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siancore · 4 years

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Title: The Prince and the Knight

Summary: Written for the Royalty AU square on my Sambucky Bingo card. Bucky is the Knight who finds out his lover and Prince, Sam, is to marry someone else to form an allegiance between kingdoms.

Warnings: Angst; Secret Relationship

Word Count: 1,808

Read on AO3

Though he had traveled by horseback for the better part of three days and was stiff and achy from the journey, the Knight climbed the stairs with urgency and ease. Being the ‘best friend’ of the Crown Prince afforded him access to that particular part of the citadel. Despite how lethargic he was, the Knight was driven forward by his need to see the Prince and to hear the words from his mouth.

The Knight had one hand pressed to the hilt of his sword, out of habit, while the other grasped the letter he had received a week ago whilst on border patrol. He felt his heart sink to his stomach as his traitorous brain flashed the words over and over again in his minds eye:

My Dearest,

I trust this finds you well.

I am sorry you are to find out this way, but it seems I am to be wed in the coming months.

She is from an honorable, noble family and will surely make a dutiful wife. She will celebrate the nineteenth anniversary of her birth this week. My father hopes for news of an heir by the harvest moon. I feel sick and I miss you.

Of course, I do not want this. I want you and only you. But we were sure that this day would come. As sure of the fact that the sun would rise and set.

I am sorry.

My heart aches for you.

Forgive me.

Yours forever,

The Knight took a deep breath as he reached the large wooden doors that led to the Prince’s sitting room. He knocked thrice and waited. His stomach was in knots. After a moment, a servant answered.

“I seek an audience with the Prince,” he said, and the boy nodded his head before letting him into the small room.

“Wait here, Sir,” he proffered, and the Knight did as he was instructed.

After a brief moment, the door to the Prince’s chambers opened, and the Knight was led inside.

“You’re excused,” said the Prince to his serving boy, who swiftly dipped his head and scurried away.

The Prince stood staring out of the window, with a cup in his hand. The light from the late afternoon sun shone through the glass and caressed his pretty features. The Knight’s breath hitched and his heart beat faster. It did not matter how many times his eyes fell upon the Prince, he was always left breathless.

He was wearing his ceremonial garb; his ceremonial sword hung at his left and his crown sat atop his head. He always looked regal, even when he and the Knight were still children who practised with wooden swords. Even when they were a little older, and would sneak away from their nursemaid and steal secret kisses from one another. Even when they were young men, curious and passionate, and fell into bed together. He always looked regal. And in the back of the Knight’s mind, he always knew that the day would come where his duty to his father’s kingdom would take priority over their love. Not only would he look regal, but he would have to be regal.

“My Prince,” the Knight greeted, causing him to finally turn and cast his gaze in his direction.

His beautiful brown eyes looked so sad as he offered a weak smile and said, “My Love.”

The Knight inched closer, steadying his breath, and willing himself not to cry.

“Is it true?” the Knight asked as he held up the crumpled letter. “You’re to marry this girl?”

His own voice sounded strange as he asked the question; he sounded tired and scared. He was tired and scared. He waited for his beloved to proffer a response as he tossed the letter aside. The Knight watched as the Prince sighed loudly and placed his cup down.

“Yes,” said the Prince, averting his gaze a moment. “My father is to announce it to the Court forthwith, as soon as the terms of the arrangement have been drawn up.”

The Knight felt his heart drop.

“I see,” he replied, his voice cracking as a lump formed in his throat. “And you’re going to do it? You’re going to make her your – your wife?”

The Prince met the Knight’s eyes, “My father says I have to.”

“I know,” he whispered, as he closed his eyes and let out a shaky breath.

The Prince stepped forward, and took hold of the Knight’s hands before saying, “But I don’t want to. I only want you.”

He reached his hand up and brushed the Knight’s long tresses away from his face.

“And I want you, too,” he replied, taking hold of the Prince’s hand and placing a soft kiss to his palm.

He wrapped his arms around the Prince’s waist, as the Prince draped his arms over his shoulders. They pressed their foreheads together and swayed gently. The Knight leaned back slightly and stared into his lover’s eyes. He could see the anguish therein and it pained him to his core.

“We could leave this place together,” said the Knight. “We could go and never come back.”

The Prince saw the sincerity in the Knight’s eyes and his heart soared. And just as swiftly as it floated, it sank, too. It sank at the realization that, while fleeing would mean they could be together, it also came with risks.

“My father would track us down,” the Prince said plaintively. “I would be reprimanded lightly. Lectured and scolded. Locked in my room. They would not be so lenient with you. You would be tried for treason, if they tried you at all. A ditch by the side of a road would most likely be their solution. I could not place you in harm’s way like that. I just could not. Even now I fear that we might be caught, and they might hurt you.”

“You are worth it,” said the Knight in earnest. “I would lay down my life for you. I would do anything for you, even if it means I have to give you up.”

Silence enveloped them a moment as the Knight’s words sunk in.

“Are you willing to give me up?” asked the Prince, the strain evident in his usually rich voice.

“I don’t want to,” said the Knight, tears brimming in his eyes. “But it seems I will have to. It was foolish of me to even suggest that we run away together when your people need you. They need a good man to be king. They need you.”

“And what about you?” asked the Prince. “What of your needs?”

“I need you to be safe and happy –”

“How am I to be happy without you?”

“Your honorable, dutiful wife won’t make you unhappy,” the Knight stated, with bitterness laced through his words; the Prince sighed.

“What will you do, Sir Knight, if I marry this girl?”

Silence passed between them a beat as their hearts cried out for one another amidst the hopelessness.

If you marry her, I will die, he mused. I will surely die because how can I live without you?

The Knight does not say that, however. He knows the Prince will be a loyal husband to his betrothed. He knows that what they have will come to an end once the Prince vows to honor his wife. He knows this, and it is tearing him apart, but he also knows that the kingdom needs a leader such as his beloved. A leader who places the wellbeing of his people above his own; a true statesman who is loyal, trustworthy, generous, and smart. Deep down, he hopes the Prince will decline his father’s wishes; deep down, he hopes his Prince will simply say, No. I will marry for love, and not as a political move.

He pushes his hopes aside and speaks, “If you marry her, I – I will continue to fight for your father’s army and stand by your side. I will serve you, as any knight should and would. I will watch her belly grow with your child, and when that child is born, I will swear my allegiance to them, too. I will watch you grow, and take your place on the throne, as it should be. I will watch you lead this land with diplomacy and strength. The strength we all need. And I will love you, as our sovereign ruler; as my Prince; as I have always loved you. If you marry her, I will love you still.”

The Prince let out a shaky breath and cupped the Knight’s face, before saying, “You shouldn’t – I do not want you to pine after me if I wed another. I do not want you to put your life on hold. You should take a wife of your own; your family lineage should not end with you because of me –”

“I already resigned myself to the fact I that my family name will die with me,” said the Knight with a small, plaintive smile. “I knew it would the day I fell in love with you. There is not one other soul out there that is tethered to mine like yours is. There is no other person in this world with whom I can see myself; no one I want to be with. You are it, my Sammy; my love. You are it for me.”

Tears began to fall from the Prince’s eyes as the Knight drew him nearer and pressed a soft kiss to his trembling lips. They inched apart ever so slightly, their breath warm on each other’s lips.

“I cannot do this,” said the Prince, barely audible in his vast chambers.

The Knight’s chest rose and fell as the air was forced from his lungs before he whispered, “I am sorry. I should not make this anymore difficult for you than it already is. I will go –”

“No,” said the Prince, a he grasped onto the Knight tightly. “I meant I cannot go through with the wedding. I cannot give you up. I refuse to give you up. I love you too much.”

The Knight could not hold back his smile, but he still worried what this meant for his Prince.

“What will you tell your father?” he asked, as he rubbed circles into the Prince’s back.

“I will tell him I will not marry someone as a matter of the state,” said the Prince. “I will marry as a matter of the heart, and my heart belongs not to the daughter of one of his allies, it belongs to you.”

“And if he protests?”

“Then we leave, together, you and I,” said the Prince. “And I will return to take the throne when it is my time, with you at my side as my consort; as my Knight; as my husband.”

#sambucky #sambucky fanfiction #sbbingo1 #sambucky bingo

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asgardianthot · 4 years

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Fear of heights (sambucky)

summary: Bucky’s afraid of heights. Sam falls for him (pun intended). That’s it nerds.

Inspired by this picture:

A/N: ok! Ok so! In the comics Bucky is afraid of heights/of jumping from heights because his dad died in a parachute demonstration. It’s discussed in an early comic with Steve and mentioned a few times later, BUT then there’s that one sambucky interaction and I couldn’t stop myself, the premise is too cute, especially in the whole enemies to friends to lovers paraphernalia. Have a good read:)

word count: 2183

- - - -

"That's a-” Bucky let out and stopped to clear his throat, staring down. “That’s a big drop."

He and Sam were patrolling on a rooftop, routine procedure when sent out by the people on top. Facing down from the top of the forty-five-story building, Barnes couldn’t get rid of the knot in his stomach, as if he could slip any second now and meet a certain, gory death.

"You scared of heights, Barnes?" Sam mocked him, one side of his mouth curling into a mean smirk.

"Course not."

Yet his gut twisting and turning at the sight of the forty-five floors between him and the concrete sidewalk told a different story. Barnes wanted a signal: his earpiece ringing with instructions leading him to a more secure location, a robbery, anything that could be used as an excuse to get off that rooftop. He couldn’t simply step back and let the patrolling to Sam. Couldn’t stand a little further from the edge where he wouldn’t have to face the height. He swallowed hard and focused on steadying his breaths.

"I'm scared of falls.” He corrected himself. “There's a...there's a difference."

Sam turned to face the man he worked with. There was clear panic in his eyes, yet very well concealed panic. He could see it deep behind his clear eyes, where most people wouldn’t even notice. Sam had learned to read Bucky like that, having spent so much time together. Right about then, it seemed like no one understood him like Barnes did, no matter how annoying Sam claimed the man was, no matter how long it had taken for them to get properly along.

They were great mission partners. That couldn’t be denied. They had comforted each other when the time needed it, and they didn’t hide their feelings like the grown men they were, yet when whatever the problem was over, they went back to pretending they never liked each other’s company. They were great partners, just not great roommates.

And Wilson was beginning to think there was a good reason for that, other than their personalities. There had to be a reason why Bucky exasperated him so much, like a toddler who pushes another because he has a crush and it isn’t reciprocated. The thought crossed his mind, and suddenly, the one in panic wasn’t just Bucky.

- - - -

“Barnes, you have to jump!” Wanda’s voice was overheard through the earcomms.

Wilson’s sight was shifted to the helicopter in the sky, where the Winter Soldier stood. He was also flying, himself, safely and with his wings, yet Bucky couldn’t say the same thing. He never had had any problems flying jets or any aviation vehicle. There was no reason for this time to be different. But still, when Wanda sent him life-saving instructions, there was no reply. The former soldier shouldn’t have been on the wheel directly, the helicopter was on autopilot. But now, it was going to blow up, no backing down from it.

The lack of response was chilling.

"Bucky?" Sam called through the earpiece, worried that he might not have heard the command.

However to that question, he replied immediately.

"Yeah. Right here." He said in a monotone.

So, Sam understood. He was afraid. Bucky couldn’t just take a leap, trusting his parachute would work. He couldn’t jump off a jet that was imminently going to explode. The pressure did not help his fear, one only Wilson knew about. He sighed, taking in the scenario.

"Alright listen, you gotta take that leap." He told Bucky, trying to sound as convincing but at the same time as calming as possible.

"Sure.” Barnes hesitated in that same tone. “Will do."

Wilson knew he was frozen.

"Barnes!" he yelled this time, with the pressing time shrinking his heart in his chest.

"Just give me a sec." Bucky finally spoke up.

Unfortunately, Wanda had to let him know that wasn’t an option. "Now!" she ordered.

Terror oozed through Sam’s pores, thinking of Barnes’ body turned to ashes in a burning, crashing helicopter. On the other hand, the Falcon was tasked with his own mission: if he didn’t get to the building in time, the team’s jobs would get a lot more difficult, and that was something Sam Wilson simply could not allow. If he could make everything right, he would.

There was also the sensitivity of his own personal feelings. He hated Barnes. No, he didn’t, but it is what he told himself whenever the soldier would flash a smile and immediately hide it by staring down, and Sam would tenderly and absolutely melt inside. He told himself that Barnes was annoying, he told Barnes that Barnes was annoying. There was no way he would get out of his way, the way of his own mission to save his ass.

He would not break the path of a mission for a crush. He would not break it for Barnes. Nevertheless, he knew that in the best scenario, Bucky would jump at the last second, and he would be filled with panic for the entire time. Naturally, his heart won that round.

Grunting loudly, he bent his wings and took a harsh turn with his body.

The veteran flew to the helicopter, where a frozen Bucky was standing on the open side. He was holding himself to the vehicle with a death grasp on the ceiling bar, unable to take the first step. It wasn’t necessary, once the winged figure swept him off his feet and flew up with him like a fairy tale damsel. If his soul hadn’t just left his body, or if he hadn’t been so relieved, he would have complained about it.

Instead, Bucky watched as the now distanced helicopter blew up in flames with a loud bang. His iced stare darted to Sam’s goggled eyes.

"Thanks." He said loudly, in order to be heard over the wind.

"Shut up." Sam snapped back.

He didn’t need to be nice for Bucky to appreciate the gesture. Feeling safe, he glanced down and shut his eyes at the horrifying sight of being over the clouds.

- - - -

"I was going to." Bucky blurted out when they both stepped into their floor at the tower.

Sam stopped in his tracks to face him. They were about to walk into their separate rooms in order to get out of their dirty uniforms when Barnes said it.

Sam kept any real comment to himself and simply brushed the interception aside. "Sure you were." He replied, unconvincingly.

"You didn't have to get out of your way." Barnes insisted.

"Well, I'm still a pararescue at heart."

"I had a parachute."

It hit Sam that he had ran out of excuses. Bucky Barnes would not have let his fear kill him in a gruesome explosion, and they both knew Sam had helped him out of niceness and not urgency. Therefore, feeling like Bucky was onto him for something, deciphering him when he wished to remain a mystery –something he never had been to Bucky–, Sam shrugged and clung to his last desperate attempt at dropping the subject.

"I'm more effective?" His words came out like a question and, defeated, he squinted, hoping Bucky wouldn’t see right through him.

Unfortunately, he did. Bucky held his gaze intertwined with Sam’s in an intense stareoff, until his doubts were clarified. Ever since he had started feeling warmness inside whenever he was around Wilson, he had wondered if it was reciprocated. Sam did seem to be the person who understood him best, who read him. Bucky thought to himself that if Sam had only saved him out of friendship, he wouldn’t have any issues admitting to it.

By the way Wilson failed to conceal the truth and cover it up with exaggerated annoyance, Bucky knew his suspicions were correct. It was mutual. He couldn’t help a smirk from appearing in his face, not only from happiness, but also amusement over watching Sam go above and beyond in order to pretend he didn’t like him.

Barnes nodded with the smug look still there. "You're running out of excuses."

Having delivered his sentence, he walked past Sam and headed to his room. Sam blinked a few too many times, and then cleared his throat, still thinking he could convince Bucky otherwise.

"Excuses for what?"

Bucky smiled, but Sam couldn’t see it. "Nothing." He let go, triumphantly.

"You weren't gonna jump!" Wilson despaired.

"Just forget I said anything." The former spy shook his head.

"I don't know what you're implying."

"I'm not implying anything."

"What? You think I'd let you die?"

Bucky turned on his heels and faced Sam. "I know you wouldn't.” He raised an eyebrow, taunting. “I'm sure of it."

Only then did Sam accept his reality, which hit him in the gut like a hard cold bullet. Bucky knew. Before he could open his mouth, the brunette walked out again. Sam’s frown was inerasable, and his inability to deny his feelings for Barnes made him more frustrated than the fact he had failed his mission for aiding him.

"Get off your high horse, Barnes!" He spat.

Bucky opened the door to his room, not giving Sam the chance to defend himself anymore. "Will do."

The veteran could hear the smirk coming from Barnes.

"I'm dead serious, man, don't start-"

He was interrupted by the man who was already inside his room, ready to abandon the conversation. "Okay, Samuel." He mocked melodically before shutting his door.

"I-“ Sam tried, but all that got out was air. “Don't-" At a loss of words, he faced down and ran a hand down his face. "Shit."

- - - -

Since they had been formerly together, things seemed easier. Missions were smoother, their feelings out in the open, no secrets being pushed down their torax… not to mention the cherishing, the warmth, the fondness. They could be together and not do anything and be perfectly content. They could shower together after a mission, and Sam would wash Bucky’s hair, and Bucky would hold Sam’s sore –not serum injected– muscles all night and kiss any bruise better.

Most importantly, they could talk. Anything that was going through their minds, was it either a mean joke or a revealing truth, they could trust each other to hear them out with an open heart.

Which was why, as they laid on the couch in each other’s arms, and Sam ran his hands through Bucky’s locks, the latter felt safe and contained enough to say what he wished.

"It's my dad." He spoke out of the blue.

Sam frowned, lifting his head from the cushions in order to get a good glance of his boyfriend’s face. "What?"

"Why I'm afraid.” Bucky explained. “My dad. He died in a parachute demonstration. I saw the whole thing."

As the information set in inside Wilson’s brain, he let his head fall back into the cushions. They didn’t need to stare at each other in order to see each other.

" 'Scared of falls'." Sam repeated what Bucky had told him that time on the roof.

He’d described his fear as a fear of falls, instead of a fear of heights. That made much more sense. Yet now, Sam knew the reason behind it, and his heart ached for the man in his arms. Bucky told him horrid things sometimes, a few terrorizing memories, but on one hand he was taking his time with sharing, and on the other, Sam didn’t push him. This also gave a whole other depth to why Bucky couldn’t jump out of that helicopter and why parachute falling petrified him.

So processing the new fact about his partner’s life, and thankful that he had trusted him enough to open up, Wilson held Barnes tighter. "Good thing I got you out of that helicopter, then." He joked to lighten the mood.

He felt Bucky’s muscles relaxing under his touch.

Nevertheless, the man rolled his eyes and returned the mocking. "My hero." He dragged out sarcastically.

"Yeah, I like that.” Sam took advantage of the word and spoke in a bragging, proud tone. “I saved you.” At the sound of Bucky scoffing, he shook his lightly. “I did! Like some knight in shiny armor."

"You mean knight in a bird costume."

"Funny.” Wilson lowered his voice; submerged in the silence that had settled, he waited a few more seconds before continuing with the subject. “How old were you?"

Bucky told him, without hearable sadness in his voice. There was no burden of truth, no need to come out clean, but instead this immersing safe space, cradled in Samuel’s arms, in which he was able to simply spill words and having them not ache. He could talk for hours without being interrupted nor annoying the other person, and vice versa.

When they unconsciously changed the topic of conversation, Sam yawned a few times before Bucky couldn’t hear his snappy comments anymore. He shut his eyes and enjoyed the rising and falling of his partner’s chest under his own head.

Falling in love had been easy with Sam. There wasn’t anything scary about falling with him.

#sambucky #sam wilson #bucky barnes #idiots to lovers #marvel fanfiction #ftws #the falcon and the winter soldier #sam/bucky #sam x bucky #sam wilson x bucky barnes #sambucky fanfic #fluff #fear of heights

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asgardianthot · 4 years

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A funeral chuckle (Sambucky AU) – Part 1

one / two / three

Summary: After the loss of a family member, Sam Wilson returns to his hometown, where an old crush awaits.

A/N: We keep tagging 'Sam Wilson is a good bro' but do we ever stop and wonder if Sam Wilson NEEDS a good bro? Wonder no more. Also, important note at the end.

Words: 3621

Warnings: grief, angst, closeted gay characters

Sam awaited for good news. Anything. There is something very cliché about sitting on your childhood bed, which every film director ever has had their take on; it is a place to reflect on your life, to question every decision you have made since you moved out, to long for lost memories of a simpler time, to feel small. That was certainly the case. Sam felt small. He used to believe the house wasn't big enough for both his and his father's ego, which was why the latter always occupied the bigger presence, but today, with his father gone, Sam stepped in as old and as successful as that room had ever seen him and still he felt smaller than ever.

Sitting on the bed, he fixed the hems of his jacket while waiting for good news. The tiniest information would do the trick. Even going online and finding out a dog had been rescued and adopted would be enough. Yet when he unlocked his phone, all that he found was grief and lament.

Messages including the phrases "my condolences", "your father was a great man", and "I am sorry for your loss" plagued his direct messages on every social media app. He couldn't get himself to reply to all of them. Most were just formalities, not truly heartfelt, so why should he dignify each and every single one of them with a response? Still, Sam Wilson was too polite not to, at least, stress about it.

Suddenly, a knock on his door made him stand up, and made the echo of distant voices hearable again.

"It's Steve." The man said from the other end of the door, "Can I come in?"

Sam opened the door instead, and welcomed his childhood friend with a tired expression.

"Hey." He made an effort to withstand a grateful grin.

"Hey, bud." The blonde dragged the words for as long as he hugged Sam, "How you holding up?"

"Good." He nodded, "Good."

Of course, they both knew there was an 'all things considered' hidden at the end of that. Steve gave him one last pat on the shoulder before they both stepped inside.

"Listen, take your time." Steve tried to appease him, "I just came to let you know everything’s ready. I think the entire town’s here already.”

Sam nodded again. Steve had showed up like an angel from heaven the second Paul Wilson died. He was Sam's closest friend and the only friend he kept from his hometown. Even though Steve had built a life just a few blocks away from the Wilson's, while Sam moved to Washington DC as soon as he graduated high school, they met as much as their distant living situations allowed them, and remained in touch on, at least, a monthly basis. He was like a son to Sam’s mother, and so naturally, he stepped into the grieving period and saved the day.

"Where's mom?" Sam asked.

"Downstairs. Bossing the caterers." Rogers replied as if they both were expecting that sort of behavior.

Disappointed but not surprised was a perfect way of describing Sam. He exhaled a tired scoff, thinking ‘that sounds like her’, for Darlene Wilson could be more than bossy; especially when it came to the art of culinary. But most importantly, she wanted to take care of things, even when she needed to. She would have cooked everything herself if Steve had allowed it. The latter had done ninety-nine percent of the work while Sam traveled from DC to his hometown, which meant handling the entire funeral, including the service, the catering, and all the energy-draining tasks.

"Thank you. For taking care of everything.” Sam said with honesty, and sounding as if he feared he could never repay his best friend, “I don't think I've thanked you properly."

However, the blonde shook his head, humbly.

"Don't worry about it, pal. That's why you got me.” He placed a hand on Sam’s shoulder, “All you gotta do is grieve and say hi to everyone. Leave the rest to me."

"Thanks." Sam took a deep breath, "I'm ready. Let's go."

As soon as the pair reached the bottom of the stairs, they noticed the amount of guests, all there to lament the death and celebrate the life of Minister Wilson. By how populated the house was, and how small the actual population of the town, one would think Steve was right when joking about the entire town attending. Hopefully, it didn’t take long to find the woman among the sea of tuxes and black dresses.

"Hi, mama." Sam approached her with a warm hug.

Darlene reciprocated tightly, then stepped back to hold her son’s face on her hands.

"Oh, my sweet boy.” She frowned with pity. “How'd you sleep?”

Unfortunately, she didn’t allow Sam to answer the question, for she was instantly distracted by a waiter carrying a tray of appetizers. Her loving expression quickly turned into one of extreme disapproval, probably judging every choice made by the people Steve had hired.

“No, that can't be right." The woman began.

"Mom." Sam glared, trying to stop her from going frantic.

"It's fine." Rogers backed Sam, using a tone that would hopefully tranquilize Mrs. Wilson.

Yet her eyes followed the waiter with concern, "No, they-"

"How 'bout we let them do their job?” Sam insisted, less lovingly now and more annoyed, “You know, cater? It's what we paid them to do."

"People are gonna think my food is that bad!" she protested.

Sam rolled his eyes, "You're a widow, no one cares about your food."

Steve stepped in as quickly as possible, in an attempt to cover-up his friend’s rudeness. If it hadn’t been for him, Darlene would have probably showed herself offended.

"He meant everyone knows your cooking is amazing.” He tilted his head to the side with a kind smile, “No one judges you for not doing the work yourself."

Eventually, the woman had to agree and stop worrying. She was merely freaking out as her way of grieving in such circumstances, after all, considering how many people expected things from the Minister’s widow. Allowing herself to leave the work to her boys, she placed a hand on her chest and nodded.

"Family's waiting to see you, Samuel." She said before moving to another group of people who wished to talk to her, although her expression remained rather distressed.

Sam did as told, in order to not upset his mother any further. He barely ever went back home. Usually, his parents flew to DC whenever they wanted to meet up, and so, the man would avoid every single person he grew up with –except for Steve and his close family– for a large amount of years, successfully.

He forced himself to receive a few family members’ condolences, plus engaging in small talk about his job, his life in the city and his lack of wife or girlfriend. When the townspeople began approaching him with their devoted speeches about Paul’s work at the local church and their religious beliefs on the dead man’s soul, Samuel had to escape.

He found his friend rather desperately, and placed a hand on his back to get his attention.

"What can I do?" he asked Steve when the latter turned to him.

"I have everything covered, don't worry." The blonde thought he had to calm Sam down.

Yet Sam knew for a fact that Steve had placed at least one person to do each task, almost professionally so. He had made sure to pay for the flowers’ people, gotten one of his friends to supervise them, sent his mom Sarah to check up on Darlene Wilson every ten minutes, etcetera. The service at the Wilson’s house was going according to plan like clockwork, and Sam was very much sure of it.

He just wanted to be busy. He wanted to escape the pitiful looks and the condescending words and the shoulder pats. He needed to get away, have something to focus on.

"No, I know, but what can I do?" he insisted.

Fortunately, Steve got the message. He nodded and thought for a second.

"Maybe help out in the kitchen?"

“Thanks.” Sam mumbled before heading for the kitchen.

Once in there, he saw the place practically deserted. A waiter walked out as soon as Sam stepped a foot inside, carrying a big tray of poured drinks, and left the room for one other person; he had his back to Sam, focused on the running water as he did the dishes, and wore tux pants along with a white dress shirt.

"Need a hand?" Sam offered to the man who was clearly a guest and not a part of the catering service, assuming by his clothing.

When the appellee turned around, it seemed like his chest heaved a painful breath that he didn’t allow himself to take. Sam, on his part, felt like all blood left his head. His heart skipped a beat as he processed the fact that the man in front of him was no other than his childhood crush, James Buchanan Barnes. No matter how obvious it had seemed to Samuel that he would be seeing old classmates and neighbors, he had absolutely blocked the existence of Bucky.

Perhaps because it reminded him too much of a time when he concealed his true identity from everyone; being a boy who’s attracted to boys in a small, conservative and mostly religious town was already hard, but being the minister’s son on top of that had always forced Sam to remain in the closet. That meant keeping all of his feelings for Bucky locked inside, especially around the crush himself. Unfortunately, both being Steve Rogers’ best friend never made it easy.

"Hey.” Bucky smiled minimally as he placed a dripping dish on the drying station, “Steve put me on dishes duty."

Sam nodded and approached him, still preferring to offer his help and stay in the kitchen with him than going back outside to the sea of chaos. So he grabbed a cloth from the top counter and began drying the wet dishes with it in order to make space for more plates and cups.

"James." He greeted the brunette, choosing to ignore the nickname Bucky, for it probably was just something left behind in his childhood, “Haven't seen you since High School."

"Yeah, I guess.” Bucky smiled, still focusing on his task, “So how've you been? I mean... I'm sorry. Sorry for your loss."

The immediate regret and embarrassment coming from Bucky after messing up his condolences and their reunion so royally made Sam smile.

"Thank you." He said in a tone that eased Bucky’s guilt and told him not to worry about it.

Still, he let out an awkward laugh, "I never know what to say in these things." He admitted.

The last sentence made a lot of sense to Samuel, not only because he himself didn’t know what to say about his father’s death –not even what to tell his own self–, but because he remembered that James’ father had died when he was only four years old. In fact, when Sam first met Bucky, the latter acted like he had never even had a dad. So it was only expected that Bucky felt weird about that kind of loss.

"I feel you.” Sam sighed, “All these people that haven't talked to me in years are... offering their help, their phone numbers, a shoulder to cry on. I don't know them, why would they ask me to stay in their house?"

Bucky cracked a chuckle, which was too joyful for the occasion, even coming from him.

“Small town brand.” He mocked the alleged grieving neighbors, “Everyone wants to cook you their best casserole."

Sam raised his eyebrows in agreement before engaging in a proper conversation, "You still live here?"

Although he felt the question sounded mean, like he was judging Bucky, he couldn’t really take it back or it would sound condescending (“I didn’t mean it like that, it’s fine if you still live in this shitty town.”) and that would be even worse.

"Yep. Well, I was in New York, but I came back last year. Moved into an apartment downtown... temporary roommate situation, and now I can't seem to move out.” James replied easily, as if he had prepared his ‘seeing your old crush after a decade’ speech with anticipation, “Where you at, these days?"

"DC. I work at Veteran's Affairs."

Barnes was about to ask more about that, having heard of Sam’s double tours in Afghanistan and desperately wanting to hear about his heroic job there, but was interrupted by Steve’s loud presence.

"I called it.” The blonde said as he approached his two best friends, “This place is turning into a high school reunion."

Both turned to face him, and suddenly their gut instinct of when they had to pretend not to be attracted to each other came back. They both checked to see if they were standing too close, or gazing into each other’s eyes, and put on an uninterested face for Rogers. Apparently, the body doesn’t forget.

"Who else came?" Sam asked out of impulse, for he didn’t truly care.

"Half of our senior class." Steve replied with a tone of disbelief and disappointment.

Bucky frowned, "What do they think this is, a casual gathering?"

Steve shook his head, the disgust towards insensitive townsfolk hitting too close to home, for the Wilsons had always been his family, and he despised whoever took the opportunity of Paul’s death to make an appearance. Samuel, however, wasn’t surprised, and had prepared himself for something like that; that didn’t mean he didn’t deeply appreciate Bucky standing up for the Wilson family. In fact, it brought a familiar flutter to Sam’s stomach.

"Anyway, Wanda's looking for you, Bucky." Steve informed the man.

As he heard the nickname, Sam felt bad for having called him James. It probably came off as distant, when he just wanted to be respectful and mature.

The man in question turned off the faucet and dried his hands on his black tux pants, before giving Sam a smile on his way out. The name Wanda echoed inside Sam’s brain; he wondered if she was his girlfriend, or maybe even his wife. As far as he could remember, Bucky never showed any romantic nor sexual interest towards women at all, but he also took in consideration that too many years had passed. He couldn’t pretend to actually know the man just because of what they shared during their teenage years. He could be an entirely different person for that matter.

As Bucky made his way to the front door, he saw Wanda standing outside through the side window. He opened up, making her smile exaggeratedly.

"I'm sorry, I locked myself out again." She cringed, hoping not to upset Bucky.

"You really need to stop losing your keys.” He said without much amusement.

"I know, I’m the worst roommate ever, I’m lucky you’re too lazy to move out.” The young woman recited the words she knew by heart, since Bucky enjoyed repeating them over and over again, “The keys?”

He sighed, reached for his back pocket, and handed the item to her, reluctantly.

“What time are you coming home?” Wanda asked while she safe-kept them inside her purse.

Bucky turned back to glance at the sea of guests.

“I don’t know, just leave them under the doormat.” He faced her again.

Wanda felt a little sad for his roommate, because he was helping out at some funeral, and that couldn’t be the most fun activity, but it also meant he probably wasn’t a stranger there. so, she switched to a kinder tone.

“Well, I’m ordering Chinese for two, you can reheat it whenever you get back. “ She offered with a small grin, earning a grateful nod from the man, “Can I ask who died?”

"Sam's dad.” He replied, only to raise the question ‘who’s Sam’ in Wanda’s face, “Just a high school classmate. Steve's best friend."

"I thought you were Steve's best friend.” She narrowed her eyes, but quickly opened them wide when she came to an impactful realization, “Oh my God, is it Sam, the guy you made out with?"

Bucky rolled his eyes, "Yeah, a billion years ago, just drop it."

"Okay.” She obliged with an amused frown, “Just don’t hit on a grieving man.”

“Bye, Wanda.” He shut the door on her face.

At the church, the attending townsfolk filled up every space inside. A large amount of black dresses and tuxes could be seen at the back of the venue, standing because they ran out of seats. As the priest recited his planned words on the wonderful man Paul Wilson had been, people nodded in agreement, with respect and enthusiasm. Some held worn tissues to their faces, drying practically unnoticeable tears in an attempt to never be seen not crying. Darlene Wilson allowed herself to tear up every other minute, but mostly remained calm and satisfied with the service.

But the pain in Sam’s chest was unbearable. He knew his mother wanted him to weep. She wanted him to be a good, sensitive man like his father taught him. But Sam always felt like he had to toughen up in front of Paul, as a way of overcompensating for his romantic attraction. It was a maneuver that made absolutely no sense, but it was wired onto his brain, therefore, he was having a hard time opening up his heart.

“Paul was, first and foremost, a father.” The priest continued with his praising words, “He was a loving parent to Samuel, and he was a father to us all.”

That was when Sam’s bottled up feelings came to a halt. His breathing became more hectic and his chest burned hotter.

“He loved each and every single one of us, and cared for our problems more than he cared for himself. Whether it be religious guidance, life advice or a supportive shoulder to cry on, we could always count on Paul. He didn’t judge, he didn’t punish, but instead he was a listener.”

Perhaps it was plain paranoia, but Samuel swore he could feel all hundreds of eyes burning a hole on the back of his head. He had ceased to even stare at the priest, and resigned to look at a random spot on the floor, fidgeting with his fingers and working on his breathing.

“He always made sure we knew he loved us unconditionally, and I believe he left us a very important legacy. Paul might be gone, but we must honor his life and what he stood for: we must do the best we can, each day, to be more caring. More supportive, more empathic, and maybe the hardest thing to do, we must be honest with out loved ones. That is what Paul Wilson believed in… compassion and honesty can heal a heart. And a healed heart can heal the world.”

Sam couldn’t hold himself in place. His body was running at four hundred percent. He stood up from his seat at the front and walked out, trying not to do a scene. He opened up the gates minimally, escaped through the creak and as soon as he shut them back, leaving the funeral behind, he allowed himself to freak out.

He had become overwhelmed, more than he prepared for, and didn’t feel like he could go back inside. He didn’t want to be at his father’s funeral, he realized. He wasn’t ready to accept his grief. As he paced around in circles, he took big breaths and slowly came down from his hectic state.

“Are you okay?” he heard.

Sam hadn’t even noticed that Bucky had walked outside as well. He took a deep breath and sat at the bottom of the stairs. He let his head rest on his palms and nodded into them to not worry Bucky.

“You don’t look okay.” Bucky said with a hint of pity, before sitting down next to the dead man’s son, “But… that’s how you’re supposed to look, I guess. Not okay.”

Sam raised his gaze and directed it to Bucky’s dressing shoes.

“I’m supposed to look like I’m mourning, then why does it feel like I’m not?”

After a long second of silence, Bucky shrugged, “Maybe you’re not ready to mourn yet.”

The statement settled extremely well on Sam’s head. It made sense. He didn’t want to let go just yet. He took another profound and painful breath before relaxing his muscles.

“I just want to get the hell away from this shit-show.” Sam spoke with very aggressive words, but his voice was soft and small.

“Don’t you have to get back?” Bucky asked, anticipating the sadness he would feel for Sam as soon as he walked back inside.

Wilson shut his eyes and ran a hand down his face.

“No one expects me to be there, that’s just something my mama tells me to make me feel special.”

Bucky felt a sparkle of hope and joy at the sound of that, for even the smallest hint of a joke, or self-deprecating humor, meant so much when it peaked through pain.

He couldn’t help but smile big, “In that case, mama’s boy, you wanna get away from this?”

For the first time during that entire interaction, Samuel locked eyes with the brunette. He wanted to scream ‘yes’ immediately, but he felt like, as the deceased person’s son, he shouldn’t show himself too excited to run away.

“I guess I could eat.” He nodded with a half-smile.

“I know just the right place.” Bucky gloated as he stood up and offered Sam a hand, “Hope you like hot coco.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

Important: This is an AU. In no way, shape or form would I want to erase the original background story given to Sam Wilson in the comics; he grew up in a Harlem neighborhood that was filled with poverty and violence. His father (Minister Paul Wilson) was killed while trying to stop a gang fight in order to defend young boys. I feel like it is an incredibly important aspect of the character, especially considering the narrative given to the Falcon and in ‘All New Captain America’. However, this fanfic doesn’t follow the comics’ chronology nor the superhero aspects of Marvel, and instead retrieves part of the character’s stories and personalities. It is simply a romantic AU, and I set it in a small town that is rather suburban because it fit the plot better. Always respect Sam Wilson’s story xx

#sambucky au #sambucky #sam wilson #bucky barnes #marvel fanfiction #tw: gay closet #tw: grief #sam x bucky #sam wilson x bucky barnes #ftws #tftws #the falcon and the winter soldier #sambucky fanfiction #fluff #angst #marvel au #sam/bucky #sam wilson/bucky barnes #stackie

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asgardianthot · 5 years

Text

If anything happens (sambucky)

A/N: this was supposed to be a short one-shot, but I guess I got carried away over my love for these two. Enjoy! 💕

word count: 5644

summary: their feelings for each other have been lost and found and lost again for months. Then Bucky gets injured…

“Oh, my god.” Wanda raised her eyebrows, her elbows up on the counter, “You guys are dating.”

Sam frowned, “What?”

She shook her head with a smile, the news getting her hyped in the most positive and happiest way; she backed away in a less intrusive posture.

“How long has it been going on?”

Yet her cheerful attitude had the man taken aback.

“We’re not dating!” he declared, placing down his cup of freshly-made coffee on the counter, “No, how could we-“

“Oh. I see.” Wanda squinted, however seeing how Sam was clearly waiting for an explanation of her sudden change of words, she mentally agreed to be more verbal with his very clueless co-worker, “You’re downright the stupidest person I have ever met.”

Sam raised his eyebrows with shock and offense.

“Excuse me?”

The young woman had to tone it down, “Look, when you came back from that mission, you talked it through, right?” the response being more cluelessness, she now was furiously rolling her eyes, “Your feelings, dumbass! How you left things, how you want them to continue!”

Processing the thought, Sam held his weight on the counter behind him and limited himself to biting the inside of his cheek. Wanda lowered her head, looking dead into his eyes with utter seriousness.

“You did have that conversation, right?” she pressured.

“No.” He simply replied, suddenly believing there might have been a better approach at the whole Bucky situation, “Why? Should we?”

Bucky had kissed him. Or, perhaps it was Sam who kissed him, the lines of who took the initiative were a bit blurry but the point was that there had been a kiss. A very confused, very desperate, hungry kiss, coming from two mouths that found themselves drawn to each other like they knew they were bound to happen. It had taken months of awkward stares, developing to witty comments which sounded like they held a double meaning and would turn the spokesperson ashamed of ever saying it.

It had taken months of their messy dynamic and mean jokes, months of risking their lives together, months of uneasy proximity, realizing that the other person felt that too. But eventually, Sam let something slip, an implicative comment, an unmerciful glance. Anything could have been that last drop to overflow a glass full of unspoken feelings at that point. And after that one kiss, after that frozen look of want, came another one, and then more, until they shared a three-day period of utter confusion, awkward laughs and needy escapades to get back to each other’s lips.

That was, until Sam got a mission call. It was simple, not risky nor complicated, but it needed a well-thought plan which took a very long time to execute. And so, Sam fled the compound without a word, for he didn’t exactly know what to say when saying goodbye.

Wanda shook her head again, only this time, it was with great disappointment.

“I have no words for you.” At the sound of that, Sam threw an aimless hand in the air along with a puff of air, but she cut him off before he could even start ranting, “You left for months, right after everything happened. How could you not-? What did you tell him that could possibly replace the need for a heart-to-heart?”

Sam thought hard, trying to remember with a big frown on his face what was the actual first thing he said to Bucky when he came back.

He shrugged, “I don’t know, I asked him for an update report.”

Wanda’s mouth fell open, then closed it back up as her anger surpassed her shock.

“An update report.” She repeated, her tone low and full of disbelief.

Noticing the patronizing on her voice, Wilson defended himself, “I’d been gone for months! I had no idea what was going on in the compound, I needed an update!”

“And you couldn’t have asked me?” she reminded him of that possibility, but the intention was to make him realize that he had acted willingly and for a purpose.

As a matter of fact, the more he cracked his head around it, he began to take notice of what was the only thing ringing in his stupid brain the second he set foot in the compound.

“I… wanted to talk to him.” He admitted, a truthful tone exposing a little vulnerability; yet at the sound of no reply, he threw his hands in the air again, “I didn’t know it was such a stupid thing to do!”

“Of course it was, now he thinks you’re not into him, because you avoided the subject with a report!” Maximoff scolded him.

Instead of continuing to bark at each other back and forth, Sam cooled off and showed her his hands in order to communicate that intent.

“Okay, alright, so… What if I… want to talk about it? You know, what do I do?”

The only thing Wanda was able to do was sigh, naturally gaining a smirk across her face when seeing how helpless the man looked.

“I hate being right sometimes.” She let out, a hand on her hip, and found herself needing to explain further one more time, “He thought you guys were dating. You just didn’t get the memo.”

Having pointed her finger at Sam, she walked out of that kitchen without looking back.

“What do you mean?” Wilson tried to get her attention, but it was pointless, “Hey. Wanda, what does that mean?!”

Bucky wasn’t one to be careless over the people in his life. He was constantly worrying about their safety, concerned over the fact that he himself tended to attract bad things and the constant fear and guilt that came with his past. He had more than once believed that the sole fact of having the Avengers close put them in harm’s way, so his concern was not only constant, but silent. Kept to himself.

Nevertheless, when Sam left abruptly for a one-man mission, sent by SHIELD, he had to ask.

“Hey, Clint?” he pointed to a screen when Barton walked in the room, where Bucky had been waiting to receive some explanatory company, “What are these?”

Clint noticed the coded numbers and replied easily, “Wilson’s coordinates.”

The archer resumed to whatever task he had come in for, sitting in front of a desk. However Barnes had his mind railing over the symbols. If his coding skills and knowledge weren’t too rusty, he was right to believe those coordinates indicated proximity. And if his memory of the actual mission wasn’t failing, proximity could only mean his steps had been completed to the point of being almost done, according to plan.

“Which means he’ll be back soon, right?” he dared to ask.

“Should be, yeah.” Barton answered, still focused on his own screen, “Why?”

“What if he’s not?” the soldier couldn’t help but ramble a little, out of pure and genuine uncertainty, “Back soon, I mean. That would be bad news, right?”

That was more than enough questions for Clint to turn his chair around and face him with an odd, suspicious look on his face.

“You growing a soft spot for him or something?” he shot rather rudely, to which Bucky frowned like he didn’t know what the hell he was talking about, “What’s got you so worried?”

It was up to him now to pretend nothing was happening nor had happened; not the kisses, the sentiment exchanges, the touches, the hand guiding into confined spaces, not the butterflies in his stomach nor the excitement in the pit of his stomach when thinking about Sam coming back and resuming where they left off.

“Jesus, I’m sorry for caring.” He forced a scoff through a sentence that had Clint squinting his eyes, for it wasn’t something anyone would expect to come from Barnes’ mouth, “You’re the one who said we needed to look after each other.”

Barton decided to simply snort out loud, mocking the man’s unusual behavior, as he was fully aware that something was going on, even if he didn’t know what that was. So he simply focused back on his task, a smirk on his face still. Bucky squinted his eyes and abandoned the room for good after that.

The worst part about getting a compound alert right when Sam wanted to go talk to Bucky wasn’t the bad timing; it was the lack of agents near reach. The Avengers had become skimpy after all, not truly a unit but more of a disperse team. With only Wanda and Bucky living there permanently –from lack of a better living situation– Sam had followed, merely out of feeling like he had to; like the gratitude of being allowed to be a hero could only be paid by dedicating his life to Avenging. The problem was, it was only them. And Barton, at the moment, when he wasn’t taking time off with his family. The whole ‘I need to be there’ speech quite stuck on him as well.

And they usually would get a better-thought page, one that involved more heroes for the job, or maybe less heroes but along with a proper strategy. Usually, but this this was a SHIELD raid, which meant, they didn’t need plan nor well-thought, they needed quick. So, quickly, the four heroes ran to the quinjet while receiving orders from Fury.

In there, the two men who had been more than tense and avoiding each other, shared looks. Undecipherable looks. Wanda, on her part, was expectant as one would be in a romantic drama type of movie, even shooting glances at Sam, like saying ‘well?’, and the Falcon had no proper answer, even if he could have said something out loud. Bucky, with his upset expression, was definitely not okay with the overall situation. He was focusing on his own boots with a small frown, not wanting to talk and keeping it all to himself. So the silence in the jet was painful.

“And here I thought I’d get a quiet weekend.” Barton broke the tension while flying the quinjet, although his idea of tension was explained by the upcoming mission, and not an emotional quarrel between two soldiers.

Wanda felt even more awkward after that attempt, herself fully aware of what was going on.

“Is Lang still off-radar?” she made a second attempt, asking Clint.

Yet it was Wilson who cut her off, already knowing the answer would be a hard no.

“We don’t need tic-tac, we’re fine.” He reassured them of something he believed to be absolutely true, which was why they hadn’t even bothered to call Rhodey or anyone else for that matter: it was just a raid, it should be a piece of cake, “He’d just get himself stepped on.”

Bucky was left to roll his eyes at the snarky comment. He usually would have comeback and derailed the mocking to an offense towards Sam, turning it on him like they always did jokingly, but for now everything that came out of Samuel Wilson’s mouth pissed him off.

He had, after all, pretended like nothing happened. He had, after all, not even dignify Bucky with a simple explanation, not even to say he wasn’t interested anymore. Nothing. And he had had the balls to shove the moments they’d shared under the table by coming to him first for a goddamn report. That was everything Barnes could think about; how angry he was, how humiliated and vulnerable he felt, for he had welcomed Sam with an anxious smile, and awkward smile like the one Sam had kissed through the first time, one that stated ‘I’ve been waiting for you’. He had put himself out there, only to be rejected in such a chill way.

Hopefully, a signal hit Barton’s visuals in the jet’s screens.

“All communications on.” He called for the rest of the team.

They all complied and heard Fury switch his original orders to new, shouted and hectic ones. It sounded like the situation had worsened, and Fury was not desperate but angry. It hit him differently when it came to his organization; like his work was being violated and tainted. The second they landed, they ran for all hell, both the team and Director Fury all caught up in a frenzy.

It didn’t stop Sam from reaching out to Bucky as soon as he could, though.

“Barnes, we should-“

“Hit the skies, then through the window.” The man cut him off.

He was repeating Fury’s orders to him, like the Falcon wasn’t entirely sure about them. Yet it was all fake, and they both sort of knew it. Bucky was just avoiding him.

Sam squinted his eyes nonetheless, “I know, I was trying to-“

“Your earpiece okay?” Barnes spat.

“It is, I-“

“Then hit the skies and through the window.”

That being said, and very harshly said, he strutted his way, leaving Sam to grunt as he set his wings up and flew away.

Barton led Wanda and Bucky through the subterranean ladder. The latter went in through land for recognition, always right in the line of fire. He couldn’t help it. As they reached the hallways of the occupied facilities, there was nothing but calm and quiet besides them. Only a few seconds later, the shooting broke loose from a group of enemies.

Barnes was the first one to fire back, which gave away their position but was inevitable. He hit one, two, three hostiles while Clint shot one and Wanda threw two out the window. The best sniper in the US Army, indeed. That way, as more hostiles came in the way, the three heroes attacked their way to the communications room where Fury had instructed them to rescue SHIELD agents being held hostages.

“Air’s safe.” Wilson’s word was heard in everyone’s ears through the comms.

Right in that moment, an attacker was disclosed when Bucky reached a corner, and he would have been more apt to hear him coming if he hadn’t been so damn focused on not getting railed up at Sam Wilson’s voice. Since that wasn’t the case, the bullet almost got too close to him. If he got hit, he definitely would blame the man. That one attacker turned out to be more than a dozen, and the ones Bucky didn’t hit or Maximoff didn’t knock out with her powers, ran towards Barton.

“The top floor’s all yours.” The Falcon spoke again, “They look like amateurs.”

Barton scoffed as a man got close enough to be out of reach for his arrows, “They don’t fight like amateurs.” He replied out of breath while taking out the attacker hand in hand.

As he dialogued with Wilson, the archer got punched in the ribs, hard, and felt himself a little cornered before Wanda saved him. As the hostile flew away in a magenta-colored cloud, Clint gave her a nod of gratitude. Meanwhile, Bucky was still at front.

“You have clear entrance.” Sam insisted, “Go now.”

It took one last effort to take out all attackers, resourcing to take them all out through killing. That wasn’t always their intent. Barnes usually tried to neutralize the offense by shooting their legs or shoulders, something they could recover from, instead of adding more deaths to his books. And killing for SHIELD felt even more disgusting to both him and Maximoff. Once they reached upstairs, they broke the communication room, where a few raid-responsible men were aiming their guns at the hostages as a warning.

That was when, perfectly timed, Sam burst through the window and shot two of them. Continuingly, they all four fought the remaining ones.

“See? Told you.” Wilson stated, locking his wings in, “Piece of cake.”

“You and Clint take care of the agents.” Wanda ignored his cocky attitude with more orders, “Barnes, with me.”

The appellee nodded, following behind the woman and leaving the other two to untie the agents and help them out the emergency door. It shouldn’t have to be a difficult task, given how as the agents were freed, they were in full capacity to look after themselves. The sole problem in that mission was the amount of people in that raid trying to kill the Avengers.

As soon as Bucky and Wanda walked through the door, though, they were received by more shooting. As much as Clint or Sam wanted to help, they recognized the first thing to do when facing a new threat was getting the hostages’ hands and feet loose. They fought the guns off. Maximoff was strong enough to send them away and Barnes had perfect aim, so it wasn’t a tough fight but a long one.

Suddenly, a paralyzing sentence was yelled over comms.

“Barnes is down!” the feminine voice rang on Sam’s ears.

And he needed nothing more to leave the agents on their own and run in the same direction the two enhanced had gone before. As soon as he reached them, he saw Bucky thrown on the floor, blood beginning to pool under his body while he held his ribs, grimacing.

“What the hell happened?” he asked loudly to the woman who was still fighting off offensives.

At the lack of response, he switched his sight to the machine gun facing them both. Quite the strategy those amateurs had planned. This wasn’t a machine gun, it was a bloody canon brought up as a last resource, an element of surprise to hurt them when they least expected it. He blocked the bullets with his wings while Wanda destroyed the whole thing and blasted the attackers away. Again, they were most likely dead than injured.

Being able to focus on the injured man now, Sam placed his hands on Bucky’s shoulders.

“Where?” he asked.

The man merely groaned, not even giving a proper response. Therefore, Wilson stuck to the spot that was being held out in pain. He opened his vest and saw the blood coming from right below his chest. He felt the air leave his own body at the sight of it and the possibility of the bullets flooding Bucky’s lungs.

“We need an exit!” the veteran screamed, the desperation invading him.

Maximoff broke the glass window with his powers to allow them a clear exit, letting Sam know she would be helping them out by lifting Bucky swiftly through the air. The Falcon then ran and flew out the window, followed by the floating body. Unfortunately Wanda’s concentration was derailed by the sight of another gun aimed towards her in the distance, fighting him off with one of her hands and losing control over Barnes in the process.

“Bucky!” she yelled more as a way to avert Wilson than as a genuine reaction.

So the winged soldier rushed to catch him mid-air, rather roughly, therefore getting a good cry-out from the man.

“I got you, I got you.” He reassured him as he held him by the armpits, something he thought must have hurt like a bitch, if not by simple deduction, by the sound of Bucky’s painful moan, “I’m sorry, I got you.”

He managed to fly them both to the quinjet, stopping outside and dragging him in as Bucky’s head lulled to his sides, numbed out by pain. When Sam laid him down on the table, he let out a loud groan, which, at least, let the veteran know he was still conscious.

“Tell me where you are.” He tested that consciousness while hectically removing the vest from his body, and admiring how his shirt was soaked in thick blood.

Bucky’s voice was hoarse, “Dumbass jet.”

Sam filed it as an indicative of awareness but asked another question to be sure, “Who am I?”

Barnes couldn’t help a small side smile to grow on his worn out face, his dazed eyes focusing on Sam’s blurry features.

“A fucking moron.” He pulled off.

Wilson was left to stare down at him with a big sad frown, wanting to smile at him for insulting him even on such a state, and he wanted him not to hate him. Not now, not when he was hurt and half gone. If he could go back in time, he sure as hell would, he would talk to him and tell him how he felt, so that he wouldn’t bleed out on the table thinking Sam didn’t want him back. Thinking that the man who was trying to heal his wounds had rejected him.

Suddenly, Bucky’s eyes started closing down and his pupils rolled back into his skull for a second, beginning to faint. Yet Sam grabbed his face not too gently and patted his cheek.

“Hey, hey, no. No! Stay with me!” He said in despair, forcing his eyelids open; the victim groaned as if asking to be left the hell alone, “That’s it, look at me. Can you stay awake? Do that for me?”

Just like an angel fallen to his rescue, the earpieces rang with good news. “Task Forces came in!” Wanda’s voice sounded like the best melody any of them had ever heard in that moment, “Clint, fly the boys home, now!”

“Running.” The other man replied.

“Ya heard that?” Sam asked Bucky, still holding his head, “We’re gonna go home. We’re gonna fix you up.”

He ripped the bloody shirt open and rapidly fetched the medical kit under the table. He stole a glance to count the bullet holes, one, two, three. He couldn’t turn Barnes’ body over in order to see if there were any exit wounds or if he had all three bullets inside him. All he could do for him was press some gauze on the wound. Bucky moaned in pain, loudly.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He apologized frantically as he applied more pressure, and Bucky seemed to be woken up by the pain, panting while staring up at the ceiling, “You’re gonna be alright.”

He glared at Sam, “I hate you.” He spat through gritted teeth.

And he wasn’t just speaking nonsense, blindly attacking the man who caused him pain. No, he was also referring to how he was the last person he wanted to be doing that to him. He was so angry at him, he genuinely hated him, and the fact that he was making him ache so badly while doing his best to keep him alive wasn’t helping.

“I know.” Wilson agreed to both things, getting more gauze because the bleeding wasn’t stopping, “Just stay awake.”

Finally, Barton came in, and Sam didn’t even glance at him.

“Get us to the compound! Now!” he barked angrily, not wanting to sound desperate before when it was just him and Bucky, but now all he needed was to save his life.

So Clint did as commanded and soon enough the jet was flying away, the only sounds heard being the quiet hovering noise the jet produced, Bucky’s breathing and complaints, and Sam’s soothing words.

“How’s he doing?” Barton asked after a minute or two of no words being exchanged.

Wilson sighed and cooled himself down before answering, trying not to take it out on Barton, who clearly had no fault in Bucky’s state.

“I’m looking at a… definitely broken rib. Probably multiple. I’m hoping no punctured lung.”

It was the diagnose he had in his head. It explained why it hurt so badly, and he couldn’t not apply pressure or else he would effectively bleed out. No superserum could prevent that, eventually. And if it he was only bleeding out, that would mean they still had a long –although painful- time before his state worsened drastically. On the other hand, if he was also bleeding in…

Barnes chest convulsed for him to cough up, and he coughed up blood. It meant what Sam feared: punctured lung. It made him panic even more, now that it became harder and harder for Bucky to breathe.

“Sam.” He wheezed out.

“Please, please, please.” The man begged, his hands covered in blood and keeping him still while his own voice turned shaky, “Just five more minutes. Hold on just five minutes.”

“Sam…” his voice was now a whisper.

Wilson shut his eyes, teary eyed. Hopelessness kicking in.

“I don’t- I don’t know what else to do.”

Bucky’s eyes were far closed, his mouth gaped slightly as his throat did all the work of trying to pass air towards lungs that wouldn’t cooperate. He sounded less agonizing now, but by the looks of it, that was exactly the situation, with still a few minutes to get him to safety.

When he reopened his eyes, everything was different. The room was silent, for real, this time, no wheezing or panting or jet noises. He didn’t feel pain anymore, and he didn’t have any difficulty breathing. Instead, he felt comfortable and nursed back to health. That was when he took in his surroundings and realized he was on a hospital bed, in a sided room at the compound. Safe and sound, and patched up by the sensation of an unharmed chest.

The second thing he noticed was the company: Sam was sitting on a chair in the corner of the room, busy staring at his phone in complete silence. Bucky thought he had probably stayed there waiting for him to wake up, taking the blame for what happened. And Bucky knew it wasn’t his fault, therefore the only reason behind his concern was some sort of pity mission after basically dumping him without words.

As he accommodated himself a little, he felt a mild sting where the bullets used to be, where his ribs had cracked, but it was bearable now. Nonetheless, the sounds caused Sam to notice him.

“Great.” Barnes groaned, placing his back against the pillow, “I didn’t die.”

Wilson, on his behalf, stood up quickly, as if wanting to check on his injuries, or hug him or something. Instead, he remained standing up, awkwardly and not knowing what to do next.

He let out a nervous breath that sounded more like a laugh, “Yeah, thanks for that.”

As a matter of fact, he didn’t have much more to add. He was rather frozen in spot, staring at the man who almost died in his arms, quite dramatically, and with whom he felt he couldn’t be completely honest. The whole ‘not talking about it’ drama had expanded to the point he didn’t even know what he couldn’t talk about.

“Well, I can’t leave you guys alone.” Bucky brushed it off, “I’d be a terrible soldier if I did.”

That was how Sam understood that the former sergeant wasn’t letting anything go. He was purposely shoving their exchanged feelings under the rug so he didn’t have to verbally express how upset he was, which was diminishing both Sam’s feelings for him and how terrified he was in that quinjet.

“Bucky…” he tried, but was cut off immediately.

“Hey, thanks for pulling me out.” The man’s tone was distant but not cold; Sam gave in and nodded to his gratitude, “I’m fine, though, so you can go on with your day.”

That being said, Bucky propped himself up with his elbows, in order to be partially sitting on the bed, but the movements still caused him to groan. It hadn’t been too long after surgery, after all. To the sounds of distress, Sam rushed to give him a hand but the man rejected it harshly.

“Trust me, I’m alright.” He sighed, the pain gone by now, “I don’t need your pity.”

That shot of honesty was all Sam required to cross the unspoken line. He was going to speak and discuss everything he didn’t remember if he was allowed to discuss or not. He took one step back not to invade his privacy.

“Pity? Buck, why do you think I’m here?” he frowned.

The appellee shrugged, “Guilt.” He said easily.

The response brought a smirk to Wilson’s face, but it wasn’t a very positive one. If the term ‘sad smirk’ hadn’t been invented yet, he definitely thought that was the name of the expression he held. Lacking the need for any more proof of the man’s feelings, he moved decisively to sit next to him.

Bucky seemed startled by the gesture, “What are you-“

“Move.”

“No, it’s my bed.”

“I’m sitting with you now, move.”

And so he complied, although still confused and somewhat reminding himself that he should be upset. Sam’s hands guided him to where he could lay down comfortably, and Bucky let himself be manhandled for the sake of his ribs. He wanted to hold him. He wanted to lay next to him for hours and just stare at each other, he wanted Sam’s company. But it appeared since the moment he came back from his mission he didn’t want that back. So now, seeing Wilson lay his dumb head on that hospital bed pillow altered his perception even further.

Sam couldn’t contain a smile as they both looked at each other, not touching but closer than ever.

“You look ridiculous.” Bucky commented on the sight.

“You’re wearing a hospital gown, you don’t look so glamorous yourself.” He shot back, earning the smallest side-smirk from Barnes, who quickly concealed it, “Listen to me. You are one of the most stubborn people I’ve ever met, if not the worst of them all.”

The approach had Bucky raising an eyebrow, shocked at best.

“You’re reckless, you’re dumb-“

“Gee, thanks.” Barnes interrupted him with an offended frown.

Sam, however, ignored him and continued his speech, “You are literally the most obnoxious person when it comes to not looking after yourself and you have no regard for your own personal safety nor happiness.”

“Is there a point to all of this?” Bucky insisted, beginning to lose interest in the insult rant, “Cause fuck you too, Sam, jesus.”

Once again, Wilson saw himself forced to avoid a proper answer to seek a lineal sense of coherence in his narration. Instead, he let an amused smile escape him before raising his voice so that his message came across loud and clear.

“So I understand how you would miss what’s right before your eyes. But I’ve never known you to be naïve, Bucky.” Only then did Barnes was at a loss of words, starting to understand Sam’s intent, “You know what happened and you know what it meant. If you would just… let me make up for not talking about it right after I got back… I’d like to discuss it now.”

Bucky wanted to listen. He really did. But the possibility of it becoming a praise tale of how great he was and how much Sam liked him yet ending with ‘however’ and ‘just colleagues’, was something that weighed far more than his excitement. If that were the case, he didn’t want to be stabbed in the heart nor shot in the chest all over again.

“I’m really not interested in your explanation, Sam.” Bucky sighed, against his inner will, “You wanna forget what happened, you can just leave, no hard feelings.”

Sam shook his head and placed one gentle hand on Barnes cheek, some mild disbelief plastered on his own features.

“I don’t know which of us is the dumbest, I swear to god.”

And Bucky understood with all certainty.

“It’s you, it’s one hundred percent you.” He told Sam, not allowing himself to smile.

He meant it, keeping in mind how he hadn’t even mentioned the subject until now even though he wanted Bucky like Bucky wanted him.

“Probably, yeah.” Sam had to agree, “Cause I sure as hell wanted to say I wanted to try that kiss again, and I don’t know why I didn’t say so. Then you were literally dying on my arms and I thought… if anything happens to him, I lost my one chance at being with him, and I really want that chance.”

Bucky clacked his tongue, pensive, “You asked for a damn report.”

“I wanted to talk to you.” Sam tried to explain, “I didn’t know how.”

“You could have just said ‘hi, it’s been a while’.”

“I’ll try that next time.” The words came out instinctively, and he hoped he hadn’t screw up, so he added a stipulation, “If you forgive me.”

Bucky took a big breath. Was hard not to forgive him after that speech.

“Well, I’m very much alive.” He said almost rolling his eyes, “You still want that chance?”

A warm smile creeped its way into Wilson’s face, “I’d like that-“

Yet Barnes didn’t let him finish, instead clashing his lips against the Falcon’s, whose hand that still stood on the soldier’s cheek cupped the entire face tenderly. Bucky’s free hand also went to find the other man, holding the back of his head for good measure, while one of their tongues slipped in softly. It wasn’t as desperate as the other kisses, it wasn’t so needy nor senseless; this kiss, instead felt like the last piece of a puzzle. It felt like it made sense.

When they disconnected their lips and stared deep into each other’s eyes, Bucky’s impulse was to smile, “Here’s an update report for you.” He said cheekily, “I’m still in love with you.”

Wilson drew his face a little back for a better sight.

“Love?”

The soldier suddenly regretted his choice of words, but didn’t want to take the truth back, so he simply went with it.

“You’re not gonna run away now, are you? Fly away in those little wings of yours?”

Of course he would mock Sam as a manner of processing his oversharing. The veteran could only chuckle and affectively place a loose strand of hair behind his ears.

“No, I won’t, love.” He mocked him back, “Gonna take much more than that for you to scare me off.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, “Yeah, don’t hold your breath.” He added before launching for another kiss.

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