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Sam doesn’t usually pick up the phone at 2am in the morning, he has better things to do, like sleeping. But when he hears his personal phone sing for the first time in weeks and it’s not his sisters usual ringtone, his body almost launches for it.
“H’llo?” He clears his throat after the rough greeting, rubbing at bleary eyes. The other side of the line is quiet, but he can hear a soft buzzing in the background. He shifts himself into a sitting position, back against the headboard as he scratched his chest. “This is Sam Wilson, may I ask who you are?” He said in a lighter tone, almost teasing.
“Sam...” Sam’s heart leapt into his throat at the sound of Bucky’s voice, thick and scratchy, with a light Russian accent bleeding in.
“Are you alright?” Sam spoke evenly, not wanting to startle the man into rushing out dismissals. To insist he was fine at the first hint of concern from another.
“Mm... I don’t know.” His voice still sounded hoarse, but the accent was blending back into his usual Brooklyn.
“Why don’t you know, Buck?” Sam didn’t let any accusation into his tone, pushing down the squirm of worry in his gut. He needed to stay calm in order to keep Bucky on the phone. The man was as skittish as a cat if one wasn’t careful.
Bucky didn’t reply, but the buzzing grew a little louder. Closer to the phone, or to Bucky specifically perhaps.
“What’re you holding, Bucky? I can hear it buzzing.” Sam tried to keep his tone conversational, picking at his nails.
“...Sam, would you help me cut my hair?” Bucky finally spoke after a long pause that made Sam tense. Sam almost crumbled with relief, biting back a laugh. So Bucky was finally taking the dive. Reclaiming his personhood in his own way. And he was asking Sam to help him do so.
It wouldn’t be the first time someones asked this of Sam. He grew close with many of the veterans he counselled before he met Steve. A “break up” hair cut wasn’t out of the norm. Heck, Sam had done it once too with his sister after he lost Riley, wallowing for months as it grew out. It was like a weight off his shoulders when he shaved his head, back to the clean cut man he wanted to be again.
“Yeah, Buck. I’ll be right over. Do you want me to stay on the phone?”
“...Please.” The small murmur was almost missed but Sam caught it.
“Okay. Let me just get dressed. How about you tell me about your day, hm?” Sam placed the phone on his bedside table, putting it on speaker as he flittered around the room to pull on an old shirt and sweats; something he didn’t mind getting hair on in the long run.
“My life’s not very exciting.” Bucky muttered, sounding not quite bitter but maybe a little more morose.
“Very few people have a life that’s exciting everyday, Buck. Doesn’t mean I don’t mind listening to the little details.” Sam spoke, trying to coerce the soldier into speaking more about himself. Bucky very rarely spoke about himself. Usually he spoke of Steve, or of the Winter Solider, or of James Buchanan Barnes.
He never really spoke about Bucky.
“Well... um... I took a shower today. It was nice, I forgot to for a few days... I ran out of shampoo though. So I used regular soap. But the uh, the liquid kind. I like it. It smells nice, and it feels nicer than the bars of soap. Doesn’t get stuck in my socket. I don’t really like how colourful the soaps are these days though. What’s the point of colouring it? It all turns white when you rub it in.”
Sam didn’t think the topic was all that exciting, but it gave him some insight into how Bucky was doing. He was hiding from the outside world, laying about no doubt in a depressive haze. Running low on supplies.
“You’re right, it does seem a little pointless. But it keeps people hooked on buying them. All the pretty colours and all.” Sam chuckled, picking up the phone and pressing it back to his ear as he picked up his keys and heading out the door of his one bedroom apartment.
“If I had to pick a coloured one, I’d prefer green.” Bucky hummed. “I also trimmed my gross beard. I was gonna shave it all off but... I knew it wouldn’t look right.”
“Too neat and proper?” Sam mused.
“Mm. It wouldn’t be me.”
“Because it would feel like you were looking back at someone you don’t recognise anymore?” Sam had seen the old photos of Sergeant Barnes, and seen the Winter Solider in person. Always cleaned up to look professional, or to add some youth and charm.
“Mm.” It wasn’t much of a verbal answer but it was an agreement to Sam‘s ears.
“What do you want to see in the mirror, Buck?”
“...I want to see what you see.” Sam almost tripped up on his own feet at the sudden swoop of emotion in his gut. He thanked his ancestors for his dark skin that hid the flush he felt on his cheeks.
“I... What do you think I see in you, Bucky, that you don’t see in yourself?” Sam felt his stomach grow tighter with nerves at every step closer to Bucky’s flat.
“I’m not sure... but I like to think it’s better than what I see.” Sam’s throat felt squeezed as his feet picked up pace without thinking.
“I can’t be your mirror, Buck, I can’t show you what you want to be.” Even as Sam said it, his feet’s lifted higher from the ground with each step, forming a jog as he rounded the corner. The brisk morning air kept him from sounding as breathless as he felt.
“I know. But you make me want to be something better. Something more than whatever... I am.” If Bucky’s voice cracked, neither of them said a word about it. “Sam, why are you running?”
“Shut up.” Sam’s hated the tightness of the words as he broke into a run, phone still pressed against his ear. “Bucky, I can’t make you see yourself as better, or more.” He breathed out in a hushed tone, shoes squeak as he took a sharp turn up the stairs of Bucky’s apartment building.
“I... I know I’m a mess, Sam, I know—“
“Shut up and let me talk!” Sam’s words were punctured with each heavy step he took up the staircase. “I can’t see make you be better or more, because that’s your job, Buck. I don’t need better or more from you. I just need you to be happy with who you are becoming, with how you’re healing. Better or more will come from your own self, not me.” Sam stopped at the familiar door, staring at the metal numbers nailed into place. “I just want to be there when you realise you’re seeing a you you like in the mirror.”
Bucky was quiet on the other line, even the buzzing had stopped.
“Bucky?”
“Sam. Don’t open the door.” Bucky’s voice shook.
“Why?”
“Please don’t open the door.” Bucky’s voice cracked, shaking and wet. Bucky was crying, and Sam’s heart pinched with agony, stomach roiling with fear.
“Bucky, talk to me. Are you alright?” Sam grabbed the doorknob, hesitant. Turning it slightly, he could tell it was unlocked. But Sam didn’t know if barging into Bucky’s safe space would do more harm than good.
“I... If you come inside I’m gonna do something we’ll both regret.” Bucky sniffled, choking on half a sob and Sam felt his joints ache with unease.
“I’m coming in.” He stated firmly, turning the doorknob. He could hear a scrape and a scramble of heavy footsteps becoming more distant on the phone as he pushed the front door open, closing it behind him as he surged towards the bathroom.
“Bucky?!” Sam yelled, phone leaving his ear as he went to hang up. He rounded the archway to the bathroom tucked in the corner of the apartment when he felt two arms wrap tightly around his waist, a face buried in his chest.
Sam almost dropped his phone, surprised at the sudden contact and how small the bigger man had made himself against Sam’s frame. Sam’s heart was beating wildly, hands coming to hold Bucky’s head in relief, a physical acknowledgment to his heart that Bucky was in one piece. He slid fingers into choppy dark hair, noticing the itchy feelings of cut hair between his fingers. The length that had been there was gone, replaced by an uneven chop just above Bucky’s ears and nape. Much shorter than before but still shaggy and poorly done. Rushed with scissors no doubt. Had Bucky waited with the razor on that entire time just for Sam?
“Bucky, don’t you dare scare me like that again—“ Sam barely got his breathless scolding out before he felt dry, bitten lips against his, the scratch of a prickly scruff burning against his chin. Sam’s eyes widened in surprise, hands still tangled in Bucky’s hair, seemingly trapped by the strands as the shock rolled through him.
The kiss doesn’t feel like fireworks, but his stomach filled with nauseating butterfly wings and Bucky’s mouth felt firm but his body was lax and Sam just wanted to keep them right in this moment so they didn’t have to talk, didn’t have to pull away and lie and pretend it didn’t happen because two broken pieces shouldn’t fit together but dammit Sam wants them to.
So his eyes fall shut, and he leans in softly and it feels like a kiss two seventh graders would share from how chaste it is but it makes Sam melt inside. And if he makes a little annoyed noise when Bucky pulls away, he’s keeping that to himself.
“I’m sorry.” Bucky mumbled, and his eyes are still closed when Sam opens his own. H is face is blotchy from crying and his trimmed scruff is a little patchy on the left. But Sam can’t help but think Bucky is a piece of art when his head is in Sam’s hands because it feels like that’s exactly where it’s supposed to be.
“Why?” Sam let his finger scratch gently into Bucky’s scalp and the man caves into the touch, eyes still closed as he sighed.
“I didn’t want you to come inside because I knew I’d kiss you. I didn’t want to ruin... us. It feels so fragile, our... personship.” Bucky sniffed, and Sam cringed a little at the gross noise but he hummed his understanding.
“It’s okay. It’s not ruined. We’ll figure it out.” Sam kept his scratching up as Bucky drifted his head back down to Sam’s chest, looking years older than his body was.
“I think I could fall in love with you, and that terrifies me.” Bucky whispered against his shirt, and Sam can’t deny the way his heart skips.
“Why does it terrify you, Buck? Love is natural, and it can feel safe, like a home. It’s normal to want it.”
“Because the last person I loved left me alone. I don’t want to be alone, Sam. I was alone... for so long. And now I’m alone again.” Bucky trembled and Sam could feel his own throat clog with emotion.
“That’s makes two of us. So, can we really be alone when we have each other?” Sam felt Bucky’s arms tighten around his waist.
“It hurts. But it’s also nice. Being alone. Together.” Bucky sighed, relaxing completely into Sam. “I wish this could fix me. Fix all the memories and problems in my head.”
“I can’t fix that, Buck. I can offer my support, my resources, but I can’t fix all the broken parts. You have to do that yourself. Just like I did. Just like I’m still doing.” Sam’s hand ran from his hair to his back, rubbing the broad plane.
“You’re so... put together. I can’t see you like that, being in need of fixing.”
“Everyone needs a little work. Some more than others. And you... you’ve been banged up pretty bad. We both have. So it’ll take time, and a lot of work... but we might be able to hammer out all of those dents eventually.” Sam smiled wistfully. “Starting maybe...” Sam ruffled his hair. “With a new haircut. A haircut that feels like Bucky.”
Bucky breathed in deeply, letting out a heavy exhale.
“You’re right. A new haircut sounds nice. Please.”
“The magic word. Look at you, learning.” Sam chuckled softly, cupping Bucky’s jaw to lift his face up to Sam’s. He pressed a soft kiss to his lips. “I haven’t got all the solutions; but I’ve learnt a lot of self care over the years, and helped a lot of vets professionally. I’ll teach you what I know, and in return, you try and find a reflection that feels real. That feels like Bucky.”
“I thought you couldn’t fix me?” Bucky joked weakly.
“I can’t. But I can help you fix yourself.”
And maybe you can help me fix myself too.