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Bucky Barnes took up space next to Sam Wilson in a farmer’s market stall selling something green and leafy, very earthy smelling.
“Hey, man, you found me,” Sam said lightly.
“The fuck I did,” Bucky answered. “I caught you tailing me ten minutes ago and took the block around and you let me,” he growled. “How do you keep finding me?”
Sam shrugged and handed over a fluffy stalk of whatever vegetable this was. “You should add more green to your diet. You can’t live on protein bars for forever.”
“It’s a matter of security. Tell me how you find me.”
“You’re fine, dude. While I’m tailing the shit out of you, I’m making sure no one else is looking your way. Which, by the way, no one has.”
“I’ve been watching the skies. You’re not flying ahead of me to scout.”
“No,” Sam agreed in bemusement. “I’m not flying circles around you.” He shook the vegetable again.
Bucky narrowed his eyes and took the stalk with a snap of his wrist. “What am I even supposed to do with this?”
“You eat it.”
“No shit, smartass. What should I eat it with?”
Sam grinned brilliantly at him, clearly pleased that Bucky was engaging with him. They’d been running into each other for months now and Bucky was convinced the initial delay was entirely planned on Sam’s part at this point. Like Sam had given him time to himself, to work things out. He was sure Sam had still been watching somehow. No matter what Bucky did, no matter the precautions he put into place, he caught Sam having coffee outside of his apartment or buying clothes at the same thrift store Bucky was lurking in, or filling up his car opposite the bus stop Bucky was waiting at. Always there. And Bucky never felt eyes on him. His paranoia was dialed up to a twenty-three with the dissolution of HYDRA but Sam showed up at the quiet times. Like he said, he was keeping other people away too. But how?
“I like to use it in wraps. Put something like chicken salad on it, maybe some shredded vegetables. It’s surprisingly filling and doesn’t upset my stomach like bread.”
“Birds shouldn’t have bread,” Bucky said. Then added, “You should get checked for a gluten intolerance.”
“Man, how do you know about birds and gluten?”
The real answer was that he’d gotten bored during one of the stretches where Sam had left him alone and he spent an afternoon researching all the shit that had ailed Steve, just to see how right–or typically wrong–they’d gotten it back in the 30s. That was for the gluten thing anyway.
“A little girl chewed me out a while ago about feeding part of my sandwich to birds in the park,” he said. “She said I’d make them explode. I told her I could do that with my mind. She said prove it. I couldn’t. She told me to stop feeding them bread.”
He wasn’t sure why he told the story until Sam laughed again and he realized exactly why. “Man, from the mouths of babes, right?” Sam asked. He piled more of the vegetable into a bag, paid for it, and then handed it over to Bucky. “Real food.”
“Rabbit food,” Bucky said.
“Good, that’s the kind of thing that keeps you from getting, like, scurvy.”
“That’s Vitamin C,” Bucky corrected.
“Then we’ll find you some oranges too,” Sam promised.
Overhead, a bird squawked and Sam glanced up for a second before corralling Bucky towards a table of all kinds of citruses.
_______________________________
Sam settled down on the sand next to Bucky. It was a miserable, drizzly day. The wind was kicking up sand and salt and the rain was sharp enough to sting, so Bucky had most of the beach to himself. Just him, the occasional jogger or dog walker, and seagulls flying in the breeze. Until Wilson showed up.
“You brought a picnic to a rainstorm?” Bucky asked drily as Sam unloaded a plate of sandwiches and passed it over to Bucky so he could grab water bottles too.
“I know you’re not eating right. Besides, it’s not a day at the beach if you don’t have sandwiches.”
Bucky couldn’t really argue with that. He hadn’t remembered until Sam had said it, but he had always brought lunch with him when they’d gone to the beach for any reason.
“How did you find me this time?” he asked. “There’s no cameras for miles. This is protected seashore. I’ve been out here for days. There’s no way you followed me and then waited.”
“I don’t need cameras to find you, Barnes. And I don’t need to tail you while hiding behind yesterday’s newspaper.”
“Listen, if you can do it, someone else can do it. I get that however you’re doing it, you’re watching for other people. But you’re gonna slip one day and I need to know how to protect myself.”
Sam leaned back in the sand, digging his elbows into the wet earth, and tilted his face up against the rain. He was the most handsome thing Bucky thought he’d ever seen. “Barnes, there’s not another man like me in the world. You don’t have anything to worry about. Besides, I think you’re pretty good at protecting yourself already.”
“Your avoidance is irritating,” Bucky said. He took one of the sandwiches and picked at a seam of plastic wrap. “Did you finally switch to gluten free bread?”
“Nah, those are all for you. I brought kale wraps for me.”
“You think I need four sandwiches?”
“I’m living with your ex-best friend. I know how you guys eat. Besides, I wasn’t sure what you’d like. I dunno, maybe you became a vegan in the last six months.”
Bucky rolled his eyes and finished unwrapping the sandwich. “I’m not a vegan. And I’m eating just fine. You’re making me feel like some feral cat you’re trying to coax out of an alley with tuna.”
“Pal, you’re not helping me feel like you’re something else.” Sam pushed himself back up as the rain picked up and grabbed a wrap. “Why’re you sitting out here, looking like a drowned cat?”
“Two cat jokes at once, huh? Cats eat birds, y’know.”
“You brought up the first one. I’m continuing a theme. But, hey, whatever floats your boat,” he added with a teasing nudge.
Bucky felt his cheeks warm and he looked back to the sandwich in his hands. “I like the sound of the ocean. And I like being alone. So today was a great day to get out of my hovel.”
“I don’t think you really like being alone,” Sam hummed.
“You’re making my decisions for me now?”
“Nah, I just know you open up like a spring flower anytime someone gives you two seconds of their time. You might want to like being alone. You might feel safe when you’re alone. But I don’t think you really like it.”
Bucky looked out over the span of the ocean and all its tumbling waves. “You’re not as smart as you think you are.”
“Yeah right,” Sam snorted. “I’m the most underrated guy around.”
“And so humble too. It’s a wonder no one’s snatched you up.”
“Well, hey, it’s gonna take a lot to be a good match.”
Bucky took a large bite out of his sandwich to avoid answering and kicked out his leg to keep a seagull at bay. Sam laughed at him and turned his face up to the rain again.
_______________________________
“Are you gonna try to convince me to come back?” Bucky asked, sliding into the seat opposite Sam at the coffee shop patio.
“Good morning to you too. You might not want to stick around though. I’m not alone today.”
Bucky frowned and tapped a spoon against his thumb. “You didn’t follow me out here?”
“Yes and no. Me, Steve, and Natasha are already out here handling some HYDRA bullshit. When I figured out you were in the area, I took a cab over.”
“Where are you?”
“About thirty minutes outside of the city. We’re investigating a safe house. Hope it’s not where you’re staying.”
Bucky narrowed his eyes and sat back in the chair. “You already know it isn’t.”
“Alright, yeah, I do.”
“Was it active? The safehouse?”
“Not that we can tell. Not for at least a few months. Not since DC.”
Bucky nodded and took a cake ball from Sam’s plate of treasures. Sam made an objecting, indignant noise but didn’t actually stop him. “Are you using HYDRA locations to track me? Is that it?”
Sam blew a raspberry and rolled his eyes, looking wildly unimpressed. “You know it’s not. There haven’t always been HYDRA leads where I’ve found you. And, even if I was trying that, there are hundreds of safehouses, bases, labs, and holes all over the globe. What are the odds I pick the same one you do every time?”
“You don’t find me in every place I stay,” Bucky pointed out.
Sam shrugged. “I’m a busy guy. Everyone’s got something to ask of the guy with wings, y’know. Thousands of cats trapped in trees.”
Bucky snorted. “Yeah, I bet you’re real in demand. Don’t know how you find the time to follow me around.”
“It’s pretty passive,” Sam said. “Definitely a hobby I can pick up and put down.”
“I’m not even worth your full attention, huh?”
“Well, of all the new people in my life, you’re the most well behaved so far. Keeping the other two in their kiddie-leashes requires most of my attention.”
“Bullshit,” Bucky laughed and then gnashed his teeth down on the sound. Still, by the way Sam’s eyebrows went up, he’d heard it. “You’re out there joining up with Captain America and the Black Widow to break into…fucking Fort Knox or whatever it was to steal your shit. You’re drop kicking the Winter Soldier. You’re fighting HYDRA operatives and jumping out of skyscrapers. You’re the kid that needs the leash. Hell, you traipsing around Europe and South America trying to find me for nine months is enough to earn one. You had no idea what my status was and you showed up without your jet pack, without even kevlar. Just jeans and a t-shirt.”
“I knew your status,” Sam said mildly. “I’d already had eyes on you.”
“Tell me how.”
Sam tsked and tilted a plate of crumbs over onto the small wall next to them so the pigeon poking around the landscaping could have it. “I’ve got to get back. I don’t think they’d follow me out here, but they’ll get suspicious and want answers. I’m not very good at lying to them.”
“Why are you doing this?” Bucky tried instead. “Why aren’t you trying to get me to come back with you?”
“Do you want to?” Sam asked. “You can come to New York whenever you want. Hell, you could come to this shitty little safehouse with us, if you wanted. Steve’d be overjoyed.”
Bucky tapped the spoon on his thumb again. “I know all of that. And…I don’t. Want to. You know I don’t. But…shouldn’t you want me to?”
“I don’t really care what you do, so long as you keep yourself safe and don’t hurt anyone. It’s not my job to wrangle you into house arrest or whatever.”
“It’s not your job to keep an eye on me either.”
“Nah,” Sam agreed. “Told you, that one’s a hobby.” He passed over the last of a bear-claw and crepe. “Here, finish this for me.”
As he was walking past, Bucky grabbed Sam’s wrist. They both looked down at the point of contact and then at each other. “Just…thanks, Sam.”
Sam grinned at him and squeezed his wrist. “Sure, Barnes. I’ll see you around.”
“Yeah,” Bucky agreed, watching him leave.
_______________________________
Bucky tried to swat away a flock of irritating black birds. Grackles, a voice in his head supplied pointlessly. His other arm stayed curled around his midsection like that was going to help the bleeding at all. Who knew, after all that time on ice, he was going to die somewhere arid and hot.
“Barnes, what did you do?” someone asked, low and irritated and worried. For a second, Bucky thought it was in his head again, but then there were hands on his shoulders, turning him over in the dirt and wrenching his arm away from his midsection. “Stop fighting me. I’m trying to help. Stop. Hey, it’s Sam, stop.”
Bucky forced his eyes open, had to blink away tears before he recognized Sam’s face. “Sam, what are you doing–”
“I should be asking you that. Texas? Really? You shouldn’t be anywhere near the states.”
“How did you find me so–”
“I was on vacation. I wasn’t in New York. Jesus, Buck. What happened?”
“I got shot.”
“By what ? A fucking bazooka?”
“It’ll heal,” he said, even though he wasn’t so sure of that himself. That projectile had ripped through his gear like it wasn’t even there.
“Shut up and stay still,” Sam ordered, pulling a med kit from a bag next to him.
“You have the worst bedside manner.” Bucky dropped an arm over his eyes to avoid the sunshine pounding down around them. He felt Sam cut through the rest of his gear. Heard him suck in a breath.
“What would you have done if I hadn’t been around, huh?”
“You mean if you weren’t following my every step? I dunno. Maybe I wouldn’t’ve felt compelled to come out here in the first place.”
“Bullshit,” Sam said.
“Bullshit,” Bucky agreed. “I was trying to fix something I set in motion, for what it’s worth.”
“Let me guess, you were less persuasive than you thought.”
“Less fast,” Bucky said.
“I’m going to put some stitches in this, alright? But it’s not going to be enough.”
“It’ll be enough.”
“You’re going to bleed out internally.”
“I’ll be fine. I already feel better.”
“Oh my God, shut up, you are so irritating.” Sam’s hand was warm where he rested it over Bucky’s side. Bucky could almost ignore the pain that followed his prodding and moving.
“Could you be gentler? That’s my body you’re trying to use like playdough.”
“How do you know what playdough is?” Sam asked, tacking on temporary butterfly bandages. “Stop moving,” he repeated. “You’re going to tear this open more.”
“I can read. I go into stores.” Bucky hissed and dug his fingers into sandy ground when Sam started to suture the wound shut.
“You act like you’ve never had stitches,” Sam tsked, though Bucky was sure he wasn’t imagining the strain in Sam’s voice.
“Y’know, Nazi-fucks had a softer touch than you.”
“Fuck you, Barnes.” Sam worked quickly. Despite Bucky’s bitching, he was efficient and really did do a good job of keeping the pain to a minimum. “You need a hospital.”
“No hospitals. I’ll be fine. This has happened before.”
“I don’t believe you.”
Bucky put his hand over Sam’s, smoothing metal through blood much to Sam’s distaste. “Just…keep an eye on me. Take me somewhere safe if you have to. I’ll be okay if you stay.”
Sam swallowed thickly and Bucky thought he was going to argue again, but he didn’t. “I don’t have a sedative strong enough for you. Think you’d just bleed it back out anyway.”
“Don’t worry,” Bucky promised. “I’m knocking myself out, no help needed.”
And he did pass out. He woke up just long enough to recognize that he was in the backseat of a vehicle, to see sunlight and leaves filtering by out the window above him. Sam’s voice was low and quick ahead of him. For a moment, Bucky thought he was talking to him, but he realized Sam wasn’t speaking in English. French. No, not French either. Something in between. Bucky reached out for the back of his seat but his arm was too heavy to control and it fell to the floor instead, which Bucky watched happen slowly.
The next time he opened his eyes, the sun was still out, coming in from a window in a house. He was laying in a bed–the kind of soft that was more worn than soft, actually too thin to be comfortable but made comfortable by age and use. He’d sweated through the blanket under him and the pants he was in, neither of which were his, and his head and throat ached, along with his side.
“Where… Where are we?” he asked and hoped Sam was near enough to answer, else he’d look like a fool.
“Louisiana,” Sam said from somewhere Bucky couldn’t see. “My sister’s house. I told her to take the boys on a vacation in New Orleans.”
“Boys?” Bucky said as his head lolled from one side to the next trying to track down Sam’s voice.
“My nephews. I try to keep their records wiped. Try to make sure no one knows about them.”
“So you’re telling me?”
“Well, you’re in their house, so.” Finally, Sam emerged from a door in the wall and Bucky realized it must’ve been a bathroom. He was dressed down in a tank top and shorts and looked younger than Bucky had ever seen him. “Besides, who are you gonna tell?”
He handed off a cold towel to Bucky and Bucky just held it over his face and then tried to tuck his arms underneath it too. “How long has it been?”
“Not long. Drive was about seven hours. Lucky for you, you were near the state lines. We’ve been here a little more than that. Ten or so.”
“Seventeen hours isn’t a long time?” Bucky asked dubiously.
“I didn’t expect you to wake up at all, so yeah.”
“Well, what’s the prognosis, doc? Still think I’m gonna die next time I close my eyes?” He pulled the towel down away from his face just to get the full effect of Sam’s unimpressed look.
“I don’t know. I don’t have an MRI here. You could still have internal bleeding.”
“I feel fine,” Bucky insisted.
“You’re a liar. Do you always pitch a fever when the serum is agitated? I know Steve runs hot anyway, and I assume you do too, but you’re still above average.” Sam came over finally and helped Bucky sit up carefully, slowly. He skirted his fingers along the edges of the bandages, making sure they were still secure.
“I don’t know,” Bucky said honestly. “I’m not really aware of what’s happening after they start prepping me for cryo. Any healing tended to happen right before I went under, but I don’t remember it.”
Sam frowned and touched the back of his hand to Bucky’s forehead. “I still don’t like it. Steve doesn’t do this.”
“Well, I got the back alley shit,” Bucky reminded him. “Can I have water, or am I still too porous?”
Sam rolled his eyes. “Die then, see if I care,” he said, ducking back into the bathroom.
“You do care. Wouldn’t have put a half dead man in your car if you didn’t,” Bucky answered back. He peeled back the bandages around his side and found Sam had redone his stitches already. Bucky had seen first hand what the healing factor would do to thread stitches. He was impressed Sam kept his head about him when it happened. These ones were itching like crazy already too.
“Yeah, you’re definitely shampooing the smell out of my seats,” Sam called back. By the time he came out of the bathroom, Bucky had his feet on the floor, hands braced on the bed like he was going to push himself up. He just hadn’t really convinced himself to do that yet.
“You think I’m really running a bad fever?” he asked, looking up at Sam with a mildly pained expression.
Sam frowned and handed him a glass of water. It was cold for tap and Bucky gratefully held it against his cheek before swallowing the whole glass down in one go. “What are you feeling? Are you concerned?”
Bucky handed the glass back. “Not concerned-concerned. You’re making me double think things. I’ve never had someone give a shit about me. Either I healed or I didn’t. I think water and sleep will help.”
“You have to eat,” Sam said.
“What is it with you and food, huh? Always trying to feed me.”
“What is it with you and not eating? Steve needs, like, four thousand calories a day.”
Bucky shrugged. “Back alley shit, man. Besides, I’ve been on a feeding tube for seventy years. Took me almost a month before I tried something more than applesauce, jello, and yogurt.”
Sam grimaced and went to the bathroom to fill the glass again. “I have a bigger water bottle in the kitchen. Do not try to stand up,” he ordered when he handed Bucky the glass. Bucky held it against his cheek again and gave a faux-serious nod.
As soon as Sam was out the door, he stood up and made his way to the dresser on the far wall, near a window. He could tell it was Sam’s because his shit was spread out all over it. He picked up a bottle of cologne and smelled it, then turned his attention to the dogtags laid out carefully on the corner of the dresser. Bucky couldn’t make out the name without lifting them closer, but he knew they didn’t say Wilson.
He wondered how much else in the room was Sam’s. Was this a guest room he was staying in or did he get to see his family often enough to warrant his own reserved space? Bucky ran his fingers over a shelf of old records. They were stacked too closely together for him to flip through them. He pulled open the closet door, but only found a handful of coats and dress shirts with some boxes in the corners. Bucky pushed the toe of one of his boots against the titanium briefcase on the floor of the closet. He was pretty sure he knew what was in that. There was a desk too, with some papers on it. He was just reaching for them when something croaked out–
“S-tah-ph. S-tah-ph.”
Bucky jumped and swiveled around, expecting…he didn’t know, Sam-but-a-zombie to be behind him. But Sam still wasn’t in the doorway. Instead, a very large bird was sitting on the window ledge, ruffling its feathers and shifting from foot to foot. Bucky cocked his head at it and it cocked its head back at him.
“Stahph,” it said again and suddenly flew into the room. Bucky threw his arms over his head, sending the water flying, and the bird fluttered around wildly for a few seconds before settling on the headboard of the bed. “Stahph,” it insisted again and floofed out its feathers.
“Oh, jeez,” Sam said, decidedly not a zombie or a bird. He handed Bucky a large handheld cooler and then crossed over to the bird. “You were supposed to behave. You’re not in the enclosure because you said you’d leave the house alone,” he told the bird, grabbing a rolled swatch of leather from the dresser and folding it over his forearm.
The bird jumped onto Sam’s arm, looking for all the world like he was pleased to be doing so, and pushed its head into Sam’s jaw. “Yeah, yeah, I’m glad to see you too. Go back outside and behave or I’ll put you in for the night.” He walked over to the window and the bird turned in a circle around his forearm before fluffing up again and then taking off into the air. Sam lowered the window. Still not totally shut, but it’d be difficult for a bird that big to get back in.
“I’m sorry. Family pet,” he said, like that explained anything. “I did tell you not to get up. He saw movement and wanted to see what was going on. Probably thought you were me.”
“It was talking,” Bucky said.
“He was voice mimicking. He has a few phrases. Nothing like a parrot could do, but he’s cool.” Sam put his hand over Bucky’s forehead again and then against the bandages. “I think you might be cooling off. Keep drinking water. I’ll get dinner started. How do you feel about spicy foods?” he asked.
Bucky just blinked at him and drank and drank and drank.
_______________________________
“Hey, hey, hey, Barnes, it’s okay. You’re safe. You’re okay. It’s okay,” Sam said. Bucky realized his hands were around Sam’s forearms. Sam’s hands were on his face. Bucky dropped his hands to Sam’s wrists and touched his thumbs to the back of Sam’s hands. Sam smiled encouragingly. “There you are.”
“Did you grab me?” Bucky asked. “Did I hurt you?”
Sam shook his head. “No. I came in here. I wasn’t going to touch you. I was talking to you and you grabbed my hand and put it to your cheek. I thought you were awake. I thought you needed the grounding. But you were still talking.”
“I don’t talk in my sleep,” Bucky said.
Sam rolled his eyes. “Fine, you don’t talk in your sleep. Somehow I knew you were still asleep. I don’t know what you were doing. But you were fine. You didn’t even grab me roughly.”
Bucky let go of Sam’s hands and Sam let them drop from his face. “How did you know I was having a nightmare? Could you hear me from your room?”
Since his side had healed enough to stop wearing bandages, Bucky had insisted on giving Sam his room back. Despite Sam’s protests that he had the run of the whole house while he was putting his sister and nephews on an all expenses paid vacation, they had settled on Bucky sleeping in the living room and Sam getting his room back. The guest room was the furthest room from the living room and the thought of screaming loud enough to wake Sam was mortifying.
“Nah. No, I was already up. I was coming to get a snack,” Sam said. “I guess I just knew. Could sense it.”
In all the time they’d known each other, Sam had never so blatantly lied. Bucky could tell a lie a mile off and this was a huge one. But he couldn’t fathom why Sam would lie about something like that.
“Do you get them often?” Sam continued.
Bucky thought about answering a lie with a lie, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, he just nodded. “I don’t think they’re usually physical. I go to sleep in one position, wake up in the same position,” he said quietly. “I don’t know why I grabbed you.”
“Are you okay?” Sam asked, which surprised Bucky. The sincerity in his voice surprised him.
“It wasn’t real,” Bucky said. Though that was likely untrue. At some point it had been real.
“It doesn’t need to be real to hurt us,” Sam said.
“Do you have them?” Bucky asked.
Sam’s mouth crooked into a wry, hurt grin. “Yeah, I get them sometimes. Had eased off a little but starting all this up again… It brings a lot of shit back.”
“Me?” Bucky asked.
“The Winter Soldier’s shown up in a few of them,” Sam admitted. “Recently those ones are worse ‘cause I know you. I mean, I’m not gonna do what Steve did and throw away my weapon in front of the Winter Soldier, but I get him not wanting to fight you . I’m still definitely gonna fight you though, if you pull that shit again.”
“Good,” Bucky said seriously with a nod. “You should. Just end it however you need to.”
Sam shifted a little and then sat down next to Bucky on the couch. “You wanna talk about it?”
“Not really,” Bucky answered honestly.
“Good, I didn’t either.”
Bucky snorted and leaned back against the couch, dropping his head over the back cushion. He heard rustling behind him and all of a sudden that bird was sitting on the arm of the couch. It crept closer to Bucky and then settled against the back of the couch as well.
“What’s the story with the bird?” Bucky asked when Sam started a third pass over his hands, picking at scabs or freckles.
“Oh, he’s some kind of corvid. We’re not sure exactly what kind. I found him ages ago. Couldn’t very well take him with me overseas, so Sarah kept him here. Her husband was kind of obsessed with him too, so it worked out. His name’s Redwing.”
“What? Why?” Bucky asked, trying to see any color variation in the feathers that would justify that name.
“Because he was all banged up when I found him. It’s what I called him at first and it just stuck.” Redwing preened a little at Sam’s voice and when Bucky reached over to slowly pet one finger over his head, then settled back against the couch. “We have an old greenhouse out back that we’ve converted into his aviary, but he’s too smart and keeps finding new ways out of it.”
Bucky smiled at the thought. “No wonder you’re so good at tracking me down. You’ve got a lot of practice.”
“Redwing always comes back home,” Sam said, laying his own head back against the couch. “It’s everyone around him that you’ve got to worry about.
Bucky stole a glance over at Sam, but his eyes were already shut, arms crossed over his chest, feet propped up on the coffee table in front of them. He supposed he wasn’t getting the couch back to himself. He wasn’t so mad about it.
_______________________________
The next night, Bucky woke up with Sam’s hands on his face again. He could feel his own flush from head to two. He wondered if he looked as sweaty as he knew he was. Sam’s face in front of him was enamoured.
“That one wasn’t a nightmare,” he breathed, like Bucky needed the reassurance.
“No,” he agreed softly. “It wasn’t.” Suddenly he realized Sam’s knee was braced on the couch between Bucky’s legs and he was leaning over him almost close enough for Bucky to be able to feel his heartbeat. “Do you get them too?” he asked, a mimicry of the night before.
Sam nodded and Bucky brought his hand up to Sam’s face because Sam hadn’t removed his yet. He’d hardly touched Sam for all their run-ins. He was pretty certain he’d never touched his face. His skin was just a little textured, but soft. The delicate skin under his eye where Bucky’s thumb passed was warm, slightly bruised with lack of sleep. His fingers fell to Sam’s mouth, just under the jut of his lower lip, just outside the corner. He looked just like a fucking dream.
“Who do you dream about?” he asked.
“Who were you dreaming about?” Sam didn’t answer.
“I don’t remember,” Bucky lied.
“Neither do I,” Sam lied back.
And then Sam’s mouth was on his and Bucky hadn’t realized he’d been waiting for it, aching for it, until he suddenly had it. He pulled Sam’s body down on his even though there definitely wasn’t enough room on the couch for the both of them like this, even though his side still stung with too much pressure, even though Sam deserved a lot better than him.
But Sam’s hands on his waist, shoving up under his shirt to his chest, were too compelling to argue with. He pulled his shirt off after Sam had gotten it caught under his arms and Sam’s tank top was gone suddenly too and–
“Jesus, you’re so fucking gorgeous,” he breathed, smoothing a hand over Sam’s chest and then back up to his face to pull him into another kiss. Sam actually moaned into it, like he hadn’t been touched in years, which seemed impossible to Bucky.
“Come back to the guest bedroom with me,” Sam said against Bucky’s cheek and Bucky nodded because he didn’t think he was capable of doing anything but listening to Sam right then. He picked Sam up as he stood and Sam wrapped his legs just over Bucky’s hips. It pulled on the wound, but Bucky really, really didn’t care.
Behind them, Redwing flew from the windowsill back to the greenhouse.
Bucky woke up to birdsong and Sam’s face bathed in early morning sunlight and, holy shit, he could get used to that. So, of course he said, “I can’t stay.”
Sam nodded and reached out to lay his hand on Bucky’s cheek. “Neither of us can,” he said. “I told Sarah she could come back tomorrow. Got a call from your best friend a little while ago. There’s a new big bad to deal with.”
“He’s your best friend now,” Bucky said.
“Yeah, well, when he’s pissing me off, he’s yours.”
“You’re mad about being called in?” Bucky asked.
Sam turned onto his back, taking his warm hand with him and Bucky immediately missed the connection. So he reached out and settled his hand over Sam’s chest. “No, no, it’s not that. I guess I’m not even really mad at him or the job or whatever. Just mad at this. I wish we had more time.”
“Mad at me,” Bucky surmised. “For not coming back.” He was starting to think maybe he was mad at himself for that now, if this was what could be waiting for him.
“Mad at the situation,” Sam corrected. “You haven’t done anything recently to irritate me. Except when you kept stopping to make some pithy remark last night.”
Bucky laughed and didn’t try to hold it in this time. “Sorry, I think that habit might just get worse with practice.”
“Practice, huh?” Sam asked, raising a brow at him. “Who says you’re getting back in my bed again? I got what I wanted.”
Bucky laughed again and found once he started he couldn’t stop. “You, who were just waxing poetic about the injustice of this all and the tragedy of our time schedules don’t want me back in your bed?”
“Well, when you put it that way,” Sam supposed with a grin. “That smile looks good on you, Barnes.”
“You don’t look so bad yourself, Wilson,” Bucky said, leaning over to kiss his neck down to a bruise he’d left just under his collarbone. Sam pressed into it. “We’ll work it out, alright? It’ll just take a little bit of time. I’ll work it out,” he promised.
“Besides,” Sam started.
“It’s not like you don’t know exactly how to find me.”
Sam grinned at him and climbed over him to kiss him back into the bed. “When I’m done with you this morning, let’s go make breakfast,” he breathed.
Under him, Bucky just nodded and pulled their mouths back together.
_______________________________
Bucky found himself vastly outnumbered and outgunned when an angel appeared in the sky with a thousand minions.
“What the fuck?” he breathed, staring up into the sun as Sam landed next to him. He hadn’t seen him in full gear and the image of a man he’d last seen in boxers and covered in hickeys suddenly dropping out of the sky battle ready with kevlar, goggles, and actual real wings strapped to his back was making Bucky’s head spin. All the good spinning he could interrogate later.
“Seemed like you could use a little bit of help,” Sam said. “And I had a free afternoon. Thought we could get lunch.” He looked up at the dozens and dozens of birds fluttering in the air above them. “Alright, let’s do a concave tunnel run,” he said, whistling between his teeth afterwards. The birds dispersed immediately.
Bucky heard one of the soldiers around them curse out something. Everyone’s weapons were half lowered as they searched after the birds.
“What was the point of that display, Wilson?” Bucky asked between his teeth.
“Hey, you do what you’re good at and I’ll do what I’m good at,” Sam answered cooly. He whistled again, which drew the attention of the soldiers back to them and just when Bucky thought he was really going to go out next to Sam like this, carnage erupted.
Bucky had no idea what was happening as blood flew through the air and the soldiers began to drop around them. Then, a singular feather landed on his hand, adhered by a splash of blood, and Bucky’s eyes suddenly focused on what exactly was zipping between all of the soldiers, taking out necks and eyes and other soft, exposed spots.
It all took less than two minutes. A few errant shots went off, a few knives glinted in the sunlight, but soon enough the goon squad that had just had Bucky surrounded was laying in pools of their own blood.
“What the fuck?” Bucky repeated and turned wide eyes on Sam. “Who the fuck are you?”
Sam pulled off his goggles, possibly so Bucky could see him roll his eyes. “Thank you. There’s a pond a mile and a half east to wash in,” he called up to the sky. He whistled another tune and Bucky and Sam watched the birds fly away, less organized than they had been the first time, all moving in different directions. “I’m not, like, a bird god,” he directed Bucky.
“You were talking to them. You could command them.”
“I wasn’t commanding them. I just asked for help. They obliged. Plenty didn’t.” Sam started to walk between bodies, carefully collecting birds that had perished in the whirlpool of feathers and blood. “Here,” he said, handing a small starling like bird to Bucky. “This one’s still alive. I’ll try to set her wing, clean that gash on her side.”
Bucky held the small bird gingerly in his hands, staring down at her frantic breathing. But her eyes weren’t wild, like he would assume a wild animal’s would be. Other than the exertion of breathing through pain, she was calm.
“How long have you done this?” Bucky asked, looking back to Sam when Sam completed his round and had six birds in his hands.
Sam shrugged and carried the birds to the cover and cool darkness of the trees, where he set them on the ground and began to dig. “All my life. I thought I was possessed for a while. Preacher’s kid, y’know. But I realized it was the birds, not a demon. Then I thought I was crazy. I didn’t want to tell anyone. I didn’t want people to hurt me over it, so I learned to ignore it when possible and, when I could, I learned to speak back.
“It’s pretty natural. We just understand each other. It’s like there’s no language disconnection between us. As far as I know, birds don’t necessarily understand English, they just understand me. And I don’t know what any other animal is saying. Just birds.”
“This is… Does anyone else know?”
Sam carefully laid the birds down side by side in the trench he’d excavated and then covered them with dirt again. “My sister does. Steve now, too. Maybe Natasha, she’s bright and perceptive. More people should know. You should’ve known. But it’s the kind of thing that doesn’t occur to most people to consider.”
“No shit,” Bucky said. When Sam continued to kneel in the dirt over the make-shift grave, he sat down next to him. He took a second to tuck the hurt bird into one of the pockets of his tac-belt. “That’s how you found me. You listened to the birds.”
“Do you know birds can fly up to 600 miles a day? As soon as birds in a place get an image of you from me, they start telling me about you.”
“When you said I was lucky to be on the state lines, you didn’t mean for the drive home. You meant for the birds to get to you and then you to get to me.”
“You weren’t hurt when I first heard you were in Texas. That came later. I’m glad I dropped everything and left anyway. I was already in Texas by the time I knew you were injured.” Sam looked at Bucky and then reached over to wipe away blood from his cheek. “Redwing told me when you were distressed at the house. And morning songbirds woke me up to tell me how beautiful you looked while you were sleeping. Seagulls at the beach. Pigeons in the city. Scavengers at markets.”
“You’ve got eyes everywhere,” Bucky said.
“It comes in handy when I’m tracking down a chameleon fugitive,” Sam admitted. “And making sure no one else is tailing him. Eyes in the sky see more than a guy on the street.”
Bucky smoothed his hand over the dirt in front of them. “These birds don’t even know me but they died to protect me. Because you asked them to.”
Sam tilted his head in acknowledgement. “They know how much you mean to me.”
“They’re wild animals. They shouldn’t care–”
“They care about me. Because I care about them,” Sam interrupted softly. “Things are only as wild as we perceive them to be. Many birds have family structures, complex emotions. Songs are as varied as the number of families. They learn to communicate with each other and develop secret speech for those they care most about. They’re fiercely protective and far more intelligent than we ever give them credit for. They are so much more than we see.”
“Are we still talking about birds?” Bucky asked.
“I am,” Sam said. He stood and offered his hand down to Bucky. “But if you see someone else in those words, I’d probably like them too,” he added with a smile.
“There really is no other man like you, huh?” Bucky asked.
“I did say that, didn’t I? Said it’d take a hell of a man to match me too.”
“You did say that too,” Bucky agreed. He brought his hands up to Sam’s face and gently kissed him while birds resumed their bathing and their flying and their nesting and their singing all around them.