Chapter Text
Months. Months of following a man who is nearly impossible to follow. He’s not stupid; no doubt, Bucky knows he’s being followed and by whom, but that doesn’t stop him.
Steve knows he’s here on a lead, but he has no idea he has eyes on the man’s best friend. He wants to call the man and tell him, but he’ll come running, and Bucky will spook and take off. So he won’t. Yet.
He eyes the man, he seems to only have one set of clothes he always wears: dark jeans and black boots. Dark red Henley, with several sweaters layered over and a light jacket over that. He’s wearing black gloves and a dark blue baseball cap.
Sam’s been tailing him for days. He’s seen how he doesn’t sleep, has barely eaten, and the building he’s squatting in is abandoned, damp and cold. He’s got a blanket, a backpack he doesn’t know the contents of, that’s usually on his back, though it isn’t today.
He watches from afar, getting closer when the man’s back is turned but staying out of eyesight. The moment he sees one of them, he disappears. He really gets why people call him a ghost. He watches the man walk away, trailing after him at a distance. He didn’t buy anything at the market today. Usually, he gets some fruit.
He sees the man go into an alley and speeds up a bit, already knowing he’ll find nothing. He turns into the ally, stopping. He groans. Of course. No one. He steps in further, hoping maybe the man is hiding behind the dumpster or something, but he knows better. Lost him again. “Stop following me.”
He jumps, spinning on his heel, hand going to the gun in the back of his waistband. Bucky is a few feet away; he’s not even going to try to figure out how he did that. He relaxes, “The whole point of lookin’ for someone is followin’ them.”
Bucky’s gaze is tired; really, he looks exhausted, hands in his jacket pockets. “Then stop.”
Sam crosses his arms. “Sorry, no can do. I’m invested.” Bucky just stares for a moment before turning to leave. Sam rushes forward. “Wait!”
He reaches out to grab the man but thinks better of it, his hand hovers between them as Bucky turns. He expected the man to keep going and flounders for a few seconds. “Look, it’s lunch, and I’m starvin’. Let’s get somethin’ to eat, talk a little.” He expects a no, for the man to leave again. But he’s hoping he’s right, thinking the man is hungry.
The staring makes him uncomfortable, but he doesn’t look away. “Okay.”
He hides his shock. “Good. Come on.” He stops himself from patting the man on the back, leading them to a bar he had eaten at before, knowing they have good food.
There’s no talking as they sit, he chooses a booth in the back, and as expected, Bucky sits in the corner, back to the wall and eyes on the door. Sam gets the same burger he got the other day, he’d been wanting another. All Bucky orders are fries. He eats them slowly, one by one. “Ya know, you could’ve gotten anything. It’s on me.”
He doesn’t answer, Sam stops himself from staring. “Can’t eat much.”
It’s quiet, he almost misses it. “What?”
Bucky glances up. “Can’t eat much.” He looks at the fries. “Too much or the wrong thing won’t stay down. Fries are cheap and safe. As long as I don’t have too many.” Suddenly, the burger isn’t as good as it was.
Of course. He saw how Hydra fed him, horrible, smoothie-like concoctions, or even a forced tube if he didn’t comply. His mind goes to the amount of food Steve needs to keep going. Twice the amount a normal person needs, or he feels drained. But here Bucky is, barely eating at all. His eyes flick to the shoulder, remembering their discussion on how much pain it probably causes him constantly. How is he functioning? He clears his throat. “Well, we can take the rest to go. You can have them later.”
Bucky almost looks surprised. He looks at Sam for a moment. “You haven’t called Steve.”
Sam shakes his head. “Nope.”
Silence again. “Why?”
Sam takes another bite of his burger. “'Cause you’ll run. And I wanted lunch.”
It’s the truth, he was hungry and didn’t want to have to go after a running winter soldier. After a moment, Bucky seems to relax a bit, going back to picking at the fries. He even ends up using some ketchup, much to Sam’s delight.
He eats about half before he stops, and Sam doesn’t push, just asks for a to-go container as promised, making sure Bucky takes them, asking for some ketchup packets as well. When he hands them over, Bucky’s eyes widen a bit before he puts them in his pocket.
As they walk out, it’s drizzling. He knows it’s supposed to rain heavily and frowns. “You should come with me to the motel. I got a room, it has a couch, or you could use the bed.” Bucky stares at him for a moment. “You can go anytime. But I know where you’re stayin’ is gonna leak like a sieve. No sense in bein’ cold and wet all night. You can even shower if you want.”
Bucky continues to stare, but Sam doesn’t look away. He needs to take the first step if he’s going to earn the man’s trust. “Well, if you decide you want to, it’s the motel on Simmon’s street. Room eight.” He turns and walks away, every instinct telling him not to, but forcing a casual walk forward and not looking back.
He picks up some clothes, hoping he can convince the man to change if he comes, let him wash the clothes. He thinks about grabbing a blanket, too, but doesn’t want to give the man too much to lug around. These should fit in his bag. When he returns, he showers quickly, barely five minutes, wanting to save the hot water.
He changes and lies back on the bed, flipping through channels. He’s antsy, but he’s good at looking relaxed. It gets darker, and he hears the rain become heavier. God, he hopes Bucky comes.
It’s about ten, probably four or five hours since they parted, when he hears a very light knock on the door. Someone else might not have heard it or brushed it off. If he were asleep, it wouldn’t have woken him. But he knows who it is.
Still, he peeks out the window, relief in his chest as he sees the silhouette. He opens the door. “Hey, come on, it’s pissin’ out there.” He gives the man a wide opening. He steps in. He’s drenched, hood up, but hair still wet. He’s shivering slightly, and Sam closes and locks the door quickly. “Glad you came. Uh, I grabbed these for you.” He passes over a bag, which he notes Bucky doesn’t hesitate to take. “Think they’re your size. T-shirt, sweats, socks, a pack of underwear, and a sweater. Stuff to lounge in. If you want to shower and change, I can take your clothes to the washer here and get them clean for you.”
Bucky glances up at him, “Why?”
Sam’s been expecting this. “'Cause you’re cold. And bein’ in clean clothes is nice.” It’s not a bribe, and he wants Bucky to know that. “You can just take them and go. Or shower and go. Or stay. Whatever.”
Bucky looks back at the clothes. “I’d like to be clean.”
Sam nods. “Go ahead, I showered already—all yours. There are soaps in there and towels on the counter. You can put your dirty stuff in the bag, and I can take it to clean while you’re showering.” Give him some privacy. Bucky nods slowly, toeing his sneakers off and going for the bathroom. The door shuts softly, and he hears the lock click. He waits. After a few minutes, it cracks, and the bag is set outside. “Take as long as you want. I’m gonna pick up some food while I’m out.” There’s no answer as the door shuts and locks again.
He takes the bag and grabs some change, heading for where he saw the signs for the washer and dryer. It’s free for motel users; he just has to ask to be let into the room. He pays for some soap before putting everything in the washer. He worries a little about the red of the shirt but figures it’ll be fine. He sets a timer on his phone and takes his time walking the two blocks to a small supermarket. He grabs some snacks he likes, then grabs a few things he thinks Bucky will eat. He buys plums, he’s seen the man buy them a few times. He also grabs several kinds of crackers and some granola bars, making sure some are high in protein.
He manages to pass most of the time he needs before he returns, the washer nearly done. He puts the items in the dryer and heads back to his room. He knocks to be polite before entering. He’s happy to see Bucky still there, he’s sitting on the couch. The clothes fit well, he looks better after showering, and he’s no longer shivering. He’s sitting stiffly, eyes on Sam as he enters. “Hey, your stuff’s in the dryer. Got some snacks. You can have anything you like. It’s for both of us.”
He sets the bag on the small table. As he takes the items out, he sets the stuff he got for Bucky closer to him, silently stating it’s for him. “The tap water is good here, there are glasses over there.” He points to a counter, Bucky’s eyes flicking over. He slowly reaches for the box of granola bars. Sam doesn’t say anything and just continues what he’s doing. “You want to stay? There are extra blankets already here; you can have your choice of where to sleep.”
Bucky’s unwrapping a bar, he notes the man has his gloves back on. “Floor is fine.”
Sam frowns. “You sure?” He nods. “Okay.”
Bucky chews just as slowly as his other actions. Like he’s afraid someone is going to tell him to stop at any moment. “You’re, not going to question that?”
Sam shrugs. “I’m a soldier. I’ve been there. Sometimes the floor is the only place you can sleep.” A little bit of tension leaves Bucky’s shoulders. Sam grabs a blanket and one of the pillows. “Wherever you choose. Just let me know so I don’t trip over you if I need the bathroom in the middle of the night.”
He gives the man a joking smile and swears he sees his lips twitch a bit. He points to a spot by the wall, “There.”
Sam nods, putting the pillow and blanket down. “Probably gonna just watch something random for now, that okay?” Bucky just stares, “Some people need silence to sleep. I need background noise.”
Bucky looks away. “Doesn’t bother me.”
Sam settles into the bed, grabbing one of the snacks that won’t leave crumbs. He flips through the channels again until he finds some nature documentary. It has a good narrator, so he leaves it on. He only gets up to brush his teeth, cursing to himself for not getting one for Bucky, before settling in bed. He’ll grab one of those travel ones the next time he’s at a store. He looks through his messages, giving updates and assuring people he’s okay.
Despite having an ex-assassin in the room, he’s relaxed, getting sleepy. He doesn’t even hear when Bucky moves, seeing in his peripheral vision that Bucky is lying under the blanket on the floor. His eyes are half-opened, watching Sam. It doesn’t bother him, though it probably should. But he’s trying very hard to earn the man’s trust.
The silence is broken. “How do you know I won’t kill you?” Bucky’s voice is quiet, and it almost startles Sam.
He puts his phone down and looks over, the only light the lamp by the bed. “Are you going to?”
Bucky’s gaze is sharp, even in the lowlight. “I could.”
Sam nods. “Yes. You could. But you won’t.”
Bucky sits up a bit. “How do you know that?”
Sam returns to his phone. “Because I’m trusting you not to. I’ve been told about you, you’re not a killer. Hydra made you do those things. But since you got out, you haven’t so much as hurt anyone who wasn’t Hydra. If you were a killer or a bad man, you’d be attacking anyone. You don’t want me dead. So you won’t kill me.” He holds his breath, hoping it’s enough. Bucky slowly lies back down, silent again.
A few minutes later. “Thank you.”
Sam sets his phone aside. “You’re welcome. Goodnight, Bucky.”
He turns the light off. “Goodnight. Sam.”
He’s not surprised Bucky knows his name, since he now realizes he never introduced himself properly. He’s more surprised that the man used it. He doesn’t dwell on it as he falls asleep.