, that Sam very much needed alive , to commit suicide with one of those cyanide in-between the teeth pills from World War II. Horrifyingly cliché, if you were to ask Sam. 

Needless to say, no one was happy with his post-mission report. They only had one more lead in regards to this particularly nasty Hydra branch, and if he screwed up that one he might as well retire. Or at least, that’s what those government assholes said. 

See if they could take a bazooka at point blank, thought Sam. 

Yeah, even under kinetic vibranium, turns out that kind of experience could still leave a few cracked ribs. At least the suit was fine this time, he’d hate to bother the Princess of Wakanda again. 

Joaquin had a friend in Harlem and was too pumped with adrenaline from the fight to stick around the intelligence base any longer than it took to give his report, so he hastily asked if Sam was alright and gave him a quick pat on the back– that Sam definitely didn’t wince at, thank you very much– and left, promising that they’d get it next time. 

He hated to admit it, but he was incredibly proud of how far the kid had gotten. His maneuvers with the ol’ EXO-7 Falcon were getting better, definitely better than Sam was at his age. Not that he’d ever tell him. 

Sam stuck around a bit, checking up on some of the other intelligence officers that were investigating the settling dust of the fight. Eventually he spoke to everyone who wouldn’t immediately give him a dirty look and took out his phone, looking to book a hotel. No way was he going to hang around an airport tonight, not in those uncomfortable chairs with his aching back from the wall he’d been blasted into.

Then he remembered what New York prices looked like. 

He may be Captain America, but he wasn’t exactly always on the government’s dollar, at least not any of their big bucks. Sure, he worked special ops or pararescue from time to time, but it wasn’t the most consistent paycheck, given the government didn’t always like to work with him. He still made trips back to Delacroix to help out the family business, and that took plenty of time and money. On top of that, it was impossible to find time for the VA therapy gig these days.

Point is, Sam was busy as hell, and fine, comfortable enough. But not enough to find a comfortable stay. 

His mind was back to the dead Hydra intelligence officer. The sickening crunch heard from his jaw as he bit down, the thud from his body hitting the ground… 

Westchester was just north of New York City. 

His head slightly fuzzy, he opened his message app. 

Hey Buck. U in Brooklyn? 

He waited, leaning uncomfortably against a wall. Bucky Barnes may just be the worst texter on the planet– though who could really blame the guy, given his age– so Sam wasn’t really sure why he thought he’d be lucky and get an answer. 

After five whole minutes of Same breathing through his pain, three bubbles popped up on Sam’s screen. Then they went away. Then they came back. Then they went away. And finally came back. 

Ye

Sam raised an eyebrow at that response. Bucky always texted with proper punctuation, and hardly misspelled anything. 

Can I come over?

Sam, as patient as ever, didn’t wait for a response and fired up his wings. 

And hey, when the Wakandans give you wings, you use them. Unlimited energy, as fast as a jet, chartered flight patterns, and fit for long distance travel unlike the EXO-7. 

So Sam flew towards Brooklyn. 

---

No one else in the world could get from Westchester to Brooklyn in twenty-five minutes, except for Sam Wilson. 

He knocked on Bucky’s apartment door harder than he meant to. He waited. He was a little worried that Bucky hadn’t replied to his last text, but the sound of a gun being loaded behind the door, weirdly enough, made Sam sigh in relief. 

“Bucky, cut that shit out, it’s me!” 

A curse was heard. A gun was taken apart and assumedly stashed away. At least four locks were unlocked and– 

“What...” Bucky’s steely blue eyes raked over Sam’s body and tired facial expression, “Oh. What happened?” 

“Failed mission. Can I crash here?” 

Bucky didn’t hesitate before saying, “Of course,” but looked back with nervous eyes before opening the door wider to let Sam in. 

“Thanks…” Sam mumbled, then he got a full look at Bucky, whose gray Henley was completely drenched down the front. He could see the outline of the other man’s built torso under the darkened fabric. His slightly more grown out hair was a bit messy too, and his eyes kept shifting toward the hall of the apartment. “Did I… catch you at a bad time?” 

Bucky closed the front door and relocked each separate latch. “Um. Sort of. But it's fine. Where are you hurt?”

“I don’t want to bother… is that Bill Withers?” Sam cocked his head to the side, able to hear the soft crooning of the aforementioned man’s rich baritone voice from Bucky’s bathroom. 

 

… I just might have a problem that you'll understand…

We all need somebody to lean on…

 

“Oh, uh, I think music calms her down,” Bucky mumbled. 

Sam raised an eyebrow, “Okay, now I’m really starting to think I came at a bad time.”

“I told you it’s fine,” Bucky shot him a glare, “Come on,” he gently put his hand on the small of Sam’s back, like he was afraid the man would fall while being led towards Bucky’s bedroom. 

“Watch the ribs–” 

“No shit. You’re hunched over like Gollum.” 

“Did you finally find time to watch The Hobbit?” Sam asked, wheezing slightly. 

Bucky nodded. “Twice. It was… good.” 

“That’s it?” 

“What? I said it was good,” Bucky scowled at Sam’s prodding, as he always did, and Sam snickered because he thought it was pretty funny that Bucky could never give anything more than a three word review. Well, he could, but it was hard to get the super soldier to dish out opinions on the first try. An after effect of having your opinions being suppressed for several decades, Sam supposed. Luckily for him, that just meant he could justify bothering his partner like a child as simply a method of recovery. Annoyance was good for the soul, if Sam and Bucky’s relationship was anything to go by. 

Bucky guided Sam to his bed, a full sized firm mattress that was dressed with nothing more than a navy blue duvet and two matching pillows. It was evident that the man didn’t use it much, not that Sam could judge. He gently pushed him to sit before rifling in a dresser that hid behind the door of his reach-in closet. 

He’d never really been in Bucky’s bedroom before, having only visited the apartment twice and never overnight. There was a simple desk in the corner, most likely picked up off the sidewalk given it’s outdated stained wood and rickety shelving, and it was covered in pieces of random tech– a few black cases that either held weapons, comms systems, or reinforced computers– and a collection of knick knacks like old photos and journals. Bucky was in a constant fight with the Smithsonian for his old stuff, sometimes temporarily giving back certain documents for historical research purposes. There were a few cardboard boxes with the aforementioned documents under the window, which was covered with blackout curtains of course, and in the corner of the room was a tall stack of books that was sure to reach up to Sam’s thigh if he stood next to it. He made a mental note to keep an eye out for streetside bookshelves. The tower of various novels, nonfiction, and biographies looked like it would topple over if anyone tried to grab a book from the bottom. Bucky’s nightstand had a lamp with an adorably vintage look to it, and an open book that was facing down to mark where the super soldier had stopped previously. Sam made another mental note to try to steal a couple of AJ and Cass’ bookmarks, preferably the ones with stupid reading puns on them. 

 

… Lean on me…

When you're not strong…

And I'll be your friend…

I'll help you carry on…

 

Bucky handed him a pair of gray sweats and a plain white tank. 

“Take off the suit and put the sweats on. Keep your shirt off and come to the bathroom, my kit’s in there.” 

Sam smirked at him, though he was sure it was more of a grimace on account of the gash on his cheek that was already starting to harden with dry blood. “There are less demanding ways to get a guy out of his clothes, Buck,” he teased. 

Bucky just sighed. “Holler at me if you need help, I, uh, have to take care of something,” he said mysteriously, before silently sliding out of the room, closing the door just enough to give Sam privacy but not actually shutting it. 

After laying the shield carefully against Bucky’s desk chair– another rickety old piece of wood that didn’t match the desk or the rest of the secondhand furnishings but served its purpose– Sam got to the painstaking work of taking off the suit with his sore body. Luckily the most difficult parts of it, like the wing pack and chest piece, were made to be easily taken off when you pull the right straps. Easy access in case of emergencies. The rest of it was slightly more strenuous to pull off, but nothing he could handle. Bless the Wakandans and their habit of putting zippers on the sides instead of the back. 

He realized after taking a moment to breathe in nothing but his boxers that Bucky’s microwave was beeping and that the song coming from the bathroom had changed. Sam had no idea what the hell the super soldier was doing, on account of the man moving extremely quietly even in his own apartment, but he just prayed he wasn’t gonna walk into anything too weird. 

 

… Never knowing if I'm coming or going, but I, I love you…

This old heart darling, is weak for you…

 

The Isley Brothers. Now that brought Sam back to his Pop’s old cassettes. His shoulders relaxed and he pulled on the sweats, ignoring the mottled coloring of his torso. 

He groaned getting up and threw the tank top over his shoulder, moving towards the bathroom. 

Then came the last sound Sam could’ve expected from the bathroom. Just under the grainy noise of the music from Bucky’s smartphone speaker, was a loud Mrrrrow . He sharply turned into the doorway and gaped at the scene before him. 

The tiniest white cat Sam had ever seen was being swaddled by the former Winter Soldier in a nest of towels in the bathtub. Despite being half drowned by the towels, the cat peered over Bucky’s broad frame and let out another high pitched mrrow at Sam, as if asking who he was. 

 

… Though I try to control myself…

Like a fool I start grinnin' 'cause my head starts spinnin' 'cause I, I love you…

 

Bucky looked over his shoulder like he had understood the animal, giving Sam a quick glance and jutting his chin towards the toilet. 

“Sit.” 

Sam spluttered. “Uh, not going to explain?”

Bucky just rolled his eyes and then very sternly pointed at the cat, as if telepathically telling it to stay put. 

“She needs to warm up. I didn’t have a heating pad so I put some rice in a sock and bundled her up on it.” 

“She… right. Is she… yours?” 

Bucky got up and washed his hands as Sam maneuvered around him and sat on the toilet cover, having an impromptu staring contest with the cat and her big light blue eyes. 

“She’s… well…” Bucky huffed trying to find the words, “She’s an alley cat. I’ve been… feeding her. She follows me around when I get coffee down the road. Some teenage asshole poured his Coke on her as I was walking home… on purpose,” the super soldier ground out, “So I thought it’d be best to bring her back here to wash her off. You’re not allergic, are you?” 

Sam hummed, resisting the urge to laugh at Bucky’s obvious soft spot for the feline.
“Nah, I’m not. You scare the kid off?” 

“... Something like that.” 

“... What, did you hit him?” 

Bucky scowled, drying off his hands, making sure to get all the water that welled up in the plating on the vibranium one. “No. Asked his name and looked up where he lived. The threat alone got him running.”

Sam hummed again, this time somewhat impressed. Despite being over a century old, there were some technological skills that Bucky was supernaturally good at, tracking especially. The reason why was of course darker than Sam cared to think about in the moment. Sam made another mental note to ask Bucky how to do such a thing off a smartphone with nothing but a name when he wasn’t so agitated about the cat. 

Mrrrow…

Bucky rustled through his cabinet under the sink and whipped out the most well stocked first aid kit a paramedic could dream of. Sam doubted most of the items in there could be found in even the most paranoid citizen’s kit. 

“Does she have a name?” Sam blurted. 

Bucky took out some antiseptic wipes. “Um. I call her Alpine. Al for short.” 

Sam was going to make fun of him for picking the most old-timey name for a cat he’d ever heard, but decided against it when he saw the slight pink dusting of the other man’s cheeks. And also because Bucky had suddenly moved very close to Sam’s face. 

“What happened on your mission?” he asked softly, wiping the gash on Sam’s cheek. With a grimace, Sam shakily relayed a simple version of the mission report as Bucky took care of his scrapes. 

 

… But if you leave me a hundred times…

A hundred times I'll take you back…

 

“... and so yeah. Big fat failure,” Sam finished as Bucky wiped the dirt off his knuckles. “Only thing that went right is Joaquin finally got some experience that didn’t end in a broken wrist or concussion. I mean, this shit is so stupid, I just…”

 

… This is old heart, darling is weak for you…

I love you…

 

Bucky put away the wipes and took out a healing salve. He fixed Sam with a steely gaze.

Mrrow , Alpine squeaked, giving Sam the same staring treatment. 

“You just what?” Bucky prodded, voice low. 

 

… This is old heart, darling is weak for you

I love you, yes I do, yes I do…

 

Bucky’s most recent therapist had this thing Bucky called ‘saying what you need to say,’ and while Sam was happy that his friend was retaining the general idea of speaking your mind more, it was a little annoying that it was reflected back onto Sam. Bucky was much more comfortable talking about feelings nowadays and it was new territory. But good territory nonetheless. So Sam bitterly indulged him. 

“I just think that everything I do I just end up proving everyone else right.” 

“Right about what?” Bucky pushed, gently spreading salve across Sam’s cheek. 

“I think you know.”

Bucky didn’t say anything. But Sam could tell he was thinking. The song from the super soldier’s smartphone on the far side of the counter changed again but Sam couldn’t really pay attention to it, favoring his own spiraling thoughts. 

“You need to ice your ribs,” Bucky said suddenly, frowning, “I don’t… hmm. I’ll be back. Watch Al, um, please.” 

Bucky closed up the container of salve and tossed it back into his kit, swiftly exiting the bathroom. Alpine watched him leave and wiggled a little, but ultimately didn’t leave the warmth of her makeshift towel nest. She turned her attention to Sam. 

Mrrrow?

“He’s treatin’ you nice isn’t he?” Sam mumbled at her in response, “I doubt you’ll go back on the streets. He’s secretly a pushover for anything cute. At least, that’s my working theory.” 

Mrrrrow… 

Sam leaned back slowly, aching back hitting the cold tank of the toilet. He was suddenly hit with the slightly embarrassing realization that he could’ve done all the cleaning Bucky just did himself. For some reason he had just let the other man do it. He hadn’t even asked for it. And it's not like Bucky asked either. 

 

… I'm just sittin' on the dock of the bay…

Wastin' time…

 

“Yeah,” Sam sighed, letting some tension fall from his shoulders, “I guess we’re both in good hands.”

Bucky chose the moment to reenter the bathroom. Only this time, he was missing an arm. 

Mrrow? 

Sam tried not to startle at the sight– he’d only ever seen Bucky without his metal arm once, when Ayo had taken it off. Twice if you counted the time Stark tore off the old silver one. 

The man seemed to notice his silence and raised an eyebrow, challenging Sam to say something. Briefly, his eyes moved towards the stump, where the sleeve of the gray Henley had been knotted closed as to not leave any hanging fabric. The only thought Sam had was if Bucky completed the knot with his teeth or simply with one hand. 

Bucky rifled through the first aid kit and pulled out a roll of off-white bandages and a pair of scissors. 

“I’ll wrap you up then you can move to the bedroom or living room if you wanna watch something to ice your sides. Your ankles feeling okay?” 

Sam blinked, remembering that he’d told Bucky once that sometimes the frequent landings in the winged suit caused some strain on his ankles. “Uh, yeah. They’re fine. Everything above the waist is the real issue tonight.”

Bucky nodded, and before Sam could really say anything, the other man squatted down and began the process of wrapping his ribs. He laid the slightly sticky bandages down firmly, but not enough to provoke the bruising, and pulled with his thumb and pinky, using his index and middle finger to make sure the bandage stayed straight and stayed pressed onto the skin. Once finished, he balanced the roll on Sam’s thigh and reached for the scissors, swiftly cutting the appropriate amount, putting the scissors down, and pressing the bandage down to keep it in place.
Same felt frozen in place, mesmerized. 

 

… Looks like nothing's gonna change…

Everything still remains the same… 

I can't do what ten people tell me to do…

So I guess I'll remain the same, yes…

 

“I met this kid at the park, just last week,” Bucky said, breaking the strangely peaceful silence of the bathroom as he moved to wrap the upper part of Sam’s torso, “I was walking through to get takeout. The little guy snuck up on me, somehow. Pulled my pant leg and I was just glad I didn’t freak out and try to kick him. The sun was going down and he told me he couldn’t find his parents. Must’ve been maybe a couple years younger than AJ. He had a gap between his two front teeth, kinda like you. I helped him look around for about half an hour, and he would not stop talking, also kind of like you.” 

“Hey,” Sam responded lamely. 

“Anyway. He kept talking about how in school everyone leaves him alone at recess, so he didn’t think he’d be scared if he left his mom while she was at the bodega and went to the park. He admitted he got scared when the sky started turning orange. I told him he shouldn’t have left his mom, which made him cry, just my luck.”

Sam tried and failed to suppress a snort, which just made Bucky roll his eyes. He took a second to grab the scissors before continuing. 

“ Then I noticed he was wearing Captain America socks,” Bucky sighed, “The long ones with the shield splattered all over them. So… I told him that sometimes Captain America tries to do scary things alone but still gets scared. And I said that when Captain America gets scared, he knows to call for help, so he did what Captain America would do by asking me to help look for his mom. Sam, there was so much snot running down his face, but he smiled anyway and told me he knew to ask me for help because I am Captain America’s best friend and anyone who is friends with Captain America has to be as nice and brave as him. Then he told me that he wasn’t afraid of heights anymore because if he was then he wouldn’t be able to fly like Captain America. After that, he just sort of clung to my arm and wouldn’t stop talking about airplanes. He wants to be a pilot.” 

Sam felt a lump in his throat. He opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. 

“Eventually I found his mom a couple hundred feet from the bodega, yelling for the kid like a banshee. After she finally scooped him up, she recognized me and said, verbatim, ‘hey, that’s that frowny white boy that Captain America hangs out with!’”

That made Sam laugh. Bucky grinning wolfishly, the bastard knew his impressions of other people were funny. 

“But… yeah. She thanked me, told me that her son loves Captain America and that he built his own cardboard shield and everything. When we were saying bye, the kid decided to tell me a ‘secret’ I couldn’t tell anyone until I saw Captain America again. Wanna know what he said?” 

Sam couldn’t manage much more than a nod. 

“He said that when he’s lonely and when the kids at school are mean to him, he pretends to be Captain America in his head, because Captain America always stands up to mean kids and has lots of friends. Whispered it right in my ear.”

Bucky finally made eye contact with Sam. 

Shakily, Sam exhaled. “Man, that story is probably bull–” 

“His name’s Thomas ,” Bucky said, emphasizing that the kid’s name was the same as Sam’s middle name, then he smirked, “And I got his mom’s phone number.” 

Sam shot him a glare. “Oh, of course you did, you flirt.”

Bucky’s head fell, and he shook it in exasperation and began to put away the medical supplies. After throwing the kit under the sink, he once again made eye contact with Sam, leaning his hip seriously on the counter. 

“I don’t think you should care what anyone else thinks when a kid like that already thinks the world of you, Sam.” 

A small smile settled on Sam’s face. “I guess I shouldn’t care, should I?” 

The song on Bucky’s phone started to fade out. 

 

…Sittin' on the dock of the bay…

Wastin' time…

 

Feeling a little lighter, Sam decided to take a jab at Bucky’s music. 

“Hold on, ain’t that Otis Redding? Man, what’s with all the soul up in here? Who you tryin’ to get with, Buck? I think that time in Wakanda finally caught up to you, Mr. White Panth–”

As if the universe could hear Sam Wilson starting to sound a little too triumphant, the playlist switched immediately to Glenn Miller’s Moonlight Serenade. His head snapped towards the phone and his jaw dropped. Bucky brought his fist up to cover his laughter. 

“It’s just my Liked Songs, Sam,” he explained, though his tone was thoroughly amused. 

“That’s not fair! You can’t go from Otis Redding to this white-chocolate-ass bullshit!” 

Bucky put one of his hands– well, the only one he currently had– to his chest with some sarcastic flair. “I’ll have you know, Cap, that white chocolate wasn’t even a thing until I was in my twenties,” he huffed, “Brush up on your history.” 

“Why would I do that when I have a walking primary source to bother?” 

Bucky shook his head, but there was still a smile on his lips. “One day I’ll be gone, and you’ll actually have to read a book.”

“Christ. You sound so old.” 

“Gee, I wonder why.” 

“You’re not as funny as you think you are.” 

---

After several more minutes of bickering, Bucky successfully guided Sam to the couch on account of Sam wanting to show Bucky The Iron Giant for the first time. It was a running joke (not necessarily between them, it was running more on Sam’s end) that the only movies Sam and Bucky could watch together were ones centered around robots or cyborgs. Mainly so Sam could crack jokes at Bucky’s expense. 

Bucky had ordered some late-night delivery Chinese food for him and Sam, insisting that Sam had to eat something after a mission to stay sane and also that he was nowhere near his 7,000 calorie-a-day quota (a fact that reminded Sam why taking the serum was not something he wanted), and was currently cooking a plain chicken breast for Alpine, who was dutifully exploring and sniffing every inch of the apartment. Once he set down a bowl for the ball of fluff, he opened the freezer and pulled out his… vibranium arm. 

“Buck…?” 

The super soldier grimaced. “I didn’t have any ice packs or even peas. Just… wrap this around you? It stays pretty cold.”

“... You’re so weird.” 

Bucky bent the elbow of his detached arm and laid it so the hand pressed against Sam’s side right and the shoulder was pushed up against the left. He groaned at the temperature change and relief he felt on the bruising under the carefully wrapped bandages. 

“You sure you’re gonna be okay without this all evening?” 

Bucky shrugged. “Ever since Ayo inadvertently showed me where the latch to take it off is, I’ve been trying to function without it. My therapist says I never came to terms with not having an arm and having it off is supposed to help. I disagree, but taking it off doesn’t mess up my equilibrium or anything, so why not.” 

“Oh. What about like… phantom pains?” 

Bucky hummed. “I get that even when the arm is there. Vibranium is great and all but I can only really feel pressure through the plating, not much else. The nerves though… they get a little shocked when I take it off, but doing it more often is supposed to help that too. Plus, Hydra’s arm was… invasive, so my spine still has issues with lugging around a left arm no matter what it's made from. You’re basically helping me out by taking a weight off my back for the night. Don’t worry about it.”

Sam processed the new but unsurprising information about his friend. 

“Well, I’m glad I could lend you a–” 

“Do not finish that sentence.”

---

Sam finished his beef and broccoli and got about 45 minutes into The Iron Giant before knocking out cold, vibranium arm still slung around his midsection and a super soldier’s thigh pressed against his own. 

When he woke up the next morning, he was in Bucky’s bed with the arm still snug to his side, its smooth surface no longer freezing but relaxingly cool. He sighed, a funny feeling arising in his chest as he thought about Bucky having to carry him carefully to the other room with one arm. He wondered what that might’ve looked like. 

Sam Wilson did a quick check-in with himself, something he tried to do every morning, you know, for mental health purposes and shit. But there were some things about his own actions he didn’t really understand. The subconscious trust he had with Bucky was overwhelming and newly realized. Had he just wanted someone to take care of him? To come home after a failed mission to someone who no matter what words or actions were exchanged would make him feel better? When did Bucky become that person?

Is Bucky that person?

Sam couldn’t yet answer those questions, but last night something in him knew the answers anyway. 

The battered but slowly healing Captain made his way to the living room, where there was still evidence that Bucky had indeed slept on the floor. But there was also evidence that the man had gone shopping, as Alpine was slurping up some actual cat food and Bucky himself was holding an allen wrench between his teeth and building the beginnings of a cat tower. 

“Mornin’” Bucky called, though it was muffled by the wrench’s occupation of his mouth. 

“G’mornin’,” Sam replied, “You said you had Thomas’ mom’s phone number?” 

“Oh, yeah, why?” 

“Mm, just thinking of sending the kid a video. To thank him for helping me out, I guess.” 

Bucky turned and looked over at Sam for a moment. One of those specific smiles pulled at his cheeks, an expression that Sam only really saw on his partner when he was truly content. He pulled the wrench out of his mouth and gestured toward the kitchen.

“Phone’s on the counter. Password’s 7038. Should be the most recent contact… knock yourself out.”

Sam nodded. Alpine weaved through his legs, bumping her head against his ankle as he went to grab Bucky’s phone. 

As he looked back at the man on the floor, who pointedly ignored the building instructions and used his only arm to hold up the half-built cat tower, Sam thought, This… this is alright .

Notes:

click here for a playlist i made of songs that reminded me of sam and bucky! its mostly old love songs or soul lol

"i love you, buddy" CHANGED LIVES this is a product of me going crazy!!! i know the fic is marked as completed but if i feel compelled i'll write another chapter because OMG NO DIVORCE ERA SAMBUCKYS WE WON SAM WILSON STANS WE WON (bucky stans pending as thunderbolts* continues to worry everyone...)

leave kudos and comments if you liked this! need that TLC from my fellow sambuckys i misses y'all sm

Notes:

there really isn't a single mountain high enough to keep me from any type of seafood boil ever + i've been craving crawfish for a straight week (pls help) so that's where this came from

also i've spilled boil on myself before so trust me Sarah is the real champion of this chapter (P.S. if you've never made a backyard seafood/crawfish boil, the pot is usually almost half my size, and I'm 5'4" if that grants you any perspective)

hopefully more chapters to come <3

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 1 of can't take my eyes off you