Chapter Text
SAM
“Where are you going?” asked Sam, quirking an eyebrow as he watched Bucky getting dressed, Bucky turning to him.
“Umm…going to work?” said Bucky, confused.
Bucky and Becca had been living in the city-state for about a month, and while Bucky had insisted that he and Becca should probably have their own apartment outside of the palace, it really was Becca’s apartment at this point. Bucky had ended up in Sam’s bed one way or another most, if not (if Sam was being honest) every night, whether someone found the guy falling asleep around the palace in strange places or just coming over to the room on his own. Sam was pretty sure it had become a joke around town that Bucky had his own apartment, like it was some mystical place no one had ever seen.
And Sam…enjoyed having Bucky around. Even if it was Bucky there, sleeping in his bed, exhausted, and Sam felt like Bucky slept better with Sam, which made Sam feel oddly proud despite Sam not necessarily doing anything besides being there.
“It’s raining,” said Sam, simply.
It didn’t rain often, but when it rained, it flooded. Which meant no one really did work on days like this. Flood days were filled with sleeping in, leftover food, and days relaxing. But Bucky just shrugged.
“Yeah, so?” asked Bucky, and these were the sorts of times where Sam saw the dissonance between what Sam knew to be true and what Bucky did.
“You…think you’ll be able to get to work?” asked Sam, trying to figure out how to explain something he’d never had to explain before, “Look outside.”
“I’ve gone to work in five feet of snow once before the city began clearing the roads, it can’t be worse than that,” said Bucky, walking over to the window, and…pausing.
Sam walked out of bed, joining Bucky at the window, seeing it pouring like an infinite waterfall all where the eye could see, the streets filled with low to the ground rapids.
“I mean…maybe I can try for it,” said Bucky, grimacing at the outside, putting up very little fight as Sam pulled him back over to the bed, flopping them both back down, “I did find it really strange that Redwing didn’t wake us up today.”
“Yeah, the birds tend to stay in their shelters instead of flying out on days like these,” said Sam, trying to get Bucky to stop feeling so fidgety and tense, laying him back down and putting some of his own weight on him just so Bucky didn’t even think about doing something stupid like building a makeshift raft or something to get to the smithy, “I didn’t used to like days like this when I was younger, because all it meant was more school, and I really didn’t appreciate school back then because I had trouble paying attention to one thing for too long and I was more of a kinesthetic and spatial learner than an auditory or linguistic learner. It took a while for anyone to understand that.”
Bucky’s body seemed to begrudgingly settling in, his hand aimlessly rubbing Sam’s back.
“I’m…not sure what any of that means,” said Bucky, and Sam could tell it hurt Bucky to admit that, “I…never really went to school. There wasn’t one in town. Becca and I only knew how to do math, reading, and writing because our parents knew it from work and thought it’d help them if we could deal with people as they worked or something. Everything else, I learned on my own. And it wasn’t as if Mom and Dad thought it was a waste of time to learn anything else, it was more that they didn’t think about it because they never learned anything else.”
“You’re telling me no one helped you learn languages?” asked Sam, and Bucky wobbled, conceding, “And all your random facts were just, what? You reading a book and kept the information?”
“Okay, so maybe I sought certain people out in order to talk to them to practice,” explained Bucky, smiling at some distant memories, “There was a couple who owned a bakery that spoke your tongue and I bought a lot of pastries leading up to going on this visit. But no one was telling me how grammar structure worked or anything. A lot of it was just I read a book, and if there was something I found interesting, I wrote it down in my journal. I have it somewhere, I keep it around in case someone tells me something interesting.”
Sam moved up so that he could see Bucky’s face.
“You have a book filled with facts?” asked Sam, amused, then frowned, “I’ve never told you an interesting fact?”
Bucky laughed.
“You kept distracting me. I could never remember to take it out. The journal does help me remember stuff when I write it down, though,” said Bucky, slowly moving Sam off of him, heading over to his satchel, pulling out a worn leatherbound journal and tossing it over to Sam, “I have a few of these. The older ones that are all filled up are back at the apartment with all the boxes Stevie sent over for Becca and I.”
Sam skimmed through the journal and he could just feel his heart aching. It was terrible handwriting, but Sam could tell Bucky tried so hard to write it so that he could read it and it was everything and anything. It was old family headache cures and architecture of his principality over the generations; it was knowledge about water tables and art theories; there were new and old trends in metalwork as well as how to bake specific cakes; there were fun facts about animals and historical misconceptions someone told him offhandedly. It was anything Bucky could soak up and Bucky doing his best with this.
And then there were the more recent notes; the notes on any story about the White Wolves of the Avalanches that he could find, anything on the mythos; intensely detailed records on the historical documents pertaining to Sam’s own family and line, myths about the Giant Falcons and the Western Wind, about where the differences lay in how burials occurred or when people began to disappear. Bucky had been on it, ever since Sam told him about what the Wolf had told him.
It had unsettled Bucky, rattled him more than anything Sam had seen, especially since after that day, he had been…falling asleep in strange places. Disappearing for huge gaps in the day, no one knowing where he was until someone spotted him a place he had no reason to be. Up in trees, down in holes he must have made himself, on top of buildings, in the middle of the desert or the forest once.
One night, deep into the night, after Sam noticed that Bucky wasn’t going to bed, Bucky had opened up.
“When I used to live with a Carnival, I used to work mostly for free,” Bucky had started, looking particularly uncomfortable being this vulnerable, “The man who ran the carnival saw me transform one night and told me that he was taking a big chunk of my cut of the money each town to keep his mouth shut about what was happening quite frequently to me back then. The unconscious turning. It had been…”
Bucky curled a little more into himself, wrapping his arms around his knees.
“Bucky, you don’t have to tell me if you’re not ready to yet,” Sam started, but Bucky had shaken his head, frown deepening.
“No, you should know. It’s just…I don’t know how you’d feel about me after…some of the…”
Bucky was doing anything but looking over at Sam. Sam placed his hand gently on Bucky’s arm, carefully, trying not to scare him.
“Hey. It’s okay,” said Sam, doing his best to be there, because sometimes that was all you could really be for a person.
Bucky nodded, still looking distressed.
“It was…right after Damnă Iulia had found out why I lost my arm, though, not that I could turn,” said Bucky, “She had withheld the money that Becca and I earned in the last town we were with her in and left us alone in the middle of the woods, taking all the supplies with her, explaining that it would be ‘bad for business if others found out she was working with someone like Bucky’. We needed the carnival job. We…really needed the carnival job.”
Sam wasn’t sure if he should be touching Bucky right now, even if it was just his arm. He was about to move away, but Bucky’s hand flung over, gripping Sam’s onto his arm. Bucky noticed what he did, backing off, paling.
“Sorry, I – ”
Sam instead moved where he was laying, turning his hand so that he could instead hold Bucky’s, giving Bucky’s hand a squeeze.
“You’re good,” said Sam, “We’re good. Please. Continue. Only if you want to, of course.”
And for the first time that entire discussion, Bucky smiled, only slightly, but Sam clung onto that moment as much as he held onto Bucky’s hand.
“We haven’t gotten to anything important yet, Sam,” said Bucky, wry, “You might want to wait to hold your judgment to the end…The owner, he…I was placed in a lot of situations that, looking back on it now, weren’t exactly things I would be okay with now…I was thirteen…”
And Bucky was shaking. Terrified to admit this. Unable to look Sam’s way. Sam squeezed Bucky’s hand, unsure of how to tell Bucky that that didn’t change how Sam felt in a way that would make Bucky believe it. Bucky seemed to relax, knowing that Sam wasn’t – Sam wasn’t even sure what Bucky assumed Sam would do. Jump off the bed? Tell Bucky to leave in the dark of the night? Eject him from the city-state, believing he was duped by some strange idea of purity? And maybe Sam would feel offended by that if Bucky hadn’t had the track record that he had in his life.
So, Sam didn’t shy away from Bucky. And Bucky felt comfortable enough to continue.
“I wouldn’t say I was okay with the situations then,” Bucky continued, still not looking Sam in the eye, “But also I didn’t completely understand the situations he forced me into at that Carnival, and the moment…the moment the owner had suggested something involving Becca was the tipping point for me. So, without thinking, going off on blind panic, I packed whatever Becca and I could hold and left in the middle of the night so that the owner wouldn’t notice us deserting. That winter was the one I learned how to turn into the wolf form on my own. It was the worst winter I ever went through.”
Bucky took a deep breath in. A deep breath out. And Sam tried to prepare himself for whatever Buck was going to tell him, because what he was going to say was going to be his worst winter, and that meant it was worse than the winter he lost his parents, his arm, and part of his agency.
“It was the coldest winter that Becca and I had ever gone through,” explained Bucky, “We had no shelter, we didn’t know how to hunt as we wandered the woods trying to find civilization, Becca almost died of hypothermia on several occasions, and we were both skin and bones by the time we hit some semblance of a town in spring. I was forced to figure it out. There was no other way to survive without it, and we barely survived. Because I was stupid and I let someone take advantage of me…”
“Hey. No. You were a kid,” said Sam, not wanting Bucky to think this was on him in the slightest, “That was not on you.”
Bucky looked at Sam for the first time in the entire conversation, and he looked lost, as if back there, back where he was back then.
“There are so many things I’ve done in life that I regret,” whispered Bucky, “I’m sure Becca never knew about why we left – I hope she doesn’t. Why Damnă Iulia left us in a lurch, why I was so tense around the owner. She was so young, Sam…I was so young. And I sometimes worry that Becca still resents me for that winter, somewhere deep down, whenever I think about how dire that winter had been. I resent myself for that winter, sometimes, but it was all worth it to get away from him, it had to be better than if we were to stay, and at least I learned how to be the wolf.”
“If there’s anything you don’t have to regret, it’s protecting yourself and your sister,” said Sam, and Bucky truly didn’t look like he knew what to do with that.
He looked so young in that instance. And that hurt a bit.
“I…” Bucky began, truly showing insecurity in his tone, “I feel like I might be regressing. I’m losing more time than usual. I haven’t lost this much time since before that winter and it’s…scaring me.”
Sam wanted to hug him. But he wasn’t sure if that was okay. And he fidgeted, staring at Bucky, and he could tell Bucky was probably taking this the wrong way, so he just blurted out, “Can I hug you?”
Bucky looked stunned.
“You want to hug me?” asked Bucky as if terrified to know the answer.
And Sam immediately pulled him into a hug. There were no more words that night besides assurances, holding onto each other until they fell asleep.
Sam put down the journal, giving Bucky a big hug, thinking about that night.
“Um. Sam?” asked Bucky, returning the hug, clearly not sure why this was happening.
“Let’s do something fun today,” said Sam, pulling Bucky towards the door, “We might as well. Can’t get a lot done on a flood day like this.”
“You sure? Aren’t you supposed to have one of your major transitioning meetings today?” asked Bucky.
Things hadn’t been exactly…relaxing for Sam either. Apparently, when you told people with zero checks and balances that you were going to implement a system that gave more power to others and limited the powers they had, people weren’t exactly eager to jump on board. Sam felt like he should have known that would be the general reaction to the suggestion of a democratically elected a legislative branch of the government that wouldn’t be limited to people of high ranking nor would there be constraints on who could vote dependent on landownership.
The last month had been filled with a lot of passive aggressive and aggressive aggressive digs at Sam. For being weak and indecisive; For being lazy and allowing others to do his job instead of accepting all the responsibilities once he became king soon; For allowing some random metalworker from another country to slink into his bed and whisper ideas into his head like poison, to being weak to his wiles.
And Sam knew it was all bullshit. It wasn’t actually a fair assessment of what was happening. Wanting to make a more balanced structure of government wasn’t weak. Choosing to take the time to get to know a person wasn’t indecisive. Wanting to be with Bucky wasn’t Sam being seduced by some foreign agent. But it was still very hard to hear people saying that to him on a daily basis, and worse when he found out that Bucky was getting some of the overflow of the aggression. That was really the last straw for Sam, calling a giant meeting with every single landowner and member of the aristocracy with in the area surrounding the city-state which Sam technically ruled over, channeling Tití as he calmly took down all of them and told them that this was what was happening, and they needed to stop acting like children.
While the transitional process got exponentially better after Sam pointed out how juvenile the entire group had been, it still wasn’t easy, especially since on top of all that drama and mess, Sam had to also plan his coronation with Rhodey.
Sam frowned.
“Yeah, but it will definitely have to be rescheduled now, no one is coming with this weather,” explained Sam, “No very complicated and migraine-inducing democratic transition this or try to find out about the Wolf that – let’s just be. Just for today. Have fun.”
Bucky smiled, allowing Sam to keep moving them over to the door.
“Okay, let’s have fun,” said Bucky.
*****
Sam sat on one of the kitchen islands, watching Bucky search around the kitchen for supplies. With the cooks and chefs stuck in their homes, it wasn’t as if they had anyone to make them food. Sam had suggested that they scrounge, see what leftovers were around like he usually did, but Bucky had ushered him onto the island, telling Sam he could make something.
“Seriously, Bucky, you don’t have to do this. I don’t need you to make me food,” said Sam, watching Bucky search through the cupboards, the pantry, the ice box, collecting polenta, salt, a camel cheese, thick strips of bacon, butter, a pot, a frying pan, sunflower oil.
“What, are you going to be making food yourself? Have you even made a dish before?” asked Bucky, snorting.
“I…could probably figure it out,” said Sam, wondering if he should learn how to make food at some point, maybe surprise Bucky someday.
“You do things for me every day,” said Bucky, oiling up the frying pan, placing the slices of bacon on there, “Let me do something nice for you. Let me take care of you. I don’t know how to make much, but know how to take whatever’s around and try to make it work. And bulz? You have what I need for bulz.”
The bacon cracked and sizzled, wafting through the air.
“What is bulz?” asked Sam, curious, watching Bucky flip the bacon by just moving the pan, Sam hopping off the island as he walked closer, watching Bucky pour water, polenta, and salt into the pot, placing it on the oven and waiting for it to boil, stirring constantly.
“My dad used to make it on easy mornings,” said Bucky, his eyes off in some distant memory, the polenta mix thickening as it boils, “I started making them whenever we could scrounge up funds for it. They’re these polenta balls. They’re usually filled with goat cheese, butter, sometimes bacon or ham, sometimes grilled, sometimes pan fried, sometimes baked in the oven. Usually some sour cream on the side.”
Bucky pulled out a plate and poured the polenta mixture on there.
“I was always taught to pan fry it,” said Bucky, moving his attention to the bacon, checking on its crispiness, turning off the stove, pulling out another plate and placing the bacon on there, “I could only find caravane, so hopefully that will work out. I think it will.”
Sam smiled.
“You’re making me a special breakfast?” asked Sam, not sure why he’s so giddy about it.
“You’re going to eat what I make whenever we finish an expensive request, whenever it’s Becca’s birthday, whenever something really good happens,” said Bucky, forming the polenta mixture into a fishcake shape in his hands, creating six and setting them aside, cutting the bacon up, “So, yeah. You’re getting a special breakfast.”
“I’ve never had someone make me a special breakfast,” said Sam, getting a very dubious look from Bucky who started to cut up the butter, placing some of the butter, the bacon, and the cheese in the middle of each of the polentas, “No, I mean, I know, I get it, people make me food, but no one’s like ‘Sam, I’m specifically making this breakfast for you and only you’. It’s very sweet of you.”
“I guess all your boyfriends and girlfriends would probably just have someone else make you fancy food or something?” asked Bucky, wetting his hands and shaping the polenta into balls.
“I wouldn’t say that,” said Sam, Bucky using the mix of sunflower oil and bacon griddle on the pan, placing the polenta balls onto there and moving them around as they cooked, “I, um…I honestly don’t date a lot. I never really felt like it and I was pretty busy with Heir Apparent catch up.”
Bucky looked over at Sam, a little surprised, blinking.
“But you’re stunning,” said Bucky, and Sam laughed.
“Look, if I don’t feel something for someone, I just…it doesn’t work, you know?” explained Sam, not really sure how to explain, Bucky turning off the stove, placing the bulz onto a plate, looking around and finding the sour cream, adding a dollop of it into a ramekin, “I need to feel something emotional first, I need a connection. I don’t know. I guess I’m weird.”
“No, that’s okay,” said Bucky, stepping close to Sam, “It’s not weird. Some people are fine with just sexual attraction alone; some need an emotional connection first. Some people never feel sexual attraction at all, and sometimes that’s all they’ll feel for someone. We’re all just people on different parts of a vast spectrum, and if you need an emotional connection before you can feel anything physically, well, that’s perfect for you then.”
Sam had never been so open about this before. Had never actually told someone. He wasn’t actually sure why he said anything to Bucky right now, he just felt so comfortable with the guy. And Sam…
Sam didn’t know he needed to hear that.
“Oh,” said Sam, trying not to sound as emotional as he was feeling right then, “Thank you. I – Thanks, Bucky.”
Bucky patted Sam’s hand softly, smile small.
“Always, Sam,” said Bucky, “Now, do you want some breakfast or what?”
*****
“Railing does not count as a place you can use,” said Bucky, holding onto a bookshelf before hopping onto an armchair.
“Anything that’s not the floor counts,” said Sam, smiling as he used his wings to glide down from the second story gracefully grabbing onto the railing of one of the spiral staircases.
Sam and Bucky were in the middle of the greatest game of the floor is lava the world had ever seen. Sam had brought Bucky to the library in the palace, a two-story assortment of books, spiral staircases, comfy armchairs and couchees with too many pillows, desks and long tables. It doubled as both Bucky’s favorite place in the palace as well as the best place to play the floor is lava. Sam remembered playing this game with Sarah and Gideon when they were goofing off before a teacher came back into the room and settled the kids down.
Sam realized, much to his amusement, that he definitely had the edge here with his wings, having fun watching Bucky struggle to get from a table to a couch to a couch to a pillow path Bucky created to the bookshelf onto another couch. And sure, it wasn’t as if his siblings could fly either, but there was a level of help with jumping higher and longer the wings gave to his siblings that Bucky obviously did not have.
“You’re such a cheater,” laughed Bucky, barely making it to the desk nearby.
“You’re just jealous you can’t glide places,” said Sam, gliding down to one of the couches below, turning to see Bucky barely getting to an armchair, off balance, falling down to the ground.
Sam raised his arms in victory, all smiles.
“Yes! I win,” said Sam.
“By cheating,” said Bucky, grinning on the ground.
“I keep telling you. You’re jealous,” Sam half-sang, walking over to Bucky and helping him up.
*****
They had sat down for some mint tea, deciding on a series of leftover treats and snacks rather than lunch. Tender, fluffy, fried sweet bread sfenj; aniseed and toasted sesame seed shortbread krichlate; coconut balls with a dash of vanilla bean and nutmeg shuku-shuku; deep-fried plantain chunks seasoned with hot peppers, salt, and ginger kelewele. They’d been having a great discussion on poets, comparing them by the century and by the country, how language and translation can impact the tone and meaning of a poem, when Bucky’s gaze turned to the corner of the dining room.
“What?” asked Sam, turning to see what he was looking at, and up above, atop one of the thousand-year-old statues, sat a very familiar looking cat, white and fluffy though a little rough around the edges, gazing down at Bucky, a bit bored, a bit nervous as she noticed she was spotted.
“There she is,” stage-whispered Bucky, as if the cat couldn’t hear that, “She keeps getting in these high up places. She can’t get too far with the rain, though, right? Do you think we could catch her?”
Sam thought about all the times, both when Sam was there and the ones Sam heard about, where Bucky had tried to catch the cat.
“I don’t know, Bucky, do you think this is a good idea?” asked Sam, thinking back to the shirtless incidents and knowing at least a good quarter of them were because of that damn cat.
Bucky was definitely going to head over to the cat, he just couldn’t resist that fucking cat, but the cat jumped down from the statue and onto the table, sprinting down, Bucky trying to catch it, only for the cat to tip over the now lukewarm teapot, the entirety of its contents spilling all over Bucky’s shirt. Bucky groaned, taking off the shirt and sprinting down the hall, yelling, “Not today! I’m going to catch you and love you and pamper you, damn it!”
Sam awkwardly stood up, running to catch up to Bucky. He went down the hall, the cat turning the corner, Bucky trying to turn as well only to accidentally move the rug and falling flat on his face. He sighed into the rug, as if he’d resigned himself to losing, and Sam…he didn’t like that. Sam jumped, kicking off the wall instead of turning the corner, gliding quickly down the hall towards the cat. Sam grabbed the dang thing, the cat…flopping in Sam’s arms, trying to deadweight Sam. Unfortunately for the cat, though, she wasn’t heavy enough for that to work.
Sam held up the cat over his head, calling out to Bucky, “I got her!”
Bucky gasped, looking up to see Sam’s victory and grinned.
*****
The cat, now dubbed Alpine by Bucky, sat in the corner with as many luxurious pillows as she wanted, a small cup of water, and a plate of salmon that she was chowing down on, brushed to full fluffiness. Bucky gazed at her with all the love in the world and Sam tried not to be jealous of a cat, because that would be really, really sad and Bucky could never suspect that Sam might be possibly jealous of a cat.
“You just going to stare at her all night?” asked Sam, putting down the collection of poetry he was reading, poking at Bucky.
“I’m just so happy she stayed,” said Bucky, radiating.
“Well, yeah. Bribe her with nice food, nice place to sit, a relaxing grooming, she’ll stay forever,” said Sam.
“Speaking of relaxing,” said Bucky, Sam feeling Bucky turn on his wing, “Have you had a relaxing day? You don’t get a lot of days off. I hope this was a good one.”
Sam gave Bucky a soft kiss.
“Of course I had a good day,” said Sam, “I spent the day goofing off with you.”
“Oh, that’s good,” said Bucky, absently petting the wing he was laying on, Sam making happy rumbly noises without meaning too, Bucky smiling, asking, “Wait…are you…?”
Sam froze. Bucky glanced from Sam to his wing. Bucky tried scratching them again. Sam, despite himself, made the happy rumbly sounds.
“Bucky,” said Sam, trying to play this cool, because he’d never really thought about this up until now, hoping he could just pass this off as “thank you, that was nice”, instead of the increasing feeling of “very great, yes please, more scratches like that”, but that clearly wasn’t working because Bucky’s eyes widened, trying again, garnering the same results.
“You…like that, don’t you?” asked Bucky, and Sam wasn’t sure if he could really gage Bucky’s tone, whether this was a good realization or a weird realization or possibly both because sometimes, things could be both.
And Sam was going to respond to that. He was going to apologize maybe or try to pretend nothing happened or something but his brain sort of short circuited when Bucky moved his fingers deeper into the feathers, brushing.
“Huh,” said Bucky, trying that again and Sam was not sure about this upper hand Bucky had just found, seeing some glint of mischief in Bucky’s eyes as he said, “Okay. Let’s end this day on a very relaxed note.”