Chapter Text
Bucky’s quiet on the ride back from their latest mission.
Sam knows what it means that he notices things like this now – how Bucky’s silences are different from each other, different meanings and reasons – but he can’t help it. Can’t help the way his eyes are always drawn toward Bucky, always seeking him out in every room or every stupid cargo plane they’re stuck on.
So he notices when Bucky’s too silent, okay, it’s just – Bucky’s gotten softer these days, more open to talking and laughing and celebrating after missions that end well. No casualties on either side, today – just a bunch of bad guys arrested and brought to justice. It’s the kind of mission that would usually have him lively and energized.
“Buck?” he asks.
The man in question is sitting across the cargo plane, distance between them. It’s unusual – Sam’s sat in his normal spot, and Bucky usually chooses to sit much closer to him these days than he did before. Sam likes it, likes the way Bucky’s willing to initiate that closeness, the way he does it on his own terms. So now he’s trying not to read anything into the fact that Bucky chose to sit as far away from him as possible as soon as they boarded the plane. Because it’s – Bucky’s still a guy who likes his personal space, still a guy with a host of consent issues that he’s working through at his own pace, and Sam respects the hell out of that. He tries to remember that, instead of giving into the aching loneliness that’s creeping in at their distance.
Bucky doesn’t respond. He’s got his arms wrapped around himself, head tucked down against them, body scrunched into as small of a position as he can be in, bulky superhero that he is. Sam’s never seen him curl in on himself this much.
“Bucky?” he tries again.
“’m fine,” Bucky mumbles against his arms.
“Right,” Sam drawls.
It’s – he doesn’t know, is the thing. Doesn’t know how much he’s supposed to push, how much he’s allowed to push. They’re not – Sam knows what he wants, and he thinks he knows what Bucky wants, but that’s – he thinks, he’s not sure, and so he’s not going to do anything to risk their newfound closeness, the way Bucky’s turning to him more and more for quiet moments of comfort and companionship.
He stares at Bucky. Tries to figure it out. Tries to make sense of the way the man’s curled up, the way his hands are rubbing up and down on his arms, the way he’s positioned as far as possible from the jump door and the cold air that seeps in around it. The way he’s –
“Are you cold?”
Bucky lifts his head. Glares at Sam for a sharp, sudden moment, and then –
Nods.
Sam thinks back to the three days they just spent in Alaska, in the fucking winter, Christ, when are bad guys going to be conveniently located? And sure, he’s cold, too – Sam’s a hot weather guy, through and through, between Louisiana and his time in the desert – but his suit is better insulated than Bucky’s tac gear and he hardly notices the chill except on his face and hands.
“Can I help?” Sam’s not really sure how, but if there’s something he can do, he’ll do it.
Bucky shakes his head. It’s, unfortunately, probably the truth and not just Bucky acting like he can suck it up and deal with it because he’s a stubborn idiot. They’re still in the air, somewhere over the continental U.S., on their way back to D.C. Sam knows they’ve got at least another hour in the trip, and no blankets or anything to warm Bucky with.
So he taps his com. “Hey, Torres?”
“Yeah, Cap?”
“Take us to NAS,” he instructs. “We’re going home for a bit.”
“Copy.”
They can debrief over video link – tomorrow. It might be winter but it’s sixty degrees in Delacroix – a whopping difference from Alaska.
They’d left from NAS in the first place, and Sam’s never been so glad for that, because his truck’s still there waiting for them. He’s got a blanket in the back, something he keeps back there in case of emergencies, mostly for the boys, but it’ll do for now. Bucky’s still got his arms around himself and he looks visibly miserable as he climbs into the truck.
“There’s a blanket in the backseat,” Sam tells him as he cranks the heat.
“You don’t gotta take care of me,” Bucky mumbles. He looks – almost embarrassed, like this is something that shouldn’t be happening. But Sam can see the way he relaxes, incrementally, when a blast of warm air hits him. The way his shoulders loosen when he drapes the blanket over himself.
How could Sam not want to take care of this man? This man who watches his six, helps pick up his nephews after school, believes in Sam – in his missions and goals as Captain America – more than anyone else in the world, before anyone else in the world. How could he not want to give Bucky back even a sliver of the comfort he gives Sam every day just by showing up and working through his shit so he can be Captain America’s partner?
Sam doesn’t dignify that with a response. Just shakes his head a little, turns the fan up in the car. He’ll sweat to death during the hour drive back to Sarah’s house, but it’s worth it for the way Bucky lets out a soft little sigh and settles against the seat like he’s finally starting to thaw out. For the undisguised relief on his face as he closes his eyes.
The hour drive back down to Delacroix passes in silence.
Sam doesn’t mind the silence, though. He’s always got things going around and around in his head – ways to be a better Captain America, service projects he can champion, ways to make the media cooperate with his vision. And Bucky, for all his mellowing out the last few months, is still a pretty silent guy a lot of the time.
About ten minutes into the drive, though, Sam glances over at him in the passenger seat. What he sees nearly takes his breath away.
Bucky’s got his head tipped back against the sleep, face slack with sleep, looking for all the world like he’s perfectly content just like that – wrapped up in Sam’s blanket with the heat blasting at him. And it’s – Sam’s heart lurches at the sight. He knows – God, does he know – that Bucky doesn’t like to sleep in moving vehicles, not when there are too many uncontrollable variables for him to feel safe. The only exception he’s ever witnessed was that time on the plane – when the blood loss made sleep too unavoidable.
It feels like trust and warmth and care and – Sam’s maybe a goner about this whole thing. About this man. He can’t imagine not falling in love with Bucky, with his hard-won smiles that light up his face and his easy jokes and the way he loves Sam’s family so wholeheartedly. With the way he takes care of Sam in the field without even being asked – and pretends like he doesn’t know what Sam’s talking about, if it’s brought up. With the way Sam’s been watching him heal and put back together pieces of himself that no one – least of all Bucky – ever thought he’d get back. And now, with Bucky asleep in his passenger seat, Sam thinks for the first time that Bucky might love him, too. Because this is just – there’s so much proof in this, this tiny little gesture, that Bucky trusts him all the way down to his soul.
So, if he maybe takes it easy on the gas, maybe glides around the worst of the potholes and keeps the speed as steady as he can, well. No one else has to know, do they?
Bucky stirs awake as Sam’s pulling into the driveway. Blinks sleep out of his eyes, shifts his head like he’s groggy and not sure where he is.
“Hey,” Sam says, voice low and soft. “Sleep okay?”
“I – yeah.” Bucky yawns. “Sorry, didn’t mean to leave you alone for the whole drive.”
“No big deal,” Sam replies. “Sarah said she’d have something ready for us, if you’re hungry.”
Bucky’s stomach growls in answer, and Sam can’t help but laugh at the way it makes him immediately flush pink.
“Yeah, yeah, I know that’s the real reason you come visit us,” Sam teases.
“Not my fault if your sister is my favorite Wilson sibling,” Bucky shoots back.
“As if,” Sam scoffs. “I’m sure that’s why you spend all your time with me.”
Bucky looks like he’s going to respond – opens his mouth, takes a breath – but then a light flush scatters across his cheeks and he closes his mouth, looks out the window of the truck. Like he’s trying not to look at Sam. And that just makes something in Sam’s stomach somersault, seeing the pink on his cheeks. He’s got butterflies, all of a sudden. It’s ridiculous, he’s a grown man, far too old to be crushing on someone like this, but it’s –
It’s Bucky. It’s peace and trust and friendship and companionship. Sam can’t help falling a little more in love with him every time Bucky gives him pieces of himself.
Bucky’s flush disappears as he stares out the window. “It’s cold out there.”
“Better than Alaska,” Sam observes.
“Ain’t that the truth.” Bucky snorts. Opens the door and slides out of the truck. They’re not parked that far from the house, but Bucky’s already shivering by the time they get their bags out of the back and lug them across the yard. But the house is warm inside, smells like jambalaya and home, and Sam’s shoulders relax with a tension he didn’t even notice he was carrying. Bucky, too, looks like he relaxes the moment he walks through the door. There’s a smile on his face before the door even closes behind them, and Sam’s heart skips a beat at how happy he looks to be here.
“Smells good,” Bucky says, eyes wide like he’s never had jambalaya before. And maybe he hasn’t, who knows what kind of weird-ass food they ate during the Great Depression, or the war rations, or whatever strange Brooklyn-bland food Bucky lived off back in the day. Sam’s sure he hasn’t experimented much with food since he came back, either, since he seems delightedly surprised every time Sarah presents him with a home-cooked meal.
They eat dinner with Sarah – the boys are both at friends’ houses for the night, but that doesn’t mean it’s quiet in the Wilson household. Sarah’s as exuberant as ever, asking about missions and Torres and Sam’s different PR stunts he’s working on right now. And she’s so quick, too – Sam can see the moment she figures out he brought Bucky home with him for a reason, not just a social visit. Watches the way she fills his bowl with thirds and insists it’s all going to go to waste if he doesn’t eat more. And when she meets Sam’s eyes across the table, and he flicks his gaze toward the thermostat, she just nods. Turns it up a bit when Bucky excuses himself to use the bathroom.
“He injured?” Sarah asks, once she comes back to the table.
“Nah.” Sam scrubs a hand over his face. The food and warmth and company are all making him sleepy, now that the adrenaline from his mission is fading away. “I think he’s just cold. We were in Alaska.”
“Brr.” Sarah shivers just hearing it. “But you’re fine?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.” And then Sam remembers – “Oh, he was – they kept him on ice, Hydra and the Russians and whoever else handled him over the years. Cryostasis between missions. That’s how he survived all those years.”
Sarah frowns. “That poor boy,” she says softly. “No one deserves to be that cold.”
“No,” Sam agrees.
Bucky comes back from the bathroom and declares himself absolutely stuffed and unable to eat another bite.
“But it was fantastic, Sarah, thank you,” he says so earnestly. “I hope you don’t mind if I crash on your couch, it’s a bit far to go back to D.C. tonight.”
“You know it’s an open invitation, Bucky.” Sarah reaches out, squeezes his shoulder. “You don’t even need to ask, hun, it’s always a yes. Now, you sit tight and I’ll go get some blankets.”
“No, no, I know where they are.” Bucky starts to rise, but a single look from Sarah pins him back in his seat. Sam just laughs. He’s never seen anyone cow Bucky as effectively as Sarah can.
“You’re never gonna win that fight,” he tells Bucky. Because the man has been trying, since day one, to out-polite Sarah, who would never dream of letting a guest lift a finger in her house.
“I know.” Bucky groans, covers his face with his hands. “You said something to her,” he adds from behind the cover of his hands. It’s a bit accusatory, but more of a complaint than anything. “You don’t need to make a fuss about it, I’m fine.”
“I didn’t need to say anything to her,” Sam counters. “She took one look at you and knew something was wrong. Just let her fuss, you’ll never hear the end of it if you don’t.”
Bucky sighs. But he follows Sarah out to the living room. Lets her pile blankets on top of him and turn the heat up. Lets her put more pillows on the couch than he really needs, and then thanks her for it with such an earnest, sweet smile that Sam’s heart skips a beat just looking at it. And then he settles down in his nest of blankets, a soft little smile still on his face, and closes his eyes like he’s going to fall asleep just like that. So Sam leaves him to it, and hopes that he manages to warm up with all those blankets piled on top of him.
Sam stirs awake at some ungodly hour of the night to a soft knock on his door.
“Whazzat?” he mumbles, eyes bleary as tries to peer at the door across the dark room. “Sarah?”
“It’s me,” comes Bucky’s voice from the other side of the door. Soft and unsure and so, so hesitant.
“Buck.” Sam scrubs a hand over his face, tries to rub the sleep from his eyes. “Come in, what’s up?”
There’s a little sliver of light coming in through the open curtains, just a tiny bit of moonlight that his eyes slowly adjust to. He can make out the shadow of Bucky as he opens the door and steps into the room. Sits up, rubs his eyes a little harder, tries to swallow past the immediate fear – is he okay? Did something happen?
“I can’t –” The words cut off, but Sam can hear the way Bucky’s teeth are chattering. Realization dawns, and he can’t help but wonder if Bucky’s been dreaming about it – about cryostasis and ice under his fingertips, on his eyelashes, on his –
“Get over here,” Sam says. He slides back, makes room, presses his back up against the wall so Bucky can climb into bed with him. Wonders how long Bucky sat downstairs trying to make this decision to ask Sam for what he needed.
Bucky hesitates. “I don’t – I want –”
And Sam waits, because Hydra tried their damnedest to burn those words out of him, and he can patient for as long as it takes for Bucky to get those words out.
“I want to be warm,” he says, finally. “But I don’t – I don’t want to be selfish.”
“Not being selfish,” Sam says, as gently as he can. “C’mere, Buck. Come get warm.”
Bucky stumbles forward, falls into bed with all the grace of an exhausted super soldier. He’s freezing, skin cold and clammy as he shoves his way under the blankets. Makes a noise in the back of his throat as Sam wraps his arms around Bucky’s middle, draws him closer.
“Oh,” Bucky whispers. “Oh, you’re so warm.” He drapes himself across Sam’s chest, tucks himself in against him, curls as close as he possibly can under the blankets. It’s like all his hesitation and fear disappears in the face of his need for warmth. He’s still shivering, still trembling as he situates himself, so Sam tugs the blanket up around his shoulders, tucks him in, lets him curl as close as he possibly can.
“Better?” he murmurs. Runs a hand up and down Bucky’s arm, trying to give him some warmth with the friction, because his skin is so cold to the touch.
“Better,” Bucky agrees.
They lie there in silence for a while, as Bucky slowly relaxes. As his skin heats up to a normal temperature, his trembling slows and then stops, and his teeth stop chattering. Until he’s gone boneless against Sam’s side, eyes barely open, face slack with oncoming sleep.
“Should go… back to the couch,” he mumbles. But his words are slurred, like he can’t quite get them out past the haze of relaxation and sleep he’s caught in.
“Stay,” Sam whispers. He can’t imagine saying anything else right now, not when it feels so damn good to have Bucky in his arms like this. Can’t imagine sleeping alone after being this close to him, not without loneliness ripping a hole in his dreams. “You’re warm now. Stay.”
“Warm,” Bucky agrees. It comes out more like a sigh. He nuzzles his head against Sam’s shoulder, like he’s not even aware of what he’s doing. It’s – he’s so close, they’re pressed together as tightly as they can be, and Sam’s heart is so full that he can scarcely breathe. Wants to – oh, there’s so much he wants to do. Wants to fall asleep like this, with Bucky in his arms, feeling so content that he never wants to move again. Wants to wake up like this, curled together, and see Bucky’s face first thing in the morning. Wants to press soft kisses to his forehead. He just – wants.
“Go back to sleep, sweetheart.” Can’t help the little term of endearment, it just slips out. But Bucky’s too far gone to notice, body slack against Sam’s, breathing deep and even and peaceful. And then it’s so easy for Sam to do the same, lulled back to sleep by the warmth of his best friend pressed against him and the peaceful cadence of his breathing.
In the morning, he wakes to see Bucky’s sleeping face. There’s no tension or stress on it, just peaceful relaxation. He looks so much younger like this, almost untouched by his long, long life or years of war. And it’s – Sam can’t help but wonder at the implications of it all. At the way he’s awake, shifting minutely in the bed, and Bucky is still asleep, as relaxed as Sam’s ever seen him.
There’s a sliver of sunlight across his cheeks and Sam’s heart feels so full of love that it might just burst. For Bucky, for what they’ve built together – a little oasis of just the two of them, sheltering each other from the outside world when it becomes too much. Because that’s what they do now. Bucky opens up, comes to Sam with problems he wouldn’t have even six months ago. And Sam – he’s relearning how to reach out, how to accept softness and care and worry from someone again.
It works, the two of them. Both of them still learning, still grappling with wounds from the past. But moving forward together, as best they know how.
“Now who’s staring,” Bucky mumbles without opening his eyes.
“Yeah, yeah, point your x-ray robot eyes somewhere else.” But Sam’s smiling too wide for there to be any heat in his words, just affection.
Bucky shifts a little, stretches his limbs. They’re still wrapped up together – Bucky’s head is on Sam’s chest, and he’s got one arm wrapped around Sam’s middle. Up until a moment ago, he’d had his head tipped back, angled so Sam could see his face. But now he’s absently rubbing his cheek against the soft cotton of Sam’s old t-shirt in a way that’s making Sam’s heart beat just a little faster at the casualness of his action. But, it’s not just him. Sam’s got both arms around Bucky, one hand idly rubbing up and down along his spine. They’re touching all over, legs still tangled together, as flush as they can be. No space between them.
Sam never wants to move again.
He thinks they might drift off again, just for a little while. When he opens his bleary eyes, he can just make out the alarm clock on his nightstand that tells him it’s going on ten.
“Buck,” he murmurs. Nudges him a little. “C’mon, we gotta get up.”
“No.” Bucky’s voice is muffled, still pressed against Sam’s chest. “Warm.”
“Don’t tell me you’re still cold.” Sam laughs, softly, because he’s definitely sweating under the blankets and Bucky’s warmth. “C’mon, it’s time to get up. We gotta debrief.”
Bucky groans. Lifts his head, just enough for Sam to make out his dreamy, unfocused gaze. And it’s – he can feel how relaxed Bucky still is. The way he’s still boneless against Sam’s side, even despite the way they’re still tangled together – maybe because of it, and isn’t that a thought? Maybe it’s because Bucky is still half-asleep, but even that’s a miracle. Bucky, who never lets himself be vulnerable around anyone, is sleep-mussed and tranquil in Sam’s house, in Sam’s bed, in Sam’s arms. Enough to want to go back to sleep. Enough to not pull away at the first moment of consciousness.
“Do we gotta?” Bucky whines. There’s just a hint of his old Brooklyn accent in the shape of his words. It’s something Sam’s heard a few times, over the last few months, but only when Bucky’s completely at ease – a rare feat for someone with so much trauma. And it’s that, more than anything, that makes him let his head fall back against his pillow.
“It could probably wait,” he admits. He’s absolutely incapable of denying Bucky even the slightest bit of comfort, not when he’s spent so much of his life denied it. Not when he clearly craves it so much, craves the closeness and the gentle touch of someone else’s hands on him.
“Oh. Good.” Bucky yawns. Lets his head drop down to Sam’s chest. Within moments, he drifts back off to sleep.
Sam can’t remember the last time he felt this at peace. Felt this much love and care for someone. Riley, his mind reminds him unhelpfully, and Sam knows – God, he knows – that he’ll probably never be fully over the way Riley’s memory sits like a rock in his chest some days, the way he still dreams about him falling, the way he remembers the first brush of lips against his in a darkened supply room, the way don’t ask don’t tell made his life hell.
But this is good. This is – Bucky’s in his arms, and Sam never thought he’d love like this again, but this is good. It’s crept up on him, but he thinks it’s better like this. Better to build the trust and certainty between them, until there’s no room for doubts.
Because he knows now, with absolute certainty, that this is how he wants to wake up every morning for the rest of his life. With Bucky sleeping peacefully in his arms, the weight of the world a distant concern, their scars unimportant and nearly forgotten.
Sam presses the softest kiss to the top of Bucky’s head. And Bucky doesn’t even stir with the movement, doesn’t rocket to awareness in the space of a heartbeat like he normally does when he falls asleep around someone. The trust is almost palpable, and Sam’s heart is so full of it, almost bursting with the need to express it. But it’s – he knows that Bucky isn’t quite ready yet. Still dealing with his traumas, still putting one foot in front of the other. Still doing the best he can under the worst of circumstances.
But Sam also knows the progress Bucky’s made. Has been watching with pride and admiration for months now, watching the slow reveal of the person Bucky is today – someone not quite the same as he was in 1941, but someone wholly unique and imperfect and incredible. Someone strong and loyal and disciplined. Someone filled to the brim with compassion and the drive to do better and the commitment to make the world a better place.
There’s no room for doubt anymore. Sam knows they’ll get there some day. He can feel it all the way down to his bones. So, he can be patient. Can let Bucky come to him in his own time, once he’s comfortable with the idea of it and the reality of it and the way it’ll change their relationship – for the better, really, but Sam knows it’s still a terrifying step to take. But he can be patient.
For Bucky, he can do anything.