Archive of Our Own

1. Hamburgers

Sam has no misgivings of what it's going to mean to work under Captain America. He saw the footage of New York. The man is a danger magnet. But Sam is no stranger to that either. The only bad parts are when the flashbacks come like when that Winter Soldier threw him and Steve off the helicarrier. Riley's always on his mind. He wonders constantly what Riley would do in any situation. Maybe that's why he's out here looking for a ghost.

A ghost that clearly doesn't want to be found. 

Sam knows he was in D.C. after the helicarriers fell. He has a scanner. It's hard to pick up but he can tell from descriptions that the stolen clothes are from one 'James Buchanan Barnes' pillage through shopping malls. As soon as Steve heard the soldier had escaped he wanted out of that hospital bed and to go after him.

Sam wasn't there for that part. Natasha was and she said it wasn't pretty. So here it is. Danger magnet asks Sam to go look for the danger. And what is Sam going to do, say no? He will admit though. Four months into this search with no leads whatsoever does not pump up one's motivation.

So here he is. In London. Wandering around the airport like the tourist he is. He has an overnight bag that thumps along behind him. He's hungry. He's tired. And frankly Sam didn't plan any of this god forsaken trip so he has no idea where he's going to sleep. It's 7:00 p.m., the sun is fading and he'd kill for a hamburger. So on his way out he stops at one of those airport food joints, hoping he doesn't get food poisoning or something.

Sam orders then sits at one of the tables and slumps over, head on his arms, allowing himself to rest for just a god-given moment. He curses the Winter Soldier again because of course an assassin will run out of the country like this. Hit and run. If Sam didn't like Steve so much he'd tell him to get a new wing man. The pun is very much intentional. 

Sam doesn't know how long he lays there for but it's long enough that his stuff must get done because he comes around to the smell of a poorly made hamburger and the light tapping of his drink being put on the table. 

"Thank you," Sam mumbles before sitting up, heels digging into the bone above his eyes, willing an oncoming migraine away.

It's when Sam lowers his hands that he realizes just how out of it he was. He's pretty ashamed of his reaction if he was to be honest. The chair makes an awful screech when he pushes back and his hand goes to his hip where there is no gun. Frankly he should be dead. Falling asleep like that will do that to you.

Across from him, in a ratty coat, a sweatshirt and a baseball cap is the ghost James Buchanan Barnes. He's way too relaxed. He sits slumped in the chair, arms crossed on the table sipping Sam's drink. He keeps sipping it while staring at Sam, not blinking.

And that's just how it is for a long time. Sam staring at the Winter Soldier while he drinks Sam's drink and Sam debates whether the man poisoned his burger. He doesn't dare look away. Who knows what the psychopath will do if Sam moves even an inch, if he dares to look away.

When the straw makes an awful scraping sound at the bottom of the cup, Barnes puts the cup down and stares some more. Then he looks at the burger and some sort of conflict comes over his face. Even from here Sam can hear his stomach growl. But neither of them move, just sit, looking pathetic to any passerby who happens to see the scene.

Finally, Barnes looks at him again and he twitches. "You don't..." a squeak erupts and he clears his throat before continuing, "you don't have to be scared of me. I'm not going to hurt you."

Sam snorts. "My broken wing and the shoe print on my chest say otherwise."

The other man frowns. "I don't do that anymore."

"No, you steal clothes and look like a homeless person with enough muscle to throw a bus."

That gets something in the soldier because he leans forward and Sam pushes back, making the solider pause and scowl. "Why are you following me?"

"Who says I am?"

"You were at the museum," the soldier says and Sam frowns. Museum? That was weeks ago. "Then you were at the mall. Then the park. You're following me."

Well. Isn't that news to Sam's ears. 

"You know those are frequent stops for people right? If I want to go lounge around the mall, I can."

Barnes eyes the hamburger again. Sam's sighs. So much for a warm meal. "Do you want the burger?"

His eyes flicker back to Sam and it seems as if a question comes over his face. Is he confused? Sam points at the burger. "The burger? Do you want it?"

Barnes stares at it again. It seems like he's looking at it with concern, as if it will attack him. Then, "I... Can I?"

Then it clicks. Steve had Sam read those files. That chair, the electricity, the blind obedience. It adds up when Sam realizes maybe Barnes hasn't made a real decision in a long time. That putting his hamburger out for grabs is not as obvious as it may seem when he's never had a choice and was punished for any kind of choice he did make. And boy does change things.

"If you want it," Sam says gently, "you can have it."

Again Barnes pauses. Slowly his hand crawls out, watching Sam as if he's going to reach out and hit him which actually makes Sam rather sick thinking about it. When the flesh and blood hand latches around the burger, Barnes pulls away fast and immediately scarfs it down. Sam can't help but wonder how long it's been since he's eaten.

Now that Sam's not under the Winter Soldiers dangerous glare, he has time to really think about what is happening. The Winter Soldier knows he is following him even when he wasn't. He saved Steve. But he's hiding. Why is he here talking to Sam then? Where did he come from? Does Sam tell Steve? He should probably bring it up. Why is Barnes coming out of hiding? To lecture him? Also how much does Barnes know? Can he remember who he is? Should Sam be ready for an attack? Is he crazy? Unstable? You know what. Focus on Steve. That's what matters right now.

"I'm here because of Steve," Sam says. Barnes... the Winter Soldier? He stops eating when Sam says this, ketchup dripping from his face.

"Steve," Barnes says through meat and cheese and bacon. 

"Yeah, he misses you. He's worried about you. When he gets done with some Avenger stuff he'll be looking for you as well."

Barnes shakes his head. "He shouldn't. He should let me go."

"Tell him that yourself," Sam huff's back. 

Barns glares. He stands up, taking the burger with him. "I don't want to be found," he says.

"Then why approach me," Sam says before he can run. 

At that Barnes's tension wanes. He looks at the burger, his metal hand humming as he tries to grip it less tightly. "I... you're.. safe. I'm not going to hurt you." Then he looks at Sam, almost like he's in pain. "And I want to believe you won't hurt me, either." Then he stalks out, disappearing into the crowd.

Sam sits there way too long before pulling out his phone. He stares at it for a long moment before dialing the number. "Steve, yeah, I saw him for two seconds. I don't think this is going to be as much of find and rescue mission as you think..."

2. Figaro

Well it's still a find and rescue mission because Steve and Sam search London, the British isles, everywhere and that man is gone. Even after that Steve is determined. He doesn't want to be found? Nonsense. He just needs to remember.

Sam highly doubts is the case but by now he's learned not to argue about the guy who stole his steering wheel out of his hands. So here they are again. Steve is on one side of Madrid while Sam's on the other, watching kids run by and listening to some band playing down the street.

It's quite relaxing. Sam ends up in a park sitting on a bench watching water. And for a moment he's back in Delacroix. His parents are hollering to one another, leading the boat out to port. His sister is flirting with her future husband. There is no nightmares of Riley falling out of the sky. No flashbacks to bombs and gun shells. There's not even the voice in the back of his head that says all that sacrifice was for nothing because the world is the same as it was yesterday. That people still get treated like crap when God said love everyone.

Sam can almost smell the beignets, the fish, the ocean when the bench rocks. He doesn't startle as bad as he did the first time. It's still surprises him he sat though.

"I thought I told you to stop following me."

It takes a long moment to disentangle from the memory. When Sam does, he gives Barnes a sardonic grin. "And I told you I'm here cause of Steve. He's not going to stop."

Barnes still looks homeless, almost like a stick. The clothes are even worse this time but now he's got a fat brown leather jacket that bulges at the stomach just slightly. He has a backpack now. One he keeps close in the tight grip of his metal fist.

"Don't tell him you saw me this time," he says.

"I don't think you are in any position to make demands of me," Sam argues.

A fire emerges in Barnes's eyes, but his yell is interrupted by a small meow. Sam stares at him. He stares at Sam. Then a little white head pops out of his jacket, yawning and struggling to get out.

Barnes immediately turns to her and says in the softest soothing voice Sam has ever heard, "No, no, baby. You have to stay in there. You don't want someone to get you, do you?"

But it's too late because she's already seen Sam. And to say he's a gonner is an understatement. He can't even control himself as he says, "Hi, baby girl," in this high soft tone that is only reserved for babies and animals and definitely should not be used in front of the Winter Soldier. "You're so pretty."

She starts purring and much to Barnes's frustration climbs out of his arms and onto the Sam's lap where she curls up and soothes his insides with her purring. Lord, he missed this.

It takes far too long to notice Barnes staring, jaw wide open. Sam snickers, "What? Jealous your cat likes me more than you."

And it finally clicks that holy crap the Winter Soldier has a cat that he was toting around in his coat! Why does he have a cat in his coat in the first place?

"I..." He stutters, "she..."

Sam rubs under her chin and she rubs and pushes back into him, purring intensifying. "You're just a little freight train, huh," Sam says as he looks her over. Her fur is matted, kind of dull and Sam can't decide if it's because she's dirty or cause she's old. From the way she is so calm and immediately goes to sleep, he'll say she's old. How on Earth did Barnes get a cat who is so old?

"Her name is Alpine," Barnes huffs and Sam can't help but laugh at his exasperation.

Sam sits still letting her, Alpine, get comfortable on his belly before turning his attention back to Barnes. "How did you manage to get a cat? You're literally on the run."

Barnes eyes Alpine. His protectiveness is palpable. "I was in Paris for a little while. Where I was staying an older lady died. Her kids threw the women's cat out on the street even though she's an older cat. She can't even catch mice. Her joints..." he swallows hard, "I couldn't leave her."

Sam shakes his head. "People can be awful."

Barnes nods. As Sam rubs Alpine's ears, something occurs to him again. Barnes just shared something with him. Not about himself, but he shared. Sam supposes as a show of 'hey, I'm not here to arrest you,' he should, too.

"When I was a kid," he says and Barnes's eyes shoot to him, "I had a gray and white short hair. Figaro. Was my best friend for a long time."

Barnes snorts, "I always took you to be a bird guy."

Sam glares. Barnes smirks. Boy, if he only knew, Sam thinks as he eyes a pigeon pecking nearby. Just one word... No. Not today. He continues. "We got him from a... abusive situation. He didn't like anyone. So I sat with him for months and all he would do is hiss. Then one day, he laid by my head, then my lap. Eventually he played and became my friend." And suddenly tears feel Sam's eyes cause he misses Figaro and his dad so much. "My dad got shot when I was eighteen. Figaro was in the crossfire. Ma used to think it's cause he wanted to save Dad. I don't know about that but I like to think that's the case. He was a good cat."

Sam stares at the water and for some reason it looks bloody, just a little, as he remembers that horrible night. The blood. The screaming. The whailing. He can't breathe. He can't breathe! He's going to die just like his dad! He couldn't save his dad. He couldn't save Riley. He can't save himself.

"Breathe." Suddenly a hand is on Sam's neck, shoving his head between his knees and rubbing his shoulder, "Breathe. No, don't struggle. Just breathe."

Barnes continues to repeat this again and again as if the repetition will heal Sam which in a way it does cause at some point he can feel his inhales and exhales again. Though now he feels exhausted and the hand on his back is doing him no favors.

Alpine is long gone, curling around Barnes's neck like a boa. Sam shrugs his hand off and sits back up hitting his back against the bench hard enough that something pops but at least he knows he's feeling something. In the corner of his eye, Barnes fidgets as if he has something to say. Sam doesn't want to hear it so he doesn't point it out.

It's not until long afterward as the sun is setting that Barnes speaks and Sam's beyond relieved it's not about his dad or Figaro.

"I don't know how to take care of her," he says, "and I've never taken care of someone else. Or... I guess I did. Steve... my sister. I can't..." he turns to his backpack. He pulls out a notebook, one of those cheap ones you see kids get for school and he scribbles something down and its almost manic, an act of desperation.

Sam lets him do it. Better to let him then get that pen stuck in his throat. Suddenly Barnes stops, glances up. His blue eyes look gray as the waters light bounces off them.

"Samuel, right?"

Yep. This guy is a creep. 

"I don't even want to know how you know that," Sam says, "Sam." Barnes nods and starts writing again. Sam gets a glimpse of a few words. Becca. Steve. Boiled soup and sickness with a bunch of question marks by it. Sam's name is there with a horrible squiggle of a bird. Sam snorts. Brat.

"You're going to want dry and wet food," Sam says. Barnes looks up, startled. Sam keeps his eyes on him as he says, "and a warm bed. An old lady like her needs some warmth."

A smirk comes over Barnes's lips. "Believe me, I know." As if for emphasis, as the sun disappears, Alpine climbs down into his jacket, disappearing for good.

"Thank you," Barnes says so softly that Sam almost misses it, "for sharing all that with me."

Sam shrugs, "Doesn't matter."

He says something in russian. Sam ignores it. 

Now that it's dark and people are fewer, Barnes seems to relax. Sam wonders how much he remembers because he seemed to fall into and back out of memories just a few minutes ago. Is it always like that? How often does it happen? Is it memories Barnes writes about? Or something more?

"I assume you'll keep looking," Barnes says as he stands, hands in his pockets.

"And you'll keep running," Sam says, shaking his head. 

Barnes waves at him but before Sam can move he's gone. He rolls his eyes and stands. Check his phone. Five missed calls from Steve. He's probably losing his mind.

As Sam crosses under a tree, a laughing dove coos at him. Something about not enough nest space. He chuckles at that and that's when the idea comes. And boy will it make his life easier.

"Hey," he says and the birds look at him. He pulls out his phone and pulls up a picture of a large bag of bird seed. "Can you do me a favor? Watch the guy that was talking to me. Tell your friends to watch him, too. I'll repay you. Tenfold."

3. Jackets, bandages and phone numbers

Sam blames Ultron.

Sam blames Sokovia and that freaky robot Tony apparently built and Steve freaking Rogers for all of this. Because he wouldn't be sitting in the middle of an alley bleeding out in Rome of all places if the past week hadn't happened.

Half of Europe is pissed at the Avengers and frankly Sam should have taken the hint and went home but no! He's too caught up in finding this super soldier to listen to common sense. Maybe he should have that checked out because the amount of need he has to see Barnes is unhealthy.

Sam coughs and a strand of blood covers his hand. He glares at the paper by his thigh that was attached to the knife that was so meticulously put in his side. A picture of the Avengers from New York glare's back. Sam doesn't know Italian but he knows enough that to see devil horns on everyone is not good.

Sam gasps and chokes. This is not good. He doesn't have the tools to deal with this. No equipment to patch himself up. All of his gear is at the hotel. He just wanted a stupid drink!

He tried to stand again and only results in spinning the world on its axis. When he can see straight again, he's on the ground on his side...and a haw finch sits watching him. Where did she come from?

Sam chokes, coughs, then says, "Hey. Hey." The bird looks at him. Chirps once. He nods. "Yeah. I'm not..." He has to stop to heave in a pained breath that rattles his rib cage. "Listen. I might know someone... someone around here. Some of my friends were following him. He... He might be my only chance."

The haw finch coos then takes off. It's not long after that that the pain gets too much and he blacks out.

When Sam wakes up, it's to the smell of beans and smoke. Wood beams are far above him. There's a slight scent of rain filling up the smoke-filled place he's in. He shifts a little and hisses. Right. Stab wound. He feels his side and slightly panics when he realizes he has no shirt on. Behind him is a rough backpack and covering him is a jacket that smells a little too much like sweat and homelessness.

Dang. The birds really done it. Who knew a small idea like that would end up saving his life. Then there is the man of the hour standing over Sam, arms crossed over a red henley. There are red scratches on his neck, hand and face, already healing.

"Buck..." Sam chokes before coughing a lung out. 

Barnes leans over and hands him a water bottle before hissing, "Next time you get in trouble, call me. Don't send your little bird friends to come peck my eyes out."

How did he figure all that out? Call him? He doesn't have a phone does he? In lieu of all that, Sam groans, "What happened?"

Barnes scowls and leaves Sams vision. He tracks him even though his vision is unsteady, unsure. Barnes goes to a small alcove where embers are still smoldering. "What happened. Someone stabs you in retaliation for the Avengers actions in Sokovia. Instead of being somewhere safe, you are chasing me down when I told you not to, giving yourself up for the slaughter. And the only reason I found you is because two pidgeons and some other bird flew in here and pecked me until they got me to my feet and then ripped holes in my new clothes trying to get me to follow them to a half dead Samuel Wilson who had at least had the decency to keep the knife in but I still had to drag him back here because he didn't have the decency to prevent blood loss!"

Sam thinks that is the most he's ever heard Barnes speak. He should say thank you and he'll be out of his hair soon. Instead, Sam says, "You're a pain."

Barnes drop something and Sam feels a shift on his legs. He lifts his head slightly and there's Alpine stretch across his thighs, purring, keeping him warm. He looks around feeling just a tad ill. "Where's my shirt?"

"Gone," Barnes says unhappily, "I ripped it off of you. It was in my way." That produces an image Sam never wants to think of again.

But just to rile him up, Sam says, "Kinky."

Barnes whipes around and his super speed is showing in spades as he stands over Sam seconds later, threatening him with a skillet. "Don't test me, Wilson. I only did this for Steve."

Sam can't help the smile that comes over his face, the laugh that busts through his pounding ribs. "Sure you did. You can't tell me you didn't miss my gorgeous figure."

Barnes sputters for a moment before thrusting the pan at him again. "I would prefer it if your figure wasn't staining my nice leather coat." 

"Ah, you did miss me."

Barnes throws the skillet and it goes through a window pane. He's panting and Sam's side is flaring up and he's too focused on it to care about much else. Barnes slumps down by Sam's side, looking pathetic.

"You know, you took a gamble getting me. Why didn't you call the hospital?"

Ah. He's angry. Sam shifts uncomfortably. "I don't know. You're the first person I thought of."

Barnes glares at him. "You need to stop following me."

"No, can do. Not until you come back with me."

The rain begins to beat harder. Sam closes his eyes and hums. "This is nice."

"What?" He says. Sam can't tell if the hint of panic is actually there or not. 

"The rain. It's nice."

A song gets caught in Sam's mind and he can't get it out. So he sings it, softly, as he falls back into the soft oblivion.

I want to know, have you ever seen the rain 

I want to know, have you ever seen the rain 

Coming down on a sunny day...

When Sam wakes up again, he's curled up on his side in the back of a car. Which gets him panicked as he sits up, yelling in pain. The rain is still falling outside. The stone road is blurry through the currents of water. Then the door opens and Barnes flops in. Alpine appears from his coat and meows at Sam. He takes a glove off then reaches to the passenger seat and throws a t-shirt back.

"Here, have a souvenir."

"Do you mind not moving me a million different places when I'm unconscious. Also where did you get a car?"

"Don't ask questions you don't want the answers to, Wilson. Get that shirt on before I twist your tits off."

"Boy, you're a kinky jerk this time around, aren't you?"

To be fair, Barnes does reach backward to grab Sam. And Sam wacks him with the shirt before putting it on. He feels a bit loopy and boy he hopes Barnes didn't put something weird in him. The t-shirt says 'I love Roma' with gems for the letters. He glares. "This is a shirt for a teenager."

Barn snorts. "Nonsense. Clothes are clothes."

He starts the car and Sam sneers, "Clothes are close my butt. You steal clothes, cars, and what, phones? How the crap am I supposed to call your butt if I'm in trouble, which won't happen again, if you're in another country? Or you're phone doesn't work?"

Sam tips at little and he's grateful the car starts heating up cause he can't think about anything except whatever he just rambled. 

Barnes reaches into the driver's seat again and pulls out a bottle of water and a bowl of pasta from some restaurant. "Eat. Drink. Then I'll take you back to your hotel."

"I hate you," Sam says though he grabs it anyway. The pasta is a bad idea but he eats a little just so Barnes will stop staring at him.

Alpine crawls in the back with Sam, purring and doing little half meow sounds as she paws at the pasta and watches him drink. Barnes's gaze turns to her and he softens tenfold.

"She likes you."

"She has good taste."

"No. Terrible really. You should see her taste in food."

Sam sets the pasta side and focuses on the water. Barnes doesn't turn back around, but his gaze goes to the back window where the rain patterns against it, incessant, but nice.

Thunder rolls and Alpine makes her way to Barnes who tries to soothe her. Sam jumps, too, but Barnes doesn't notice. It sounds too close to artillery fire for his taste.

And that's where they sit for a long time, listening to the rain and oddly enough, welcoming each other's company. Sam hums a tune. Barnes does the same while he writes in a notebook. Sam doesn't fail to notice the blood on the backpack or on Barnes's jacket. He doesn't know how Barnes saved him. He's just glad he did.

At some point Alpine settles on Sam and he falls asleep in the worst position known to any man in any little car on the earth. When he wakes up, he's in the hotel, covers up to his chin. A portable radio is playing on the nightstand and on it, a sticky note says '40s music is better but the Beatles aren't bad.'

Here Comes the Sun starts to play. Sam spends too long thinking about it and the note. Debating whether he should show Steve or not. When Sam falls asleep again, Here Comes the Sun combines with Have You ever Seen the Rain and somehow it makes sense.

4. Gifts

Every winter since he moved to D.C. Sam thinks the same thing. He should have stayed in Delacroix because the cold is not doing it for him. It was nice to be back in the states for a bit. To eat Thanksgiving dinner with Sarah and her husband before flying to Switzerland because Barnes can't seem to go anywhere warmer.

So he walks down the street, tin foil pan in hand, and a backpack on his back. His doves lead the way, cooing about bird seed and how the others birds in the area are nice. Sam has to stop listening when he about falls on the ice. Nope. This food is going in stomachs not on the ground.

The birds lead him to a ramshackle apartment building. Sam has a hard time climbing the stairs, worrying their going to collapse under him. 

He climbs to the third floor, goes to the second door on the right where the doves cooed he's at. And boy they better be right or the seed is going to the ducks. 

Sam shuffles the food to his left side and tries to knock on the door but it swings open before he can and a gun is shoved in his face, muzzle touching his cheek.

Barnes spits something in Chinese. Sam snorts. "Good to see you, too, tin can."

Barnes stares for a long moment before Alpine comes through the door and rubs Sams legs. Barnes scowls, "You almost died, Wilson."

"Not my first rodeo, Barnes. Let me in, this food is heavy."

He eyes the silver container in Sam's hand and wrinkles his nose. "I don't want your food."

Sam stands up straight even though Alpine is using his leg as a scratching post. "Listen here, winter scourge, I brought this dang food all the way from America on a quin jet. My sister cooked it. So if you don't eat it I'm going to tell her you hated it and she's going to hunt you down and beat you to death with a turkey leg. Get it!"

For some reason that brings a semi smile to Barnes's face. He shakes his head in amusement before stepping back, letting Sam in. It's a small apartment. A studio with a couch in one corner and a pathetic bed in the other and a kitchen in the back with a table in the middle. He maneuvers his way through trash and clothes before dropping the pan on the smallest oven he's ever seen.

Out on the windows are the two doves that Barnes stares at with complete malice. "You going to tell me about your homing pigeons someday?"

"No," Sam says before going to the window, opening it and dumping half a bag of seed from his backpack on the little plant holder they sit on.

"Thank you," they coo before gossiping about Barnes's greasy 'feathers.' Sam snorts as he looks at the man's hair that is in fact greasy. 

Barnes glares harder. "What?"

"You're such a brat. No, hi, Sam. No, I've missed you, Sam-"

"The day I miss your invasive mug is the day I eat my arm. The metal one."

"Invasive," Sam huff's, "says the ex-assassin that broke into my hotel in Oslo and stole all my guns."

"That was for safety," Barnes argues, "I didn't have one on me there. And Hydra was looking for you."

"Right. Sure. Listen, I'm hungry and I can't be here long so..." Sam uncovers the tin foil and let's the containers of mashed potatoes, shrimp scampi, pie, stuffing, turkey and more show. "Happy Christgiving!"

Barnes stares for the longest moment in history before saying, "What?"

Sam rolls his eyes. "Okay, Happy Thanksgiving/Merry Christmas. Happy?"

"No, I...I got that. Why are you giving me food?"

And Sam sighs heavily. And he can't decide if he should hug the poor shmuck or psychoanalyze him. It's probably has to do with seventy years of no holidays. Sam would bet his money on it.

"Because it's Christmas, man. And you've been alone with no holiday the last seventy years. No one knew where you were last year. But I do this year."

"Basically you're pittying me."

"No, but if you want to see it that way I can't stop you."

Barnes glowers. "I know how to make choices now. I don't need you telling me I can."

Ouch. That's fair. Sam turns and starts with the shrimp, popping juice as he opens the container. He sticks it in Barnes's disgusting microwave than looks for fork, pulling open drawers until Barnes shoves in by Sam, opening the cupboard and giving him one. Sam smirks. "What, no plate?"

Barnes's eyes never leave his as he reaches under the sink and whips out a paper plate. Sam's smirk gets bigger. "You got two?"

He rips the plate apart and thrusts one half at Sam before taking out the turkey and slamming some onto his plate. Then potatoes. And then the whole thing save the shrimp. By then he actually gets out a plate or two and uses it whole. 

Sam laughs through it. He sits at the table while the other sits on the couch, turning every which way to keep Alpine from eating off his plate.

"None of this is good for you, honey," he keeps chirping, "it's going to make you sick. Do you want to be sick?"

And she meows like she doesn't care and bats at his face. Sam takes some of the lettuce from his small salad and gives her a bit. She eats it right up. 

"Really," Barnes huffs.

"Figaro ate lettuce all the time and applesauce. It didn't kill him."

Sam can tell Barnes wants to spit something but he doesn't. Just shoves the food in his face. Every once in awhile, he softens, relaxes, looks as if he's in another world before taking another bite and starting the process over again. They eat in silence. When Sam finishes and Barnes takes the rest of the leftovers, Sam grabs his backpack and starts rummaging through it.

"What are you doing?" He asks as he slumps back into his seat.

"That was Thanksgiving," Sam says, "this is Christmas." He pulls out a big red sock and two wrapped gifts. Barnes about drops his plate.

"What the hell-"

Sam slings the sock at him and Barnes about drops his food. "Here. Santa came early."

"Santa's black?" Barnes says and he says it with such genuineity that Sam about laughs up a lung. 

"Nobody's seen him so how would anyone know. But if I had to guess, the best Santa would be."

Barnes stares at the gifts for a while and it occurs to Sam that just maybe this man ain't never seen a gift like these. Not in the last seventy years at least. How often was Hydra giving him something meaningful, something that wasn't meant to diminish or harm him. Never if Sam had to guess. 

His throat swells up. And now he knows for sure he did the right thing. When he first thought of bringing a holiday to Barnes... no, Bucky, he felt like that was stupid. He's never approached Bucky. He's been giving him space. Let him come to Sam. But when has Bucky had someone come to him just because they want to be nice. Probably not for a while. And it's Christmas. The time when the lonely shouldn't be so alone. He cursed himself for doing this every moment until now. Now, he feels sad, heart broken, but relieved.

"Hey," Sam says and Bucky jerks, "you can open them at Christmas. You don't have to open them at all. But I wanted to bring you this. You deserve it."

"No," Bucky suddenly chokes and Sam almost believes he sees tears in the ex-assassins eyes, "I don't." He shakes hard. "The people I killed... I remember them, Sam." Sam? He's going personal now, too, huh. "Not all of them were good but some were innocents. What about their families? Those families have a missing loved one that will never be home for Christmas again. Their families will spend another Christmas in mourning. And here I am eating food and..." He cuts off, tripping over words and choking on sobs but he allow that vulnerable side through. 

Sam let's those words sit because sometimes that's what you have to do. Let things sit. With it Bucky turns to him, but never looks at him. "I remember what I did to you. It came back... the car on the bridge... It came back recently. I..." his breaths are shakey... "You went home. I guess that triggered something." There's more to what he is saying but he doesn't push. Sam doesn't dare too. "I'm sorry. For trying to kill you. For what I almost did to your family."

Sam shakes his head, "Not your fault."

Barnes, Bucky, shakes his head. "I'm selfish," he mumbles before picking up the sock. Sam grins as he takes out the orange, not sure if he's expecting a scoff or blubbering. It's a bit of both. "I guess you thought it funny to put an orange because of what. The great depression?"

"Come on, man. Let me be a little nostalgic, would you?"

Bucky curses at him while pulling back the orange out of Alpine's reach. He says something in Russian before reaching back in and pulling out a mini tool kit.

"For your arm," Sam says, "remember how it was on the fritz that one day in the Czech Republic. I don't know how much you needed but I thought a toolkit wouldn't hurt."

Bucky smiles, shakes his head. "Thanks." Then he pulls out a squished up small baby blanket that barely fits in the sock. "The hell..."

"Sorry, that's not for you. That's for Alpine."

He holds it up and Sam smirks as he glowers at it and him, "Buckee bear?"

"That way she'll never forget you."

He throws it at Sam and Sam laughs so hard he misses him taking the last item out entirely. As he lays the blanket on the floor, he looks up to see Bucky thumbing the crocheted beanie with the colors of blue and silver. Calm colors.

"My sister made that," Sam says, "said it's cold in Europe. You need a hat."

He stops thumbing it and looks up, surprise in those blue eyes that for a moment remind Sam of the water back home. "I thought you were lying with food. You tell your sister about me?"

Sam feels heat crawl up his neck and over his face. He coughs lamely. "Well, I gotta tell somebody. Besides, she's good with secrets. And she gets mad when I keep stuff from her."

Bucky snorts, "The mighty Flacon, bested by his glorious sister."

"Hey, if you knew her, you would know how awful she can be."

"I don't know. She makes me beanies and she doesn't know me from a hole in the ground."

"Cute." Sam flings a power ranger covered present at him. "These last two are from me."

"Obviously," Bucky huffs. For a moment he stares at the box before gently ripping the paper, as if he'll rip whatever is inside with it if it goes at it too hard. He pauses when he gets the box open and sees the brown leather notebook. 

"You write a lot and I'm pretty sure you don't pay for all those notebooks."

"It looks like the journal I had in 1943..." He says, his entire body freezing, eyes staring into space, "I had a journal..." then he looks at Sam but not really at him, "Where is it? Is it in the museum? Or did it fall with me?"

Bucky Barnes had a journal? Sam curses. Of course he did. He seems like the type. Sam didn't have one. Just the logs for flight missions that are locked away in some bunker. He shrugs, "You'd have to ask Steve. He knows more about that than I do."

At Steve's name Bucky seems to come back to himself. "I... sorry. I just... memories come pretty quick these days." He taps the notebook, looking slightly more sentimental than he did with the orange. "Thank you."

"I told you. It's not a prob-"

"Really, Sam. Thank you. My memories," he exhales shakily, "I could forget everything again. Who I am. Who I was." He glances at his backpack in the corner, all ripped and dirty from travel. "Those notebooks hold every memory I have. Even the murders."

Oh. I don't know what I thought he was writing. Definitely memories. Maybe just the good stuff. But this... this is important.

"I even write notes, things I need to remember. Like Steve is my friend. Or plums are good for memory. They help." Bucky hugs the notebook to his chest, looking shaky.

"You feel well enough for one more?" Sam asks.

Bucky nods slowly, "Sure."

Sam throws the thinner one at him. He catches it and awkwardly rips it apart. Again he pauses at seeing the thick military grade backpack in his hands. He looks at the ratty one, then the new one.

Sam smirks, "It even has a strap across the chest so you never lose it."

"I'm not going to lose my backpack, Sam."

"One of the straps is literally hanging on by a thread. You need a new one."

"Just cause it's new it doesn't mean it's better."

"Fine, I'll take it back then," Sam reaches for the backpack before Bucky swats at him with it. Sam hisses as one of the straps buckles hits him but Bucky doesn't apologize.

"It's mine, Sam. Go find your own."

Sam laughs. "All right, Mr. Stingy."

At that Bucky smiles.

It's a blur after that of Sam yapping about his family and Bucky listening. And it feels ridiculously natural to share all this with him. Stuff about Riley and his flashbacks. At one point Bucky asks him if he ever felt suicidal and they spend the longest time staring at each other because Sam's silence answers everything and Bucky's question tells too much.

"How did you overcome it?" Bucky asks. 

And Sam shrugs, "Family. A change of scenery. Tried to find purpose again."

"Did you find it?"

"I don't know. Sometimes I feel like I'm still looking for it even though working with Steve feels like the whole world. And sometimes I wonder if I'll ever find it."

Bucky nods. "I think... some days I'm still alive because of Steve. Because something in me wants to live for him. Like I did in the old days. Other days though..." he doesn't continue and Sam can't help but wonder what he means. He keeps staring at Sam as if willing him to get it.

He doesn't.

At some point Sam falls asleep. He's barely awake when Bucky covers him with a blanket and carries him to the bed that Sam doesn't think he's ever slept on. He barely hears the man say, "Where would I be without you and your pigeons, Wilson?"

Sam's gone before he can object that they are doves not a pigeons and so are the words.

When he comes around again, it's at the brink of dawn. He sits up, letting the blanket fall from.his shoulders. On the couch, Bucky reclines with Alpine squished between his body and the back of the couch, arms around her, holding her to him, and against his better judgment Sam takes a picture. Then two more. One day he'll show them to Steve. One day maybe he'll even print it. 

Sam gets up as quietly as he can and makes his way to the two before he notices the notebook he gave Bucky on the coffee table. It's already a fourth the away full and Sam wonders how many memories he dragged up from this past day alone. He tries not to look too closely but he does when he sees his name at the bottom of the page in big writing.

Sam leans in and his chest aches. 

SAM WILSON! HE IS A FRIEND. PLEASE DON'T HURT HIM. RIGHT NOW HE'S ALL YOU GOT.

It's both touching and patronizing. 

Alpine does a half mirp half meow sound and Sam shh's her, gently petting her side. "I'll see you later, baby girl. I love you. Tell your daddy I said bye, yeah."

Alpine purs and Sam sees a slight twitch of Bucky's lips. He pretends not to, grabs his backpack and slips out, allowing himself to be the ghost this time.

It's not until he's on the plane that he discovers Bucky's gift shoved in the back pocket. A stuffed eagle dressed as Captain America (haha, Bucky. He'll get him for that one) and a silver chain with a skeleton torso, and a pair of angel wings attached to it.

Sam can't help but wonder where he found such a thing as he puts it around his neck. It rests well on his chest where Riley and his tags once laid. 

5. Alpine 

Sam knows something is wrong when Bucky doesn't show up to get plums. He does so every morning. Sam sees it from his hotel room in bucharest. He knows but he knows he's here. He looks up at Sam's window everyday but never waves. Sam figured keeping his distance for once would be a good idea. Steve is going to figure out this game of cat and mouse has restarted again and again too often sooner or later. He needs to keep that distance, play pretend until Bucky is ready to come back. But it's kind of hard to do that when he doesn't show up for once.

And it feels wrong for Sam to worry. Cause Bucky can definitely take care of himself. But that doesn't mean anything when Sam has his parents and Riley floating through his mind 24/7. The last thing he wants is Bucky's life on his conscience, too.

So when five hours go by with no chance of Bucky just being late, Sam flies over to his apartment building, the doves guiding him. He lands in the alley and walks the rest of the way under surveillance. He doesn't need some teenager or nosy person to hop to unnecessary conclusions as to why the Falcon is here. He takes the stairs two at a time all the way up and by the time he's there, Sam about collapses on the floor because running isn't climbing stairs and people build elevators and balconies for a reason.

But he makes it to Bucky's door where he's gasping as he knocks, and saying, "Hey, Bucky. You all right. I didn't see you at the-"

The door falls open. Sam falls with it, flat on his face where he decides the prospect of getting up to just falling asleep right here is a very hard decision indeed. But he manages to drag his head up and there he is, between the couch and the coffee table, curled up in a ball, mumbling something under his breath.

At first Sam thinks he's having a breakdown and that there are a million different ways this could go. From a trigger to the Winter Soldier could be back and if it's the latter he's going to be dead real quick here. But then he notices the white tail poking out from the curled up position and Sam's stomach drops.

"Bucky," he says weakly, getting to his knees and crawling over to him. The closer he gets, the clear the voice becomes. It's her name. Over and over again. And Alpine is in his arms, looking sound asleep. For a moment Sam almost goes back to when he found Figaro, sobbing, trying to understand how his dad and his cat were both dead. This time he doesn't let it take him away.

"Bucky," he says again, gently, reaching out even though his hands begin to shake, "I'm going to touch you, okay?"

Bucky stop muttering for a moment to nod before saying her name again. Sam crawls closer to him, sitting against the couch and letting their shoulders touches while Bucky curls up tighter. Sam gently touches Alpines tail. Soft, beautiful. No mats because Bucky became an excellent groomer for her.

Sam has to take deep breaths, swallowing his grief. He curses and Bucky pauses. He finally looks up at Sam through oily hair. He's shaking as he does. There's no tears in his eyes. No tear tracks. But he trembles and he trembles hard.

"She's gone," he says and swallow so hard Sam's throat aches. "I found her on that blanket you gave her. She loved that blanket." And suddenly he's back to saying her name, burying his face in her fur, rocking back and forth.

Sam's mind goes back to the pain that seemed so long ago. He gently places a hand on Bucky's back and rubs. And Bucky inhales sharply but doesn't stop him. Sam doesn't know how long they sit like that until he whispers he'll be back. He doesn't know if Bucky hears him. He doubts he cares.

Sam goes back to his hotel, grabs his rental, and a box from that plum stand then makes his way back to Buckys apartment where he kneels next him and says, "Let's give her a proper burial."

Bucky looks confused but he allows Sam to guide him to the car where he puts him in the passenger seat. Sam drives him and himself and the cat out of Bucharest to the forest, to the mountains. And as they go he keeps muttering, stays curled around the cat. And Sam can't help but wonder what killed her. All the traveling? A disease? Or maybe she missed her old owner? Sam truly couldn't say. But he does know she loved Bucky and Sam tells him as much. Bucky stops chanting her name for a moment to look up and see they are out of the city.

"Where are we going?" He asks, voice croaky.

"We can't bury her in the city. I thought maybe the forest would be a good place as any."

Sam feels his stare on his face and for once it doesn't bother him. "What did you do with Figaro?"

Sam didn't expect him to ask that and it takes him a moment to collect himself. "We... we cremated him. Spread his ashes in the ocean. He's always a boat cat. Loved the ocean."

He glances at Bucky. Bucky's eyes are locked on Sam. Sam glances at Alpine and a well of emotion crushes him. "I'm sorry she can't be somewhere she likes."

Bucky shrugs, "The forest is good. A part of me died in the mountains. I would like to think she can be buried with that part of me."

Sam wants to make a joke to lighten the mood. Say which part, his arm or his sense of hygiene. But he doesn't. Bucky expects him to. But Sam doesn't say it.

Sam goes off on a dirt road taking them deep into the trees. Bucky tells him to stop at a dense area and gets out, walking into it as Sam grabs the box. When Sam finds him in the middle of a circle of trees, he says, "I didn't bring a shovel. Didn't think that far ahead."

"That's okay," Bucky says, turning to Sam with movements as stiff as a robots, "I can do it. I want to do it."

He looks down at Alpine and his fingers curl just the tiniest of bits before he shakily holds her out to Sam. "Please."

Sam holds out his arms and Bucky gently puts her there. This is the closest they've ever been. Toe to toe, arms touching. Bucky leans down and kisses her head before looking around until he spots a small opening under a tree. He looks back, a sad look in his eye. "You loved her, didn't you?"

Sam nods slowly. "I don't know how I couldn't."

Bucky nods back. "She loved you, too." Then he dives into the earth, ripping it up like a demolition crew with a vengeance.

And Sam watches, trying not to look at Alpine, her peaceful face and cold body. When Bucky finishes digging, he's covered in dirt but still moving like a robot. It gives Sam Winter Soldier vibes. 

Sam kicks the box to him with the baby blanket stuffed into it. And Sam lets him take it from there. Bucky puts Alpine in, closing it is gently as he can. Puts it in the ground. Covers it up, with slow stilted movements.

Sam occupies himself by finding nice or big looking rocks to cover her grave. He sets them beside Bucky as he goes and the man slowly makes a makeshift marker. Sam doesn't know how long they are there, long enough that the sun starts to fall and rain starts, too, soaking their clothes.

When they're back in the car, and Sam feels like he's choking from grief that triggers even more grief buried away from Figaro, his parents, Riley, he looks at Bucky. He's slumped against the door, dead eyed, numb. Sam has no words so he says nothing.

When they are out of the forest, Bucky speaks and Sam so lost in breathing exercises and grief he truly starts, jerking on the wheel just a tad. "I'm a monster. Aren't I."

It's not a question. It's a statement. Sam inhales sharply. "No."

"I didn't cry," he says, as if he didn't hear Sam. He might not have. "Don't people cry when those they care about die? That's normal. But I didn't. Monsters don't cry."

"Monsters don't pick up stray old cats either," Sam says. The metal fist clenches. He sighs. Story time. "When my wing man, Riley died, I cried like a baby. From the second he was hit till the trucks came for him. Then it was like the faucet got turned off. I got sent home. Went to his memorial service. Met his family. Didn't shed a single tear. I'm pretty sure his family thinks I am a monster. I was supposed to be the best friend but I didn't shed a tear at his funeral. But that doesn't mean I wasn't grieving."

Sam sees Bucky shift to look at him from the corner of his eye. He keeps his eyes on the road. "How did you overcome it?" He asks, voice as gravely as the day Sam saw him in London.

Sam swallows hard. "I haven't."

Bucky's hat taps the window as he looks away. "I remember them. Everyone I've... Killed. Hurt. I see it in my nightmares." He sucks in a breath and chugs on. "I know I didn't kill Alpine. But I know she'll be in them next." He growls and punches his knee. "I feel like I should be screaming or crying or something but I'm just sitting here like some...some..." He doesn't finish. Sam doesn't dare try to. 

"Everyone mourns differently," Sam says, "there is nothing wrong with not screaming or crying. How you mourn is how you mourn. Bucky Barnes is his own person who feels in his own way. There is nothing wrong with that."

"I don't even know what all Bucky Barnes is supposed to be..."

Sam sighs. He knows Steve is looking for the man he once knew but something deep in him knows it's a fool's errand. Even if that Bucky is still there, there's too much trauma, to much that time that has irrevocably changed him for good. It's something that Steve has got to learn at some point.

"He's whoever you want him to be."

Sam feels his stare burn his face. He ignores it. And that's how it is when they get back to the apartment. Bucky comes around to the driver's side and drags Sam out by his sleeve, up all those stairs to the small apartment where Sam ends up staying the night. They lay on the floor because that's something they both have issues with. Bucky keeps his metal hand on Sam's wrist, tight over his pulse and it makes Sam wonder if he can feel with that hand. How deep does the metal go? How are the nerves attached? All of it makes him shudder, making Bucky mistaken it for the cold. A fat cozy black blanket covers them soon after. Sam doesn't argue. 

When he wakes up next, it's to his phone ringing and Bucky's cold metal giving him goosebumps on his arm, gently rubbing his fingers up and down Sam's wrist. He stops moving when he realizes Sam's awake.

"It's Steve," he croaks.

Sam nods. "Did you sleep?"

Sam doesn't realize how close he is until he feels the man's hair brush the side of his face as he shakes his head. "No, I... she usually sleeps with me. Slept with me..."

Sam nods. "Yeah."

And they lay there until Steve calls three more times and Sam decides he's going to send someone after him if he doesn't get up. Bucky doesn't sit up with him. He just lays there still covered in dirt and mud. He holds up Sam's keys, skeleton torso with wings prominent.

"Where did you find that?" Sam asks him.

Bucky shrugs, "Gift store. Made me think of you."

Sam snorts. "There's no way they sell that at a gift store."

Bucky shrugs again and Sam roles his eyes. "You going to be all right?"

Bucky hums, but doesn't answer. "Don't do anything stupid," he says and it feels strange. As if Sam stepped on something that belongs to someone else.

"Tell that to Steve," he says putting on his shoes a little too forcefully. He waves goodbye. Bucky waves, too.

When he's on ground level, he calls Steve back. He has a mission. Wanda and Nat are coming with. He's to meet up with them tomorrow morning for debriefing. The grind never stops.

+1. Fistfights and goats

The second the news breaks Sam uses that stupid phone to call him. And as is typical of an assassin on the run he doesn't pick up. And for the first time in a long time Sam prays. He prays that Steve is right. That Bucky didn't do it. He prays Bucky sees the news and hides. Gets as far away as he can.

But that's not what happens. Sam forces himself not to fly over there immediately after the news breaks and he forces himself not to just dive in and scoop Barnes up when he runs.

Sam doesn't have time to realize how angry he is until they're sitting in that Volkswagen and Bucky asks him to move his seat up. No hi. No sorry for throwing you across the room. Not even a formal acknowledgment even though the last time they saw each other the ex-assassin was practically cuddling him on the floor under a thick blanket.

But they don't address it. Not until well after Sam's rescued from the raft and Steve and he have run for the better part of a year. That's when Sam decides to go to Wakanda. It's one of those times where Steve says it's a good idea to split up. He's seen Bucky a handful of times now. Sam's generally there but he's never talked to him one on one. It felt like he was intruding if he did.

But now Sam stands on the hill watching as the kids talk to the goats that surround Bucky like moths to a light. His hair is up, looks messy. There is no metal arm, just a blue shawl and red robes.

Bucky smiling as the kids play with his hair and the goats settle on his lap. And it's clear this is not the time to act like a crazy crazed fiend so Sam gets up... and trips over a goat that bleats so loud it nearly deafens him as he falls to the ground, cursing like a sailor. The goat, a black and brown thing that jumps around Sam like some kind of jumping bean alarm, keeps bleating and Sam's just waiting for it to gouge his heart out with its horns.

"Stop it," Sam hisses, getting to his feet as it lunges at him, "You really are Bucky's goat, aren't you. Got his attitude and everything."

"Considering he's named after you, I think it would be more accurate to say he's got your personality." Sam jerks around. And there's Bucky, hand on his hip, looking unamused. "He definitely has your mouth. That's for sure." The goat bleats again. Bucky snaps his fingers and says, "Sam, enough." But the goat just turns his charge at Bucky and about rams him off the hill.

Bucky yells as he goes down. The goat seems to prance in place with happiness before running off to join a blond looking goat before they both ram an ox. Boy these are some goats. 

"Yeah," Sam grins as he stands over the fallen soldier, "my attitude." He holds out his hand. Bucky glares.

"Where's Steve?" He says and the bite takes Sam by surprise.

"Beats me. Somewhere in Asia is my guess."

Bucky slaps his hand away and gets up on his own. "Here to report on me huh. I thought those days were over."

Sam stands perplexed for a moment. "Well technically, yeah. Recon was over a long time ago."

Bucky clenches his fist. A goat bleats behind him and Sam can't tell but he's pretty sure the kids tell it to be quiet. Bucky stares at him as if he's his next target and Sam can't help but wonder... "Why are you here?" Bucky snaps.

And Sam knows he shouldn't be hostile back but this man brings the worst out of him. He can't help it. 

"I'm here to bribe the king. Maybe there's a way to kidnap or annoy him into giving over the one armed a-hole and let him deal with my pissed off sister as an explanation for why I'm on the run from multiple governments."

"I didn't ask you to do any of that!"

"You didn't have to! That's what friends do. That's what team cap does! Even for metal-armed maniacs who never pick up their phone."

"What phone!"

"I called you when they framed you and you didn't answer."

"I lost it!"

"Oh, convenient when the entire world decides to hunt you down."

"Come on! You would be hunting me too if you weren't friends with Steve."

"Why are we talking about Steve, man! I'm talking you, me and this pointless argument. I thought you'd be happy to see me."

"We're not friends. You made that clear in Berlin!"

"Screw Berlin!"

Sam doesn't know who throws the first punch. All he knows is that Bucky doesn't need a metal arm to take him down. That doesn't mean he goes down easy. The only reason they stop fighting is because Ayo and her Dora Milaje show up and whack them a couple times before Ayo sits at the edge by the lake, watching them like a hawk while Bucky and Sam nurse their wounds.

Sam spits out some blood while Bucky rubs his jaw. "I hate you," he hisses. 

"I hated you first," Sam spits, gently touching his eye. 

"I suppose you're going to tell Steve-"

"Shut up about Steve, man. I'm here cause I missed the guy running his butt across Europe like a demented hitchhiker. Obviously he was just some sort of illusion to pacify me, make a fool out of me-"

"Oh, I'm the faker. You acted like the last, what, two, three years never happened."

"Trying to keep your butt from prison requires a little bit of stealth, Bucky."

"They could have tracked that call. They would have assumed you an accomplice. Don't use that excuse. You say we're friends but in Bucharest, in Berlin,hell, in that car, you acted like you didn't know me. The only time you even acknowledged we knew each other was in the airport. And that was just cause we were alone. What was I supposed to think. It really seemed like I was your job."

There it is again. The surge of emotion laced in his voice. Clearly it's when it's all overwhelming that Bucky's words finally come out. One just needs the right prompt.

Sam sighs, looking at the sun falling over the distance forest. His neck is sore from Bucky's chokehold. He rubs it, swallowing hard.

"I was angry," Sam says slowly, "I didn't know what to think. The accords, your framing, Zemo. It was a lot. Dealing with Steve finding out and dealing with the government and just... the raft. Being fugitives."

He sighs and feels Bucky's gaze turn to him. "I'm tired, Bucky. I have been for a long time."

Bucky stares at him for a long moment before stretching his legs out and saying, "Me, too."

Slowly the sun disappears and the stars appear. Sam doesn't recognize many of the stars. He should probably remedy that. Some of the goats wander over to them including the one who screamed at him. As the goat lays down by Sam's knee, he looks at Bucky and scowls. "You really named a goat after me."

"I named a goat after everyone, Wilson. You're not special."

Sam snorts. "James Buchanan Barnes. Winter Soldier. Fist of Hydra. Goat whisperer."

"It's better than birds. Were you ever going to tell me you speak to birds, specifically in order to spy on me."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"I had to figure it out on my own. Got it."

A cool breeze takes away any sweat Sam has built up and he exhales. "Does it get cold here like it does in the Middle East?"

Bucky shrugs, not answering the question. "I've felt colder."

"You've felt a lot of things. You're a walking miracle."

"Don't call me that. I'm an experiment that got 'lucky.' Should have died like the rest of Zola's experiments."

"Don't talk like that. Steve and I haven't been running for nothing."

Bucky shakes his head in disbelief. Sam sighs. He can't make him believe anything but he can sit with him. That's what his plan is. Or at least that's what he tells himself.

"How long are you here for?" Bucky asks, running his hand over his shawl.

Ayo gets off her rock. She walks away, her eyes never leaving Sam's. "A few days. Figured now that you're up I would come terrorize you again."

"Haha," Bucky huffs, "I'm afraid I won't be much company. I live in a hut and take care of goats all day."

Sam yawns when he says that. Bucky notices. "T'challa got you a room?"

Sam shakes his head. "I'm here to annoy you, remember."

And finally, finally, Bucky cracks a smile. "The goats have a nice pen you can sleep in-"

"While you get to sleep on there cot with no air conditioning? Ha, I'll take a tree. I hear they can be pretty comfy."

"Then you'll fall and break your neck and Steve will have mine."

"Oh, please, you know he'd take your neck over mine any day."

"Now who's being self-deprecating," then without a warning, he says, "thanks for taking care of him."

"You did first."

And Buckys eyes soften. He doesn't say anything after that. He stands, extends his hand. Sam takes it and he hauls him up before they are on their way back down a dark path toward an almost invisible hut by the lake. The bugs are alive. And the moon is big. In Sam wonders if Sarah sees the same moon as him.

Some of the goats follow them. They get them in the corral before Bucky let's Sam into his humble abode where they both end up sleeping on the floor despite the cot in the corner.

And Sam falls asleep easy until Riley crashes through the roof all aflame and he wakes up to Bucky trying to make him breathe. He shakes for a while. And Bucky stares at the wall. And they do that every night they are there because neither of them wants to talk about it.

When Sam's three days are up, Bucky walks him back to the palace. They go so much slower than is necessary. "Thanks for letting me crash at your place, man," Sam says, "we should do this again sometime."

Bucky stops dead in the middle of the path and Sam runs smack into him, though he doesn't even move. It's like running into a wall. He looks at Sam and for a moment those blue eyes drown him and he feels... at home. "You don't have to do that."

"I don't have to do a lot of things. I like being here, Bucky. I can't go home. This is the closest one I got."

Bucky blushes. Sam has half of mind to tease him about it. But he blushes and Sam shouldn't like it but he does so could he tease that. Bucky starts walking again before whispering in arabic, "I don't know what home even means."

And in arabic Sam says back, "Maybe one day you will."

Sam barely catches the tears in Bucky's eyes before he nods and says, "Let's go. Before Steve gets in more trouble."

Sam laughs. It's his first genuine laugh in a while.