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If you’d asked Sam Wilson last year whether he’d ever collaborate with the New Avengers, he would’ve laughed in your face.
At that point, Bucky was still sleeping on the couch after Sam found out through the news that his partner—the same partner who had passed up a spot on Sam’s team—was back in the field with none other than John Walker, along with a host of other vigilantes that Sam’s team, not to mention the government, had been tracking for years. He and Sam could hardly get through a dinner date without arguing about the politics and ethics of their respective gigs.
Eventually, they had come to an agreement to keep their work and home lives separate. Bucky agreed that the Avengers title should belong to Captain America, but he knew better than to say that to his teammates’ faces, and Sam knew better than to blame Bucky for higher-ups controlling his branding. And things were okay.
Well, not okay. Sam’s team was suing Valentina to smithereens to change her team’s name, and most of the New Avengers, Walker especially, beefed with him because of it. They beefed with Bucky, too, sometimes, for doing nothing to stop his partner’s lawsuit. But at home, things were okay, and that’s what mattered.
The thing is, Sam and Bucky weren’t home right now. Instead of having a cozy movie night as they’d planned, they had both spent the past two hours leading their respective people in minimizing the threat of a dimensional rift that had been ripped open in the Hudson River.
In spite of their efforts to avoid interaction between their two groups, in emergencies like this, it was a no-brainer. They were stronger united than divided.
Or at least, that’s what Bucky had said to pacify Walker’s whining complaints about the situation.
Now, after hours of fending off alien creatures straight out of the comic books Sam grew up on, the experts at S.W.O.R.D. had finally managed to remotely shut the rift, and everyone could go home. Sam scanned the ground from the air for the makeshift base their people had set up, tapping into his comms. “Everyone still with me?”
It was barely five seconds before Joaquin’s enthusiastic reply came in. “Present and accounted for, Cap!”
Shortly after came grumbles from the New Avengers. A flat, slavic-accented tone that was decidedly Yelena’s questioned, “Where else would we be?” at the same time that Walker snarked, “No, actually, we just got on a plane to Monaco.”
Cutting through the overlapping chatter was Bucky’s voice, rough from shouting. “My team’s all here, Cap. See you back at base.”
“Are they gonna want gold star stickers?” Sam couldn’t help from quipping back. “Ice cream?”
Bob’s voice chimed in from the base’s comm link to ask, “We have ice cream?” and Bucky groaned.
“They didn’t before, but they will now. Thanks a lot.”
Sam laughed, warm and loud as he maneuvered his way to the ground. “Anytime, grandpa.”
As soon as his feet touched the ground, he was moving towards the main tent. Inside, various tracking equipment lay haphazardly set up, and a handful of soldiers had begun to pack everything back into the vehicles they came in. They’d settled a few miles down the river from Manhattan, thankful that the rift was far away enough for them to contain it without too much property damage.
In the corner of the tent, several chairs had been unfolded. Bob sat in one, having never left the tent, opting to help out with any technical stuff he could rather than potentially unleash his less favorable side that Sam hadn’t yet had the pleasure of meeting. Joaquin had beaten Sam back to base and had already removed his wings in favor of curling up in the chair right next to Bob’s. Sam pretended not to notice.
He made his way onto one of the military aircrafts, gingerly removing his wing pack and packing it away in his duffel bag. He rolled his shoulders and stood, letting the tension slowly ease out of his body. But it wasn’t until he felt Bucky’s arm around him that he truly relaxed.
“Hey there, Buck.”
“Hey yourself, Cap.”
Sam spun around to face his partner, scanning Bucky for injuries. He reached out a couple fingers to trace a decent scrape on the side of the other man’s face, and his hand was quickly swatted away.
“It’ll heal.” Without the comms in between them, the exhaustion in Bucky’s voice was obvious.
Sam held his hands up in defense. “I know, Buck—”
“Then stop prodding it!” His partner was already moving away from him and towards the row of seats against the aircraft’s wall.
“I’m just saying,” Sam pressed (because sure, he knew better, but he was tired, too), “We’re already here, you might as well stop by medical.”
“Would you drop it?” Bucky had stopped halfway across the interior and pivoted to glare at Sam. The glare lost some of its effect due to the bags under his eyes, but Sam got the message nonetheless. If anything, the eyebags weakened his resolve further, knowing that his partner hadn’t been sleeping well the past few nights.
“Whatever you say, Robo-cop.”
Bucky rolled his eyes at the nickname, plopping down in his seat and beginning to buckle himself in just as the rest of the New Avengers barreled into the aircraft, Joaquin in tow. Sam refused to acknowledge the teeny tiny amount of joy that bubbled up for him, seeing his right hand man falling in so close with Bucky’s people. The rest of him wanted to drag Torres far, far away from these delinquents before they had a bad influence on the kid.
The group was laughing at some joke that Bob had just cracked, weapons and pieces of armor clanking onto the floor and the table in the center of the space. Sam didn’t miss the way Bucky winced at the commotion, head ducking down as he leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees.
Sam took the opportunity to buckle in next to Bucky while everyone else was distracted. “You good, man?”
His partner shrugged, not looking up. Walker made some cocky comment from across the room that had Alexei whooping and clapping him on the back. The sound made Bucky flinch.
Sam slowly reached for him, giving the other man time to pull away. He settled an arm across Bucky’s back. It was tense. “Your head hurting you?”
Although he was too stubborn to admit it, being known like this made Bucky relax just a fraction. He cleared his throat and mumbled, “Starting to, yeah.”
“You felt it coming on earlier?” It was a yes or no question.
Bucky fidgeted, flesh hand running over the grooves in his metal one. He didn’t answer, just sat there looking sheepish.
Migraines weren’t uncommon for Bucky. No amount of super soldier serum could cover up the brain damage he sustained from the electroshock treatments and the freezing and the unfreezing and the torture upon torture upon torture HYDRA put him through. He didn’t get them very often anymore, only after bad bouts of insomnia and stress or particularly jarring fights (in this case, both had come together in a sure-to-be-miserable matrimony), but he used to get them with enough frequency that Sam was unfazed in fielding them alongside him.
“I’m gonna be loud for a sec, alright?” Sam warned Bucky. “Wanna cover your ears real quick?”
The moment Bucky’s hands were clamped over his ears, Sam turned to the larger group. “Hey!” he hollered, immediately grabbing everyone’s attention. “Y’all are being too loud. We’re about to take off, so I need everybody buckled in their seats and keeping the volume low, understood?”
“Okay, dad,” Joaquin quipped, but moved to sit nonetheless. Sam knew those New Avengers were a bad influence on him. That being said, those same New Avengers joined him in the row across from Sam and Bucky.
After a few minutes of silence—save for the sounds of the aircraft being prepped—, Walker scoffed. “So what, we’re just gonna sit in total silence the whole way back to D.C.?”
Sam paused the soothing circles he was rubbing into his partner’s back. “I never said that, Walker, I just didn’t want y’all yelling the way you just were.”
Yelena tapped Walker’s arm and whispered in his ear. Sam assumed she was giving him the rundown, being the only member of the New Avengers that Bucky actually considered a friend outside of work and, therefore, the only one of them with any real insight into his personal issues.
Sam’s assumptions were confirmed when Walker pulled away and barked a laugh. Bucky flinched again. “A headache?” His head swiveled back to face Sam. “You expect us all to not talk because your boyfriend—your super soldier boyfriend—has a little headache?”
“Oh, okay, we’re doing it like that,” Sam muttered, before resuming the soothing circles on Bucky’s back and looking back up at Walker. “Even if we weren’t talking about debilitating migraines, which we are, mind you,” he began, tightening his hold on Bucky, “y’all know what he went through. So how am I having to explain to you that the amount of pain he’s in should not be a condition of your empathy?
He had everyone’s attention now, five pairs of eyes staring back at him. “Look, I know you’re not all huge fans of me, but I’m not talking as Captain America right now, I’m talking as Bucky’s partner, and if you cannot respect that as his teammates, then we’re gonna have a real problem.” Sam held Walker’s gaze. “Are we clear?”
Walker nodded, avoiding eye contact like a child who’d just been put in time-out. Yelena and Ava smirked on one side of him, while on the other side, Joaquin raised his hand to snap in appreciation before Bob caught the hand and lowered it, shaking his head and putting a finger to his lips.
Maybe they weren’t all bad influences.
Beneath his arm, Bucky shifted, shoving his face into Sam’s shoulder and breathing deeply. He’d stopped covering his ears after Sam had gotten everyone’s attention, and the current whisper conversations breaking out didn’t seem to be bothering him, thankfully. Sam lowered his voice, leaning in close. “Where we at, sweetheart?”
“Fine,” Bucky grunted, sounding the opposite. “Hasn’t really hit yet.”
“...But?”
Bucky sighed, a puff of air Sam felt through his shirt sleeve. “S’just a lot. Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize.” He went to comb his fingers through the roots of Bucky’s growing hair, but the other man stopped him, gently pushing his hand away. “Got it. Sorry.”
The corners of Bucky’s mouth twitched. “Don’t apologize.”
“You think you’re funny, huh, Barnes?” Sam shook his head, an easy smile spreading across his face.
He didn’t expect to be met with Bucky pulling away slightly, eyes half-lidded but obviously frowning. “Why’m’I Barnes?” When he didn’t immediately get a response, the frown began to morph into one of the man’s famously denied pouts. “I was just sweetheart, now I’m Barnes?” He spit his surname out like it was a curse word.
Sam fought the urge to fire back a teasing, “What happened to professionalism,” or a, “So dramatic,” because he knew just that would be enough to spook Bucky out of being vulnerable for the forseeable future. Instead, he chuckled and pulled Bucky back against his shoulder. “C’mere, sweetheart. Just try and get some shut-eye before we land.”
—
The rest of the flight back was fairly uneventful. It only took about an hour to get back to D.C., all of them planning to stay the night before the corporate debrief with government officials they were expected to attend in the morning.
Bucky had managed to doze off at some point. He looked beautiful this way, his furrowed brow smoothed out in an expression of peace. Sam was grateful he’d slept through the landing and taxiing, but was now left to figure out how he was gonna get Bucky into their ground transport to the hotel without waking him up.
His first thought was to lift him, but add in the metal arm and Bucky was pushing the limit of what Sam could feasibly carry across the tarmac. Just as he was about to crouch down and try anyway, Walker appeared at his side. “I can get him to the car,” he offered, messing with the straps of his armor. “If you’re okay with carrying the travel bags.”
Sam rose to face Walker, scanning the other guy’s face for any trace of malintent. He was met with a surprising display of humility.
Huh. John Walker felt bad.
Sam nodded. “Thanks, John.”
“Yeah,” Walker hefted Bucky into a bridal carry. “It just, you know, it seemed like he was maybe a bit too heavy for the average person to lift, so I figured—”
“God, Walker, all you gotta say is ‘you’re welcome.’ Just a simple ‘you’re welcome.’”
Despite their initial bickering, the trio made it to the large, sleek van without issue. Everyone else had already taken a seat, with Yelena and Ava sitting sideways in theirs and Alexei spread out across the entire back row. Joaquin and Bob were sat next to each other for the third time in one day, but Sam really didn’t need to make that his business. Or at least, he’d wait until Bucky was awake to gossip about it.
He knew his thoughts had jinxed them when, just after being strapped in between Sam and John in the middle row, Bucky stirred.
Sam watched as his partner cracked his eyes open, only to shut them against the bright city lights rushing by outside. He turned back into Sam, making a confused noise.
“We’re on our way to the hotel,” Sam calmly explained, squeezing Bucky’s shoulder to ground him. “It’s just us and the team.” No one here’s gonna hurt you.
It was clear that Bucky was in the thick of the migraine now, but Sam also knew it took a lot for Bucky to actually acknowledge his discomfort, so he gently asked, “How you doin’, my love?”
When Bucky replied by pressing his face deeper into Sam’s neck, the latter switched tactics. “You’re not in trouble, Buck, I promise. I just wanna help.” He thought back to their early days, when Bucky, mind clouded from pain, would beg Sam not to punish him, insisting that he would get better, that he’d do better.
Needless to say, Sam was grateful when Bucky shifted, face still hidden. “Not good,” he whispered, voice breaking. “Hurts.”
Sam could feel the other passengers’ eyes on them, but the stress of being observed in such an intimate state was outweighed by Bucky sniffling against him, breath quickening. “Hurts real bad, Sam.”
“I hear you, baby, I know it hurts.” Sam pulled Bucky closer, avoiding touching the other man’s head. His partner once expressed that the sensation made him feel constricted. Knowing the ways that scientists used to clamp the man down by his skull, Sam wasn’t surprised. “Deep breaths, alright? I got you, we’re almost there.”
It was a blessedly short ride to the hotel, and Bucky had gone quiet again by the time they arrived. This was always Sam’s least favorite part of his partner’s episodes—Bucky suffering in silence, shrinking into resignation at what he believed to be his penance.
The van door opened, the others clearing out and dispersing. Yelena, however, shifted closer to them, offering an arm. Sam nodded at her unspoken offer before lowering his head to speak softly to Bucky. “Still with me?”
The other man took a shuddering breath. “In your own time, my love,” Sam reassured. “We’re in no rush.”
Bucky took another breath, a bit steadier this time. “Mhm.”
“We’re gonna get you to bed now. Can you walk?”
Bucky grunted an unconvincing affirmative. “Okay. Can Yelena touch you?” Another grunt. “Alright, I’m gonna hold you up on this side. Can you let Yelena take your other arm?”
Slowly but surely, the three of them made it out of the van and into the building with all three of their duffels slung over Yelena’s shoulders—she insisted. In the elevator, Bucky temporarily deflated, returning to his hiding spot in Sam’s neck to avoid the fluorescents before the doors opened and they started moving again.
The beep of the key card was too loud for him, the heavy ka-chunk of the fancy door was too loud for him, and the sound of it shutting behind them was too loud for him, too. Bucky flinched each time. But the interior of the room was dark, save for the city and the moon seeping in through the large windows, and Sam felt him exhale with relief at the absence of light.
With Yelena’s help, they eased Bucky into bed. He was still in his gear, but Sam figured they could take it one step at a time. When Bucky seemed settled, Yelena gave his arm one last squeeze before straightening and mock-saluting Sam.
Sam echoed the motion. “Thank you,” he mouthed.
She just smiled, opening her mouth to respond before Bucky cut her off with a weak, “Thanks, Lena.”
Her smile widened as she girlishly fanned her face. “Such good manners!” Then, something in her seemed to loosen as she moved to hug Sam. The embrace was a bit stilted, both of them not used to friendly affection with the other.
“I’m glad he has you to come home to,” Yelena whispered in his ear. She pulled away and silently left the room.
Sam didn’t know what to do with that.
He was forced to table his processing for later when he heard a choked sound from behind him. He turned, perching on the edge of the bed just in time for Bucky to burst into tears.
“Oh, honey.”
Sam knew Bucky wasn’t a big crier. Not because he wasn’t sensitive—he was probably one of the most sensitive people Sam had ever met—, but because he’d spent most of his life having that sensitivity trained out of him. When he did cry, it was terrifyingly muted. Sam also knew that crying consistently made the migraines worse, meaning that if Bucky lost control enough to cry during one, it was because the poor guy had truly reached his limit.
“Please,” he whimpered. “Please make it stop, Sam, please.”
“Shh, I’m right here,” Sam soothed. “I’m right here, sweetheart. I wish I could.” He talked around the lump in his throat. “God, I wish I could.”
“Sam,” Bucky exhaled his name like it was that of a saint.
“I’m not goin’ nowhere, Buck.” He smoothed a hand back and forth across Bucky’s chest. “You just let me know when you’re ready and we’ll get you comfortable.”
They waited there a few more minutes, Bucky attempting to calm down with the breathing techniques he’d been getting better at using. Sam sat patiently until Bucky reached a hand up to tap his.
After his partner’s signal, Sam didn’t waste any time. He grabbed a set of sleep clothes for each of them, taking his time to remove Bucky’s gear and swapping it for cotton sweats and a t-shirt. He carefully entered the code to remove Bucky’s arm, setting it on the nightstand. The other man was putty in his hold, and once they were both changed, Sam lay down next to him, bypassing the rest of his night routine in favor of letting Bucky curl up against his chest, cheek over his heartbeat.
When Bucky groaned again, Sam pursed his lips. “Can I do anything?”
“Um…not sure.” Bucky gave a little shrug. “S’weird.”
“You oughtta know by now that I’m down with weird,” Sam countered. “Especially if it’ll make you feel better.”
Bucky seemed to have an internal debate with himself. Eventually, he nuzzled further into Sam’s shirt, voice hushed when he asked, “Tell me a story?”
And how could Sam say no, when Bucky so rarely asked for what he wanted?
“No problem. One story, comin’ right up.” He considered for a moment before starting. “Did I ever tell you how I broke my arm in middle school?”
“Mm-mm.”
“Alright, so there was this tree in my backyard growing up—actually, I think you know which one. The big one? Closest to the kitchen window? Anyway, me and Sarah used to try and compete, see who could climb it faster, but the problem was…”
As he told the story, he felt the tension gradually seep out of Bucky’s body. When his partner’s breathing finally evened out, Sam stared at the ceiling for a long time, sending up a prayer to whatever was out there. Thank you. Thank you.
Even after almost three years, Bucky Barnes’ trust was still the most precious thing Sam had ever been entrusted with. Maybe more precious than the shield.
He fell asleep to the rhythm of Bucky’s breathing, puffing steadily against his neck.
—
“You sure you’re good to go?”
Sam was adjusting his tie in the mirror. He’s not sure when a suit became part of his emergency travel bag. He misses a time when it wasn’t.
“For the hundredth time, I’m good.” In the reflection, he saw Bucky sidling up beside him, still rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. The other man was half-changed into his own suit, metal arm reattached and being slid into his dress shirt sleeve. “It’s just a debrief.”
“Debriefs hurt my brain, they’re so boring! I can only imagine what they do to all the malfunctioning circuits you got in there.”
Bucky huffed a laugh, resting his chin on Sam’s shoulder. “Well, I gotta say, this suit certainly isn’t hurting my brain.” He flicked his eyes up and down their reflection. “Is it new?”
“My lord, would you finish gettin’ into yours before you try to take mine off? We got places to be!” Sam lightly shoved Bucky off of him. “But it is, thanks for noticing.”
“Anytime!” Bucky replied as he crossed the room to grab his blazer. He returned seconds later, raking vibranium fingers through his steadily-growing hair and stifling a yawn with his flesh hand.
“I mean it, I’m worried about you,” Sam muttered, turning to brush a couple stray hairs out of Bucky’s face. “Glad you got some real sleep last night.”
His partner softened momentarily, a shy smile tugging at his lips. “I’ll be fine, Sam.” He pressed a kiss to Sam’s cheek, then straightened the man’s tie one more time. Something about Sam brought out in Bucky all the small gestures his dates had done for him back in the 40s. “Thanks for…just, thank you,” he adds quietly.
“Always,” Sam didn't hesitate to affirm. Bucky kissed him on the other cheek. “What was that one for?”
“That was for making nice with my coworkers.”
“Hey, wait a minute, I haven’t made nice with them, I just—”
“I don’t know, Sam, I was pretty out of it, but it sorta seemed like you made nice with them.” Bucky was already moving towards the door.
Sam followed. “I’m still suing your asses.”
“Never said you shouldn’t. Did I say you shouldn’t?” His partner blinked at him. “Because you absolutely should. Valentina belongs in prison.”
Sam walked through the door that Bucky was holding open for him, patting his pockets to make sure he had the key card. “Ugh, no work talk at home.”
“Technically, we’re not at home right now, we’re at work.” Bucky shut the door behind them. He didn’t flinch at the noise this time.
“We’re not at work until we’re in the goddamn van, Barnes.”
Bucky sped up to match Sam’s brisk pace down the carpeted hall. “If we’re not at work, then how come I’m Barnes?”
“Man, remember when you used to get upset with me for trying to call you Buck?” Sam chuckled as he pressed the “down” button for the elevator. “Wasn’t even that long ago, now look at you,” he ragged, but there was no malice behind it. Bucky seemed to recognize that, not dignifying it with a verbal response. Instead, he briefly took Sam’s hand in his and kissed their interlaced fingers.
Once they were in the elevator, Sam nudged Bucky’s shoulder with his. “When we’re home-home later, can we get a redo on that night in? You can’t go any longer without Indiana Jones in your life.”
Bucky sighed, pretending to seriously mull it over. “Throw in the Thai from down the street and my head ice pack thingy and you’ve got yourself a deal.”
The elevator doors dinged open. Before heading out to the van, Sam pulled Bucky in for a quick kiss on the temple.
“Whatever you want, Buck.”
They stepped out of the elevator and went to work.