Chapter Text
Darkness shrouded in thin grey mist surrounded the graveyard, little droplets of water clinging on the grass, left behind by the downpour of rain not long ago. The ground was littered with soggy flowers and leaves, left behind as a token of love from people left with only memories to remember them by.
Sam walked towards the grave, a single lily tucked under his coat, the sole of his shoes squelching across the still wet grass.
The flower of death, they called it. Riley’s favourite flowers, but Sam had always believed that it signified something more, that it signified beauty and purity, and he thought there was nothing better that described the way Riley was.
You’re such a sap Sammy, he’d have said, shaking his head with a grin on his face, I like them ‘cause they look pretty and smell nice, not ‘cause of what they mean.
“Hey Ri, it's been a while huh?” Sam said softly, placing the flower on top of Riley’s grave and bending to drop a feather light kiss on the headstone.
“I’m sorry I haven't visited. I’ve been out saving the world, you know how it is,” he said, smiling down fondly at the grave, “You were right, by the way, about me having a death wish. But I’m Captain America now, so I guess what I do matters now?”
“What you did has always mattered, Sammy.”
Sam shook his head, “Not in any way that counts. You’re still gone, and you’re not coming back, and the life that we were supposed to have together? Can’t have that now, with you gone.”
He let out a shuddering breath and got up unsteadily, his legs numb from the uncomfortable position they were in when he sat down. The familiar prickling feeling of blood rushing back in his legs kept him grounded to the present.
“I have some time now, to tell you about everything that’s been happening. I can come by more often, for a little while. If I’m not drowning in paperwork, that is. As it turns out, being Captain America also means filling out a ton of boring paperwork, who would’ve thought, huh?”
“I’ve got to go now, I’ll see you tomorrow, Ri.”
Sam walked back to where his car was parked and drove through the once familiar roads that led to the only place he knew he could escape to, if need be.
Upon reaching, he dropped his bag at the front door, and fumbled with the keys, his eyes falling on the key to the house he shared with Bucky. He ignored the way his heart clenched at the thought of Bucky, and proceeded to open the door, the familiar setting of the house hitting him with a force of nostalgia so hard, his knees buckled.
This was Nat’s house, the same one she had once told Sam she wanted to live in after everything settled, when she wouldn’t be held back by constant fights anymore.
After her death, when Clint had given him the keys and coordinates to the house, his heart broke when he realised where she had brought it.
And it was funny, because he never really pictured her to be the kind to live in a cottage in the middle of nowhere, but maybe in the end, they were all just looking for some peace, someplace away from all the violence and pain.
He never found the courage to visit it, too scared of being reminded of the fact that another person he had loved, another person he’d have given his life for, was gone.
In a way though, he was grateful. He was grateful because even dead, Nat had found a way to help him.
***
It was late, way too late, but Bucky couldn’t fall asleep. Not when the look of panic and fear on Sam’s face burned at the back of his eyes every time he closed them; not when the achingly painful sound of Sam’s sobs reverberated through his mind.
Bucky was in the kitchen, making himself tea.
Tea that Sam would make for him every morning before going out for his run.
But Sam left, didn't he? Bucky had done the one thing he had never, ever wanted to do again, that he had swore not to, even. He hurt Sam, in more ways than he ever thought he could.
Sam would come back though, right? He has to come back. He has to.
But did Bucky deserve to have Sam back in his life?
★☆★
Day 6
“Hey Ri, I’m here again, just like I promised I’d be,” Sam said, placing a bouquet of zinnia on the grave.
“The flower of remembrance”, the old lady at the flower shop had said. “A flower for you to show that you remember someone, that you didn’t forget about them.”
“I haven’t told you about Steve, have I? Yeah, the Steve Rogers, Captain America Steve Rogers,” Sam said with a chuckle.
He could practically hear Riley’s indignant cries claiming how unfair it was that Sam always got to meet the famous ones, while he was stuck being dead.
“He was a great guy, my best friend, even. I would move mountains for him. Shit, I pretty much dedicated the past decade of my life to him. He was a self sacrificial idiot, and he was so stubborn, so righteous oh god, he never knew how to back away from a fight.”
“The day that he came to me, looking like a lost golden retriever with an injured Nat by his side, I couldn’t help but let them in. The Captain America needed my help, there’s no way I could refuse Ri, I knew I was going to get back in the game for him. I would’ve done anything for him, but where is he, now that I need his help?“
“I know he deserved to have a good life, after all that he’d done, he deserved that and so much more, but it hurt Ri, it hurt so much. I’ve wished for nothing but his happiness, and he got it, but I can't go up to him for advice now. I know it sounds selfish, but I don't know if I’m good enough to be Cap sometimes,” Sam confessed, fidgeting with the hem of his sleeves.
“Fuck, I didn’t come here to complain Ri, I’m sorry,” he exhaled, pinching the bridge of his nose.
Looks like you needed it, huh? I told you I was always there to listen Riley’s voice echoed in his mind.
“You know, my new wings are from Wakanda, Bucky asked-” Sam paused, catching himself before he could complete his sentence. He wasn’t going to talk about Bucky. Not today.
Clearing his throat, he continued, ”I know you’re probably thinking, ‘But wait, isn’t Wakanda a third world country?’ God, Ri, no, it’s such a beautiful country, so vibrant and alive, the technology there is more advanced than Stark tech and I think that speaks for itself.”
“They’ve eradicated so many issues in their country, it’s as if starvation and poverty was never an issue there. The people live in a sense of peace and mutual understanding, I think you would’ve adored that place.”
“I lived there for a bit, you know? When I was on the run with Steve and the others, King T’Challa was kind enough to provide us sanctuary in his country, and the first thing I thought of as soon as the jet landed was how much you would’ve loved the place,” Sam said ruefully, imagining the look of awe on Riley’s face, similar to that of Bucky’s at the time of the battle.
God, I love this place, he’d said, a look of pure awe coating his features, and Sam remembers, even then, how his heart had stuttered at the soft smile that danced on Bucky’s lips. How happy it made him to see Bucky look so content.
“Now, I have a ton of paperwork waiting for me back home, and Buck is gonna be-” Sam bit back the inside of his cheek before he could complete his sentence, let out an exhale, and continued, “Remind me to tell you the story of how we became fugitives, I think you’d like it, what with doing things for the greater good and all that.”
Dusting off mud from the back of his pants, Sam made his way back to Nat’s little cottage, filled with a kind of calm that had been missing ever since he’d left home.
★☆★
Day 11
“I’m back again, this time with a bunch of pink camellias for you, because the lady at the flower shop said that people buy them as a token of showing someone that you miss them. I honestly would've bought them for their beauty alone, but I think the meaning fits because I miss you,” Sam said softly, placing a mat on the ground next to the grave.
“Yes, I got a mat with me this time. You try washing mud stains off white pants, they’re hard to get out. Besides, I never do the laundry, that’s all Buck. Says he likes the smell of detergent or something.”
Sam, who the fuck wears white to a graveyard anyway? Sam could hear Riley say, and he chuckled to himself.
“Right now, I’m living in this cute little house Nat bought for herself. You remember Nat? The one I told you that came to my house with Steve? Yeah, she wanted to live here after retiring, said she wanted out of all the fights.”
“I didn’t think she would live in such a place, it seemed so unlike her, but the more I think about it, the more Nat it seems. She was always so full of secrets, so many goddamn layers, it was like trying to unravel a fucking onion. Her secrets had secrets, but again, you can't expect any less from a former Russian spy, right?
“Yeah,” he chuckled, ”I was best friends with a Russian spy.”
You’re living a cooler life than me Sammy, befriending Captain America and a fucking Russian Spy. Damn, I wish I was there with you.
“I wish you were here too,” Sam said quietly.
He sat in silence for a bit, letting himself absorb the warmth of the sunlight streaming through the trees before continuing, “I can picture her living here though, she would’ve loved all the calm. I think like the rest of us, she too wanted peace. We were all tired man, I still am sometimes. I just never let myself feel that way, because Steve gave me the shield, and I’m going to do my damned best to continue his legacy.”
“But Nat’s gone too, Ri, she’s gone. She was the best of us and she’s gone, and there’s not a day that passes by where I don’t think of her. The way she could fool almost anyone into believing she was okay when she was far from it, her stupid, dumb pranks that I always fell for, and just... her, I miss her,” Sam said, staring off into the distance.
“So many people I love are gone, Ri, so many people. Why am I still here?”
It’s not your time yet, Sammy.
“Then when?” He whispered, “Because it wasn’t yours either.”
***
Bucky woke up with tears streaming down his face. He remembers his nightmare as clear as day, the images so vivid in his mind.
He remembers how Sam was slipping out of his grasp, so close yet so far, similar to how Bucky himself had fallen off the train decades ago, except here, instead of Steve not being able to save Bucky, Bucky couldn’t save Sam.
He hadn’t been sleeping well, not since Sam left. A sinking feeling of unease had settled in his gut. He was worried for Sam, scared of what could happen.
It hadn’t been too long, they’d been apart for much longer, but he never had to worry because he knew that Sam would come back to him, knew that he would always come home.
But now? Now he wasn’t sure, now he didn’t know when or if Sam would even come back home to him.
He was so scared.
He barely got any sleep during the night, so he made up for it by taking short, uneasy naps throughout the day. It didn’t help him one bit, his body was already starting to get tired, starting to feel Sam’s absence physically.
He wiped off the tears from his face and got up from where he was on the floor. He had stopped sleeping on the bed ever since Sam left. Sam’s scent lingered on the sheets, and Bucky didn’t want to sleep there because he didn't deserve to have the comfort of Sam wrapped around him when this entire mess was his own fault.
He washed his face with cold water and looked up at the mirror to see his own reflection staring back at him. The shadows beneath his eyes that had disappeared were back again, and his face looked gaunt, hollow. He wiped his face and left the house, not particularly caring about the time, or the state of his appearance.
He just needed fresh air. Needed to clear his head, to get the vision of Sam falling out of his mind.
***
Sam ignored the pang of disappointment that settled in his chest when he didn’t get a response from Riley. He rearranged the flowers on the grave, just so he’d have something to occupy his hands with, before folding the mat and leaving.
He got into the car and drove to the nearest convenience store, not quite registering the turns he took to get to the shop. He vaguely remembered the other stores he passed by, but it was all fuzzy. It had been years since he’d stepped into the town, it was too painful for him to handle coming back to where Riley had grown up.
The shelves in Nat’s house didn’t have a whole lot of groceries, which made sense, so Sam decided to buy a few items, making sure to get enough to sustain him for a short amount of time. He also made sure to get ice cream.
Cookie dough ice cream, specifically. Riley’s favourite flavour.
Sam paid the cashier and thanked him, who in turn thanked Sam for all the work he’d done. He forced out a smile for the young man that he instantly dropped as soon as he stepped out the door. He didn’t have it in him to put on his Captain America facade. He was tired today.
He never realised how much he’d miss Bucky’s mindless chatter as he went on about his day, about how “that old lady back home was so nice to me Sammy!” but he pushed that thought to the back of his mind. This was about Riley, and how Sam barely visited him all these years.
Why was that though? Because he was too starstruck by Captain America? Because he spent two years looking for someone who didn't want to be found? Because he spent another two years on the run?
He was angry because somehow, somehow it was always about Bucky. Everything was about him, and while Sam loved him so, so much, he couldn’t stop the way it infuriated him. Stop the twinge of anger he felt.
He shook his head and gripped the steering wheel hard enough for his knuckles to pale as tried to shut out his thoughts and pay attention to the road in front of him. The street lights flashed as he passed by them, the once familiar roads filling him with a sense of nostalgia he hadn’t felt in years.
Sam knew that Riley’s old family house was somewhere around here and that sooner or later he’d come across it, but it still knocked all air out of his lungs when he finally spotted it just across the street from where his car currently was.
Time seemed to slow down, and all he could see was the house, as if his vision ceased to exist outside of the house he was currently focused on. It reminded him of a fancy camera lens, with everything else blurry except for the object in focus.
He clenched his eyes shut, which in hindsight, was probably a bad idea, because the next second, he was pressing his foot on the brakes hard enough for the car to come to a screeching halt, his heart thudding fast in his chest.
Sam had nearly hit something. Or someone.
He would’ve gotten out of the car to check outside, had it not been for the angry hiss he heard from the bushes nearby.
Sam had nearly hit a fucking cat. He let his head rest on the steering wheel, taking a deep breath before he continued to drive back home.
Sammy, we should get a cat one day, Bucky had said.
Sam remembered that day well; it was a few days before the entire mess, and they were sitting on the couch, with Bucky’s head in Sam’s lap while he combed through his hair. Sam remembers laughing in response and telling Bucky to learn to take care of himself first, before leaning down to place a kiss on his lips.
But Sammy I take good care of you, he’d said, laughing into the kiss.
Sure you do, Buck, Sam had said, pulling back to look at Bucky, and the way Bucky looked at him, with such fondness in his eyes, it made Sam’s heart soar with joy. He didn’t think he could ever get tired of this, of the life they had built together.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wondered how Bucky was doing.
***
Bucky was not doing okay.
He breathed in, letting the cold night air fill his lungs, and exhaled in small puffs, staring transfixed at the tendrils of wispy air that left his mouth.
The thing he loved most about living in a town was the peace that came along with it. At night, Delacroix was peaceful, asleep, shrouded in the light of a thousand stars, which was in stark contrast to the never ending hustle bustle of the city he’d grown up in.
Bucky had always slept better when he was in Delacroix. He didn’t know if it was because he had Sam, or if it was because of the peaceful, friendly atmosphere around him, but he had always slept better here, something he first noticed when he stayed over after helping Sam with the boat.
The sudden chilly weather made his bones ache, and he wasn’t sure if it was because of the change in weather itself or because of the lack of proper food and sleep. Maybe it was a bit of both.
It comforted Bucky, knowing that the peace he had found within himself wasn’t the only thing that was disrupted; the weather here seemed to have changed right along with Bucky’s mood.
The distant mewl of a cat snapped Bucky out of his thoughts. He followed the sounds and found himself standing in front of a small wooden box. In it, lay curled in a corner was a little white cat. Upon further inspection, Bucky noticed that there was a little blood on its leg, and no note indicating who the cat belonged to.
Scrutinizing his surroundings, he bent down and hesitantly held out his hand to pet the cat on its head. The cat let out a softer mewl this time and nuzzled further into Bucky’s palm.
Carefully, he picked her out of the box she was in and lay her down on his lap to further inspect her injured leg. He observed that it was a little scratch and decided to take her home to fix her up as best as he could.
At home, he gently wiped the wound clean, making sure to remove all the dried blood surrounding it. He inspected her fur for fleas and washed her up as best as he could, making sure she was comfortable the entire time. She mewled softly up at him as he dried her up, and not for the first time, he was hit with a sudden wave of shock and awe at how gentle he could be with the same arm that was designed to function as a weapon before an arm.
Bucky opened a can of leftover tuna from the time he and Sam had decided to try a tuna sandwich. They absolutely hated it, but it had been too late to return the multiple cans that they had bought impulsively. At least it was being put to better use now, Bucky thought while he looked at the cat sigh in contentment as she ate from the bowl he had laid out for her.
Bucky wished Sam was home. He really, really wished Sam was home.
Sam would’ve adored the cat (Alpine, Bucky decided, was a pretty name for the cat), would’ve named her something stupid, like Mr. Sausage, to which Bucky would immediately disagree and then they would end up bickering over who’s better at naming pets, which would have ended with Bucky emerging victorious while Sam laughed his goddamn beautiful laugh.
Bucky really misses Sam’s laughs, the way his entire face would light up at something dumb Bucky said. Bucky really just misses Sam.
He’d wanted them to get their first cat together, just like they’d been doing nearly everything together.
Wishful thinking, Bucky realised, was another thing he was good at, apparently.
***
Upon reaching home, Sam tried his best to get some work done, to at least fill out the logistics of his most recent mission. He really did try, but he didn’t have it in him to do anything. He just wanted to sit on the couch and drown his sorrows away while he ate his ice cream and watched bad television.
He went into the kitchen to scoop out some ice cream for himself, realizing that he missed the sound of Bucky’s amiable chatter telling him about how he spent his day. He trudged back to the couch and plopped himself on it, turning on the TV to mindlessly scroll through the channels till he found something interesting to focus on.
A nature documentary, yeah he could work with that.
The Black widow spiders, primarily found in the southern hotter parts of the American continent, prefer to spin their webs in dark, sheltered spots close to the ground. The web itself is an amazing structure....”
Sam zoned out as soon as he heard the word black widow. His eyes focus on the landscape behind the spider, the commentary merely a white noise somewhere in the back of his mind. All of a sudden, he was back in Afghanistan, surrounded by barren white land on every side.
This time, he was a bystander to all the violence that occured around him. He could only watch as the white sand of the ground beneath his feet slowly turned scarlett.
Suddenly, he was in the air again, watching Riley fall for what seemed like the millionth time.
His chest tightened and he could feel his vision closing in on him.
Fuck. Fuck
Where was he? Afghanistan? Nat’s home?
Logically, he knew he was at Nat’s place, but his body didn’t seem to agree with him. He tried to take in deep breaths to even out his breathing, to reduce the pain in his chest, but nothing seemed to help. His breathing still remained erratic.
He tried to ground himself, tried to use the same techniques he had taught others for so long, but none of it seemed to be working.
He tried so hard to breathe, to find something that would help him ground himself, to count his breaths in and out, but his body refused to cooperate with him.
He closed his eyes.
Breathe in.
1…
Riley’s body catching fire, falling.
2…
Breathe out.
The feeling of his legs giving away, turning to dust before he could process what was happening.
3…
“I’m not thanking that thing.”
4…
The Winter Soldier grabbing him by the face, throwing him across the room.
Hold your breath.
1… 2… 3…
4… 5… 6…
And out.
1… 2… 3…
4… 5… 6…
The onslaught of memories hit him a mile a minute. Maybe closing his eyes was a bad idea.
He didn’t know how much more of this he could take. How much more of this hurt he could hold on his own before it got far too heavy.
When he finally managed to ground himself, the first thing he noticed was that the ice cream in his bowl was now just liquid.
He didn’t know how, or why, but he just broke.
He cried and cried over melted ice cream, because this was Riley’s favourite ice cream and Sam couldn’t savour it, couldn’t save it, just like he couldn’t save Riley.
It was just ice cream, right?
No.
To Sam, it was yet another one of Riley’s things he couldn’t save. Yet another one of Riley’s things that he had lost.
That night when he went to bed, he dreamed of the Winter Soldier ripping his wings off.
★☆★
Day 20
The incessant ringing of his phone shook Sam awake the next morning. He was tempted to ignore it, too tired to deal with phone calls in the morning, but he was Captain America and he had a job to do.
It was Maria Hill, calling him in for help with a mission; there had been sightings of gigantic radioactive wasps. At this point, nothing really surprised Sam anymore, considering that he had worked with a guy that turned green and smashed things whenever he was angry. Shit, Sam even knew a talking tree, so fighting radioactive wasps didn’t quite sound all that surprising anymore.
Sam donned on his gear and assured Maria that he would be there immediately. He grabbed his shield from where he’d kept it and called out to Bucky asking him to hurry up or they’d be late for the debrief. Only when he was halfway outside the house did he realise what he’d said.
If Maria noticed Bucky’s absence during the debrief, she didn’t comment on it.
The mission was exhausting, but it went in their favour. They had called in a couple of the new recruits to fight alongside him; Kate Bishop, America Chaves, Torres and the Spider kid. They were all good kids, and someday Sam would maybe talk to them properly, get to know them a little better, but today he was tired. Captain America or not, at the end of the day he was still a normal human being and he wasn’t getting any younger.
He returned to the flower shop in the evening, surprised that they had managed to wrap up the mission quick enough for him to have enough time to meet Riley today. The old lady at the flower shop greeted him with a warm smile, choosing not to comment on the fact that he was still in his Cap gear.
“For when you’re thinking of someone,” she said softly, handing him a small bouquet of blue salvias.
Sam paid her for the flowers and thanked her, his voice quiet. She smiled at him warmly, her eyes crinkling at the corners, and dismissed his thanks with a wave of her hand.
His entire body ached from the strain of today’s mission. Or maybe that was just the weight of grief setting over him. Regardless of the cause, Sam was exhausted by the time he reached Riley’s grave. He sat down beside the grave, shield resting on the ground, and placed the new bouquet on his headstone.
Leaning back against a tree, Sam closed his eyes and savoured the silence, wishing for the millionth time for someone to come and wash his pain away.
***
Through the screen of his laptop, Bucky watched the live footage of Sam helping civilians escape from the wreckage created by the. . . were those wasps? He listened to Sam answer press questions about the interdimensional portal that had wreaked havoc in the form of radioactive wasps. There weren’t any casualties, thankfully, but Sam had taken a mean jab to the gut that had sent him flying into the broken wall of a decimated building, the remains of which just barely missed from critically injuring him.
Throughout the course of the fight, a series of conflicting emotions roiled inside him. It’s not that Bucky was worried about Sam. He really wasn’t. He knew Sam was beyond capable of handling himself and he didn’t need Bucky’s help, but the thing is, Bucky was supposed to protect Sam’s six, at all times.
It was Bucky’s default to worry about Sam, regardless of how capable he knew he was. It’s just how he’s always been. It hurt Bucky more than he’d like to admit, that he wasn’t called to aid in the fight, but more than feeling sorry for himself, he hoped Sam was doing okay.
He knew that Sam was hurting, knew that he was taking time off to grieve, but the fact that he was still working, still saving everyone but himself regardless of the pain he was in, was a quality Bucky wasn't sure whether to admire or be angry at. It was such a Sam thing to do, and Bucky would have admired him for it, had it not been so self destructive.
The news articles that had started popping up barely hours after the fight got over didn’t help in any way.
Breaking news: Former Winter Soldier Sergeant Barnes nowhere in sight during today’s mission; Captain America yet to make a statement.
He was angry at these headlines, and it wasn’t the kind of anger where your screams and shouts would end up in sobs. No, it was the kind of dry anger that made you want to punch through a wall. The kind that made you want to throw something across the room and scream out for answers. The kind that turned on the switch of your self destructive mode.
Breaking news: Sergeant James Barnes not spotted with Captain America and team today; trouble in paradise?
He was angry because Sam deserved to be praised for his relentless good work. He always gives and gives and never asks for anything in return. Obviously, the press didn’t know what was going on in their lives, but Sam was the one that did all the work, he was the one that had saved lives. Why was Bucky getting all the publicity? He hadn’t yet come across a single article that talked about how Sam and the team had fought off extraterrestrial radioactive wasps. Every headline was about Bucky.
Breaking news: Sergeant James Barnes nowhere in sight during today’s mission, could the rumors about one of the Avengers being hurt be about him?
Bucky never really cared about the news, or his image in it, for at one point he knew it was far too tainted to be salvaged again, but Sam not getting the praise he deserved today infuriated him. The articles were worried more about Bucky being okay when Sam was the one who was injured. Of course he was fucking okay, at least physically. Sam wasn’t though. He was grieving and injured and he was out there being the best Cap he could be, but the tabloids still always cared about Bucky.
Sam was out there saving lives yet again, while Bucky was coped up on the couch, a feline providing him with more comfort than he could ever offer.
He misses Sam.
Oh how he misses Sam.
★☆★
Day 29
“Hey Ri,” Sam said softly, rearranging the flowers on the grave to make space for the fresh bouquet of poppies. “Mrs. Kya told me that poppies are for rest and dreams and I hope you’re resting easy Ri, even though it was too early for you to go.”
You look like shit Sammy, how’d you get that nasty bruise? Riley had asked Sam after his first solo rescue mission. He could hear Riley ask him the same thing right now.
“Gee thanks Ri,” Sam said dryly. “I’m fine, just tired and worn out from yesterday’s mission. Gotta ask though, what goes on in people’s heads. I mean, giant radioactive wasps? Jesus fuck,” He said, pinching the bridge of his nose and letting out a sigh.
He sat himself down on the ground, not bothered by the fact that he had forgotten to bring his mat this time. Whatever, he’d end up doing the laundry anyway.
He was so tired he could feel it settle in the very depths of his bones. It wasn’t even the sort that could be fixed with a full meal and a good night’s sleep, it was the sort that drained you to the point where something as simple as moving hurt because of the exhaustion that seeped into your bones. It was the kind of exhaustion that weighed you down, the heaviness that comes when you can feel yourself spiralling, slipping into a depressive episode.
“Y’know, I was telling Buck the other day about how he would have loved you, but the thing is at first, he wouldn’t have. He’d have glared at you with that murderous cyborg stare thing that he’s got going, but you being you, would’ve warmed his heart faster than anyone else ever could have,” Sam said with a watery chuckle.
“He’s been through absolute hell and back, and he deserved none of it. Shit, no one deserves going through what he did for all those years. The war, Hydra, being on the run with absolutely nowhere to go and then being dusted for five years? It’s all so fucked up Ri, he’s been through so much fucked up shit and he’s still so goddamn good, it hurts.”
“I love him Ri, I love him so much, I’d do absolutely anything for him, anything to keep him safe,” Sam said thickly, his eyes welling up. He swallowed down the lump of emotion that suddenly lodged itself in his throat.
“And he’s such a little shit, Christ, you both would have gotten along so well, with your dumb white asses annoying the shit out of me, and. And fuck,” Sam exhaled, ”This isn’t even about him, this is about you and me, but he’s always on my fucking mind and he’s the reason I’m talking to a goddamn stone.”
Sam paused then, because it hit him all over again. Like waves crashing onto the jagged rocks in the middle of the ocean, he felt himself being pulled down by the feeling of raw grief once again, only to be washed away by an overwhelming sense of anger.
Bucky had killed Riley.
“Oh god- god, Buck. He- Bucky killed you, Bucky killed you,” Sam said to the empty graveyard, choking back on a sob.
No Sammy, he didn’t. You know he didn’t. The Winter Soldier did, and you of all people know that they’re different.
“No no no, he- you’re dead Riley,” Sam managed to choke out. “You’re dead because of him and you’re gone and it’s been years and I know it’s supposed to get better, that I’m supposed to get better, but I don't know how, and I’m just so tired.”
“There’s this file,” Sam started, his voice sounding low and hoarse to his own ears. “There’s this file that documented all of the Winter Soldier’s missions, something Tony Stark collected after he uh, after he realised who killed his parents. Bucky brought home this file after disappearing on me in the middle of the night, not responding to any of my texts or calls, and I worried myself sick over his disappearance because I thought- I thought Hydra got to him and-” Sam broke off mid sentence, bringing up a hand to his face, surprised to find his cheeks wet already. He didn’t even realise he’d started crying.
“I know he can take care of himself, but I worry for him, can’t help myself from worrying about him. I went out for a run to clear my head and when I came back home, I saw him sitting on our couch looking like he hadn’t slept in days, his expression downright miserable, and he goes on asking all these questions about how you- about what killed you and fuck. I thought he was joking and I know he would never joke about this, what the fuck.”
“He handed me this file and there you were Ri, your dumb smile looking right at me. That was probably the first time I didn’t want to see you smile ever again, probably the first time your smile would ever haunt me.”
Sam took a shaky breath in and continued, “I feel so fucking guilty for loving him even after knowing what his hands did to you.”
He let himself sit and absorb the silence around him, tiredness seeping into his bones to the point where if he could, he would’ve stayed right where he was. Somehow he willed himself to get up and drive back home, stopping at the liquor store on his way back.
Maybe drowning out the voices and momentarily forgetting the memories of his grief with alcohol was stupid. It was a shitty coping mechanism, but it wouldn't hurt to forget for just one night.
★☆★
Fourty one days.
That's how long it had been since Sam walked out the door, leaving a heart broken Bucky in his wake.
Every minute felt like a lifetime, but at the same time, each day passed by so fast it all seemed like a blur in Bucky’s head.
Sam’s magnetic field was so strong, Bucky couldn’t help but orbit around him all the time. He was so used to being in Sam’s presence that his absence was starting to feel like missing a limb, and Bucky knew all about that.
He knew within himself that Sam didn’t think he was the Winter Soldier anymore. Hadn’t thought of him as the soldier in years, but that didn’t stop Bucky’s head from wandering to uncharted territories.
Today was one of those days, where the white noise in his head was deafening, blocking out every other sound surrounding him. He could feel the anger, frustration and a hint of sadness on the verge of release, the quiet storm inside him waiting for the perfect opportunity to rain down all the pent up emotions he’d been feeling ever since Sam walked out.
Sam's very presence had always had the power to soothe Bucky’s nerves, his aura radiating comfort and a sense of belonging. Not that that was surprising to Bucky. Even back when they were two guys with a mutual friend who always argued, Sam brought a certain sense of calmness with him, one that could ease the tension in any room he walked into. Shit, he somehow even managed to ease the tension that had built between Steve and Bucky when they were on the run, memories from a lifetime ago threatening to tear them apart.
What Bucky needed right now was a drink. He wanted to get drunk off his ass, to let the effect of alcohol wash over him and make him forget, but the serum running in his veins wouldn't let that happen. That was fine, he could still pretend for one night.
He opened the liquor cabinet and grabbed the strongest one he could find, not bothering with a glass before he downed half the bottle in one go, his throat burning with the effect of it. He couldn't remember what it felt like being drunk, to feel the lightheadedness consume you wholly.
He felt as miserable as before and he hated it.
The serum was created to make a perfect soldier, but Bucky was no perfect soldier. His hands were stained with the blood of people he never knew, and there was nothing he could do to wash it off. It allowed him to fight better than the average human, allowed his injuries to heal faster than others, and his metabolic rate was high enough for him to not feel the effects of alcohol. Maybe that was good on the battlefield, but it did nothing to help him fight the raging war in his head.
Frustrated, he threw the bottle across the room, watched as it shattered into a million pieces right below a framed picture of him and the Wilson family. The mess it created painted a perfect picture of his life right now, ironically right under the only family he had left.
Distantly, Bucky could hear Sarah’s voice in his head, scolding him and telling him to pick himself up because he was stronger than this. He could hear her voice in his head, telling him to get out of this rut of self pity he’d gotten himself into and clean up his mess. And Bucky being good at following orders, did exactly as the voice in his head told him to.
★☆★
Day 56
It was late in the evening when Sam reached Riley’s grave, this time with a small bunch of pansies with him; the flower of love and remembrance. He hadn’t planned on coming today, thought he’d keep himself busy with paperwork, but he’d been hit with an overwhelming surge of sadness and the next thing he knew, he was staggering to Riley’s grave.
“They say that this hurt gets easier as you grow older, that time passes and time heals all wounds, big or small. This-this thing? It’s a load of bullshit, is what it is. There’s this gaping hole in my chest that never seems to get filled. It's just there, empty and hollow and it hurts so bad. Sometimes the loneliness gets too much, and its been years, years since you left, and here I am, half drunk, weight of the shield on my shoulders, crying into mud and grass and talking to a fucking stone, fuck,” Sam said wetly, hiccuping through his tears.
He sat himself down on the grass, head low as he stared at a blade of grass to calm himself down. He didn’t say much after that, the confrontation of too many hard truths in one evening taking a toll on him.
Humans aren’t meant to feel this lonely, Sam thought bitterly. They’re supposed to have someone to comfort them, to make them feel like they’re home, and Sam had that, he had it all but like a coward, he ran away.
From the outside, Sam was the perfect picture of calm and composed. His head, though? His head was screaming. Screaming because people aren’t supposed to leave this early. They’re supposed to live a fulfilling life and be happy, they’re supposed to grow old and fall in love. They aren’t placed on earth for them to be ripped away so soon.
They say that good things never last, and Riley was the best of them. Maybe Riley was an angel destined to fall from the heavens, to grace Sam’s world, only to leave and take his place back in the clouds where he’d always belonged.
***
“Hey Sarah”, Bucky answered the phone, his voice low.
“Yeah we’re okay” Lie.
“No, I’m not injured, don't worry, just,” Bucky paused to take a breath before continuing “Just taking a break.” Liar.
Bucky scoffed internally. Ever since Sam’s mission and Bucky not showing his face in public, people had assumed that he was injured. That he was the one who was hurting, which was probably a fair assumption to make, he guessed. How would they know that Sam was the hurt one, and that Bucky had been the cause of it?
He knew that Sarah was just concerned for him, because it had been a while since he’d gotten in touch with her and the boys. Normally it would warm his heart, this acceptance. But today, it just made him feel more guilty.
Vaguely, he wondered if Sam had reached out to her in the past couple of weeks.
“Sam? Oh yeah, he’s uh, he’s okay too. I’m sorry we didn’t reach out sooner, we’ve been really busy, you know?” Lie. Lie. Lie.
“Yeah, yeah of course, we’ll visit soon.” Liar.
★☆★
Day 63
Sam stopped by the flower store yet again. It was almost like he was trying to make up for lost time. Convincing himself that all these visits would make up for all the years lost.
“Hello there,” a familiar voice said, startling Sam out of his reverie. Hastily wiping his face for any remaining tears, he turned around and was greeted by a soft smile.
“I got you a bouquet of purple hyacinths today,” the old lady continued, placing the bouquet in Sam’s hands.
“Why-” Sam cleared his throat. ”Thank you. Why hyacinths though?”
“I remember your boy, you know? Riley? His family lived right ‘cross my street, sweet as a pie every single one of them. His momma dropped by every so often with a basket of brownies, the loveliest ones I’d ever had,” she said, smiling fondly.
“I’d known him since he was a baby, watched him grow from this little blob with blonde hair to a handsome young man, so full of life all the time. And then one day, he left. Said he wanted to do something good with his life, wanted to serve his country, and when he finally came back, he came back with you, all bright smiles and hugs and kisses, his spirit not dampened the slightest bit. His family was always worried that the atrocities of war would somehow change him, that it would be harder for folks like you in the military, but he never backed down. Not till the very end. I might not understand you, or know your story, but I know damn well that that boy loved you.”
Sam felt himself choke up yet again. Sniffing, he swallowed down the lump in his throat and gave the old woman a watery smile.
“Thank you for your service to this country, Sam, and for what you continue to do everyday.”
Sam could only nod, afraid that if he opened his mouth to say something, he’d start sobbing.
The old lady who had started to walk back behind the counter, turned around and said, “A purple hyacinth asks for forgiveness, and if I knew anything about that boy, I know he would have forgiven you. He was too pure of a soul to not. Now all that’s left for you to do is to forgive yourself. You take care of yourself now boy, and come visit soon.”
Sam walked back to the graveyard, clutching the bouquet close to his heart. He placed it near the grave and bent down to drop a light kiss on the headstone.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t save you,” Sam whispered to the stone, silently waiting for the forgiveness he knew would never come.
***
Bucky’s breath came in harsh pants, rivulets of sweat cooling on his skin, shirt darkening with the dampness of it.
Punch
The seams of the punching bag threatened to rip apart and spill its contents with each jab he aimed at it.
Punch
His body ached, every muscle burning. Not that he really cared, he was far too lost in his head to think about how his body felt. Everytime he forced himself to relive those memories, he began to punch harder, his knuckles bruised and bloody, droplets of blood spilling on the ground.
Punch
The chain snapped.
The bag flew across the room, its contents spilling and making a mess on the floor. Bucky glanced at it briefly, panting heavily while unconsciously clenching and unclenching his fists before he hooked up another bag.
He would deal with the mess later.
***
Before driving back to Natasha’s house, Sam had one call to make. He dialled Maria’s number and anxiously waited for her to pick up. She picked up at the fifth ring, sparing Sam the growing pit in his stomach that seemed to increase with every passing ring.
They exchanged a few pleasantries before Sam got to the point. He told her that she should ask Bucky to join them for their next mission instead, said that he needed a short break, a few days off from all the work. There was a beat of silence before Maria’s voice filled the tiny speaker, assuring him that he could take a week off to take care of himself.
“Sam?”
“Yeah?”
“Are you...are you okay?”
“I-” he cleared his throat, “Yeah, I will be.”
★☆★
Depression always comes in waves, sometimes like the gentle caress of it onto the shore, or sometimes like a massive and powerful tsunami, with enough anger to wipe out life. It remains a constant though, the mellowness and rage both existing in their own harmony.
People love glorifying everything, to take apart the ugly to try and find beauty in it. You don’t see the ugly side of depression, no, you see the self care, the bath bombs, the yoga lessons, the smoothies, the depressive episode aftercare, the care and affection from a loved one, them holding you close, placing you by the warmth of the fire as they read out lines from your favourite book. The forehead kisses and the tenderness, the way they hold on to you so delicately.
You don’t see the unwashed dishes piling up in the sink, the filth surrounding you, the exhaustion in your bones as you lay in bed for days on end. You don’t see the tears, enough to fill buckets, the numbness that follows, the way you push through life hoping, wishing you won’t wake up the next day. You don’t see the rage that fills up to the brim of an already full cup, the arguments and tears and the way you yell at them because they don’t love you, they never have and they never will, how could they because you’re broken and you’re not okay and you probably never will be, and one day, they will all leave.
And maybe that’s okay, because humans don’t like confrontation. We don’t like to deal with the ugly. We try to take it and make it pretty, try to find ways to make ourselves believe that those colours are pretty, or that outfit is lovely, or that the weeds in the patchwork of flowers are just meant to be. It was like Rokowski said, “All that blood was never once beautiful. It was just red.” But life? Life is a tragedy we make into poetry.
Sam had seen depression more times than he’d wished he had. It was like an old friend to him, one that he’d wished he’d said goodbye to more often that he’d said hello. He’d seen it in his mom after Sarah was born, he’d seen it in Sai from AP biology, he’d seen it in his friends at the VA, he’d seen it in Steve, he’d seen it in Bucky, and sometimes when he’d look in the mirror, he’d see it in himself.
Sam knew the feeling of depression all too well, but a small, irrational part of him still hoped that he would have forgotten it. He knew the feeling of exhaustion seeping under his skin, making him feel like he was Atlas, with the world upon his shoulders. He’d known it when he realized that he’d forgotten to bring Riley flowers, known it when he’d sat in front of the TV with silent tears streaming down his face. He’d known it when he’d woken up one day, unable to get out of bed and not finding it in himself to care.
Sam wasn’t sure how many days had passed since his last visit. He’d spent too much time trying to get himself to move from the bed, to the couch, to the bathroom. He knew he’d have to go out eventually, he was running out of essentials. It's just that. He was tired.
He made himself the last packet of instant ramen, tried to find himself a reasonably clean bowl before pouring himself a glass of water. He wasn’t hungry, neither did he work up that much of an appetite, but he knew that his body required nourishment to be able to function properly.
Sam turned on the TV, deliberately skipping past the wildlife channel before putting on a movie he didn’t particularly care about. Romantic music filled the deafening silence in the house, making Sam sick to the stomach. He abruptly switched to the news channel which only made him feel worse, because Bucky and Maria were on the screen, Maria speaking to a reporter while Bucky stood next to her, arms crossed, his face devoid of any emotion.
Sam could see tiredness etched in the lines of Bucky’s face, the sharp angles of his cheekbones being highlighted further by his skin stretching tight across his face, signs of someone who hadn't been eating or sleeping well.
Sam could see that Bucky was tense, arms crossed in a defensive manner while Maria next to him did all the talking. He turned off the TV immediately, his appetite now gone. He didn’t think that seeing Bucky after so long would affect him this way, but here he was. Sighing, he picked up his bowl and discarded the now cold noodles before he threw himself on the bed, not bothering to change his clothes before sleep washed over him.
★☆★
Dark red splatters everywhere.
He’s wiping off blood with his hand, cradling the shield.
He wipes and wipes and wipes and wipes but it never goes. The red is here to stay, it seems.
Sam had painted the shield red with the blood of a man who wasn’t to blame.
“They will never let a Black man be Captain America, and even if they did, no self-respecting black man would ever wanna be,” Isaiah’s voice echoed in his head, crueler than Sam remembers.
“How could you, Sam? I trusted you”
“Steve you gotta-”
“The shield was never meant to be a canvas stained in red, but you? You painted it red, Sam”
Sam turned to look at Steve, into those baby blue eyes he’d come to trust. They were colder, distant, darker.
They morphed into familiar greyish blue eyes that Sam had begun to associate with comfort.
Bucky.
“No, stop, please I-,” Sam said, his voice sounding fractured to his own ears.
In a haze, Bucky’s figure contorted to Natasha, and Sam felt himself choke out a sob. She felt real, but he knew she was not.
She was gone too.
“Sam you wouldn’t be having these thoughts if they weren’t true, would you?”
Sam felt Nat’s words hurt him all the way in his heart, his eyes prickling with tears.
Natasha’s body bled out of vision and his surroundings changed yet again.
He felt himself lose control over his own body, his mind screaming at him to stop while he continued to beat a man to death with the shield, panting for breath.
So much blood around him. So, so much.
“Stop it stop it stop it stop it,” Sam repeated like a mantra, over and over, but his body wasn’t his own. Not anymore.
“Oh Sammy what have you done,” Sarah’s voice said distantly, disappointment laced in her tone.
Sam froze.
His body was his own again, but when he looked down, the man was gone.
Blood all over the shield, his uniform.
Sarah standing next to him, cradling Cas and AJ’s head to her chest, shielding them away from him.
“Sarah, I-” he reached out to her but all he touched was dust.
He was back in the air again, white hot rays of the sun scorching his back, and he’s falling and falling and falling.
He’s falling and falling and he’s closing his eyes because he doesn’t want to fall, doesn’t want to die, not yet, and then he hits the ground and when he opens his eyes, he’s sitting on a chair in a field of flowers. He jerks up and sees a bluebird flutter past him.
Riley’s backyard.
Sam blinks and Riley’s entire family materializes in front of him. It's the time of their yearly cookout. Sarah is talking to Riley’s sister and Sam can hear their laughter from where he was seated. He stands up and finds himself looking into Riley’s startlingly green eyes, his expression a mix of fondness and amusement.
Something was off though.
Riley’s face was too sharp, his eyes too bright, his smile too wide.
Everyone was laughing at something Paul had said, but it sounded muffled to Sam’s ears. Distorted.
One by one, everyone started to disappear. Around him, flowers started to wilt, the air around him turning cold. Sam squeezed his eyes shut as darkness overtook his senses.
Sam woke up with tears down his face, his cheeks sticky and pillow wet. He was breathing heavily, still reeling from the surprise at how real the dream felt. He got out of bed and walked to where the shield was kept, taking it out of its cover before running his hands over it, once, twice, and then a third time, trying to wipe away blood that was never there.
He stood up abruptly, suddenly overwhelmed by his surroundings, convinced that the house was going to close in on him. Breathing hard, he swapped his pajamas for a pair of running shorts and fumbled with the lace of his shoes before he bolted out of the door, scared that he’d get trapped if he didn’t get out immediately.
Running was something Sam had found helped him deal with his overwhelming thoughts. He loved the feeling of his feet moving rhythmically, loved the feeling of wind on his face, nipping sharply when cold. He loved the sense of clarity he got when he ran, but for once, he wanted to leave it all behind. He wanted to leave his thoughts at the doorstep but it all came crashing down on him.
His dreams, his thoughts, all that grief he’d buried with so much care was starting to catch up to him. Sarah had said that she’d never once thought that he was running away but the thing is, he was. He was always running. Be it grief, confrontation, taking time out for himself, he was always running. Running with the hopes of never having to stop.
Nothing lasts forever, Sam had read somewhere as a kid. He used to think it was a load of bullshit, some fake ass deep quote meant to gain sympathy, but as he grew up, he realized how wrong he’d been. The thing is, he understood it now.
Good never lasted. Not when he came back home to place two coffins in the ground. Good didn’t last when he held Sarah close, tears streaming down their faces as they buried her husband’s coffin the same year. It didn’t last when they buried an empty casket for Riley, it didn't last when he’d lost a member at the VA to a bottle of pills. Natasha was gone, Steve was gone and good never lasted.
Bucky.
He was probably the last person anyone would think was good. Brainwashed, tortured, forced to assasinate dozens of people over the course of decades, his ledger was gushing in red. He’d been fucked by the universe over and over and yet, he was one of the best men Sam knew.
Maybe it was too early, but Sam knew that Bucky was his endgame. He knew that they were meant to be, that after all those years, he finally had someone who understood him and loved him the way he deserved to be loved.
The same hands that had cupped his face ever so gently, the same hands that had held him so tenderly, that made him feel good, had been used to kill someone Sam had thought he would spend his life with.
He knew now though, that even though their hands were irrevocably the same, the person behind it was not. It took him a while to get there, but he had finally come to accept the cruel twist of fate that broke it all down.
★☆★
Sam cleaned up the kitchen for the first time in a while. He washed the dishes, threw away the trash, cleaned and arranged everything back to the way it had been when he’d first come here.
A few days later, he went and bought himself some groceries and made himself a sandwich, his first meal that wasn’t store bought in almost a month. He went to bed every night hoping his physical and mental exhaustion would wear him out enough to battle insomnia.
Everyday, he tried doing something different, something mundane to escape his thoughts. He couldn’t bear to be left alone with them anymore. He dusted the shelves, tidied the living room, and finished his paperwork.
He broke down in the car one day, not sure why, but that was okay because he knew that healing wasn’t linear and it didn’t happen overnight.
★☆★
After days of cleaning up, going out regularly for runs and making home cooked meals, Sam felt a lot better, both physically and mentally. He decided to bake a batch of cookies, the choco-chip kind that were Steve’s favourite. Sam you need to give me the recipe for this, oh my god, he’d say.
Sam smiled to himself at the memory and got to baking. Two failed batches later, he had what he considered an almost perfect batch of gooey, chewy but slightly crunchy cookies. After allowing them to cool down for a while, he packed them in a tupperware box, collected his phone, wallet and keys from the counter and headed out.
★☆★
“Sam! What a lovely surprise,” the old lady, Mrs. Kya said with a warm smile.
“Hey Mrs. Kya, I got you some cookies,” Sam said, handing over the box to her with a smile, hoping that it was a good enough “thank you for telling me the significance and meaning of each and every flower you have ever given me and I’m sorry you had to watch me break down in front of my best friend’s grave” gift.
She ushered him in, taking the box from his hand and placing it on the counter. They made their way out to the porch, bringing along with them a cup of tea and a plate of the freshly baked cookies Sam had baked for her.
They sat in amicable silence for a while, letting the peaceful atmosphere of their surroundings do all the talking for them before Mrs. Kya spoke up.
“You carry so much in here,” she said softly, placing a gentle hand on Sam’s chest, right where his heart was.
“How can you tell?”
“Your shoulders,” she smiled,”They’re heavy, and you have this look in your eyes. You must have someone to help you carry it all, no?”
“I do. Or at least, I did, but I’m not so sure anymore. He has his own shit going on,” Sam smiled ruefully.
“Boy, everyone has their own shit going on, that doesn’t mean they can’t help you.”
It was odd, seeing someone much older than him swear like that. Everyone has this image of old people painted in their heads; calm and serene. Sam smiled at her cussing. Made him feel like she was just as human as he was.
“I know, but his is different. The weight of everything he’s done, everything he’s gone through, it's much too heavy for him to carry and I don’t want to burden him with mine. The things he’s gone through? He never asked for it,” Sam said.
“No one ever does Sam.”
“I did, Mrs. Kya, I did. So many of us do. We sign up for war despite knowing how bloody and gruesome it is, despite knowing how traumatizing it is. We do things we know will hurt us, and he did something terrible. He didn’t mean to, he- it was a mistake. I know it was.”
“Can you look past this mistake?” she asked him not unkindly.
“I- I don’t know. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. He’s always in my head, always, and I can’t stop thinking about everything he’s been through.
“This is about you though, not him. Have you processed what you’ve been through? Have you processed your own grief?”
“There is no processing of grief, there’s no five stages of grief. The pain hits you the same every single fucking time and it hurts so much,” he said.
“Which is why you’ve come back,” she guessed. “Which is why you’re talking to Riley again.”
“I was a coward and I- I couldn’t come. I couldn’t accept the loss and so I pushed it off but now I’ve reached my breaking point and I can’t take it anymore.”
Mrs. Kya was quiet for a few moments before she replied, “Grieving is like loving, I think,”
“I don’t think love should hurt so much, why does loving have to hurt so much.”
“Grief is only a displacement of your love, Sam. You mourn because you love someone, and it seems and though you’ve been bottling up your grief for way too long. You’ve lost more than just Riley haven’t you?”
“So many people,” Sam whispered. “So many people I love are gone.”
“You know, the funniest thing about grief is that-”
Sam cut her off before she could continue, “You seem to know a lot about it,” he said.
“Well people leave eventually, don’t they? Anyway, the funny thing about grief is that it's never really gone. It’s ever present, and while the intensity and pain stays the same, we learn to grow around it. When you truly love someone, you never stop loving them. A part of you will always love them, and if you love them, you mourn for them. It’s inevitable.” She paused for a moment before continuing.
“What I’m trying to say is that your grief will always remain the same, and the more you lose, the more it fills up but you know what changes? You. The way you cope and deal with it changes. Your grief will always remain but you will grow. Don’t stop yourself from growing,” she finished off with a small smile.
"The pain of grief never really reduces, you just learn to grow around it," Bucky had once said.
She waited to let her words sink in before continuing, “You’re blinded by your grief. You’re grieving for someone you haven’t lost just yet, am I right?”
“Yeah I guess so.”
“Is it worth it?” She asked him gently.
“The grief?”
“Yeah over this someone, over what you have. Or had. Is it worth it?”
“I don’t know.
“Well I guess you’ve got your work cut out for you then, don’t you?”
Sam broke out in a genuine smile and thanked Mrs. Kya for everything she’d done for him. If Tony had found it in his heart to forgive, maybe Sam could too.
But first, Sam had one last stop to make before he went back home.
★☆★
Day 90
“Hey Nat,” he said softly, placing a single iris in front of her grave.
Daughter. Sister. Avenger, the headstone said. An avenger she was, probably the best of them.
Sam could picture one of Nat’s rare smiles, the one she reserved only for a few people that she could let loose around.
“It’s been a while, huh?” he said. “I’m still mad at you, for the record. You, Steve and everyone, really, but that doesn’t change how much I loved you.”
“I was so angry they didn’t hold a funeral for you, like it wasn’t your sacrifice that saved us all, like you didn’t even play a part in saving the world. I guess I knew you wouldn’t want it anyway, but when I heard about Yelena and your grave, I didn’t have it in me to come visit.”
“It hurt so much, knowing that all those five years we lost, those five years we’re never getting back, it hurt so much knowing that you and Steve were alone for so long, and when we came back, you weren’t even there. You weren’t there for any of it. I keep telling myself I’ve moved on, that I need to live with the choice you made but fuck its hard.”
“God, if you were here you’d probably hit me and tell me to stop moping, I can picture it in my head, clear as day.” he said, chuckling tearfully.
He lets the silence calm him down a bit before continuing,” Y’know, Steve decided to be a colossal asshole and drop his mantle on my ass without thinking of the consequences, and I know that if you were around, you’d smack some sense into him. It’s okay now though, a lot of stuff happened and I’m finally comfortable enough now to call the mantle mine, and- and honestly, as much as I trust Bucky and his advice, I could’ve really used you on my side too.”
“Bucky and I, we’re- we’re something. Yeah yeah I know, I can see you rolling your eyes, you saw it coming, spy shit and all, but it’s not my fault that we were both oblivious dumbasses,” he said with a soft laugh.
“I love him, I really do, it’s just been really messy and hard and things were said and revealed and I- I slipped back into my old ways of coping in every self destructive way I could. It felt as though I was back in the falcon program again, reliving Riley’s death except this time, I knew how things were going to end.”
“I know you’d tell me that Bucky and the Winter Soldier are not the same and I know that, but I guess I just needed time to heal from wounds that felt as though they were being ripped open forcefully just for salt to be poured into it.”
“But it’s fine now, I think I’m in a much better place. I- I want to go back and fix things, I came by because I wanted you to know that I love you and I miss you everyday. Rest in paradise, Tasha,” Sam said, touching the headstone gently before he leaned down to place a fleeting kiss on it.
★☆★
Day 102
Sam knocked on the door to the house he and Bucky shared and wiped his palms on his jeans, letting out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding. There was a pit of anxiety churning at the bottom of his stomach.
It's just Bucky, he reminded himself. Nothing to be nervous about.
Though he was nervous, he knew that no matter how things were to go down, he would’ve at least gained a sense of closure that he didn’t know he needed.
Sam could feel his heart pound faster with every passing second and after what felt like an eternity, the door finally opened. The look of surprise on Bucky’s face was damn near comical and Sam wanted to cry in relief.
“Hey Buck”, Sam said softly. A little tentative.
“Hey sweetheart.”