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With the amount of press interviews, staged missions for promotion and photoshoots they’d been forced to endure, the ‘New Avengers’ had hardly had a moment of peace since their establishment. Confined to the Watchtower since, one, they collectively had nowhere better to be, and two, they had to keep up the image of ‘togetherness’, they spent their evenings like the average antisocial teenager. Playing video games, eating takeaways and arguing (which was usually the fault of Walker, but it also helped them to let off steam, so in a way, he was doing them a favour). Not the most fulfilling of lives, sure, but in comparison to what they’d had before, it was a hell of a step up.
It had been a long time since Yelena had consistent company, and it was honestly doing her the world of good. Having Alexei around was one thing, but having people close to her own age? People she could have one beer with before stopping, people she could tell stories to who didn’t give her that guilty look because they hadn’t been around to see it? That meant a lot.
Alexei had tried everything to make it up to her, and she’d let him. He’d taken her out for dinner several times, always nice places like that mattered to her, and was always a good sport about Bob or Ava tagging along if she asked. He’d get her new knives or clean her gun without her asking, even tidy her room like she was still a kid and couldn’t manage to do it well enough herself. On one memorable occasion, he’d come back to the tower with a wriggly little Guinea pig cupped in his big hands, telling her they were best with company like he was an expert. The pig she’d picked up from the last mission Valentina gave her did seem happier, so she couldn’t fault him for that, but the attempts at reconciliation annoyed her.
He didn’t need to buy her love, not when all she’d ever wanted was for him to stick around, but she didn’t want him to feel like she was rejecting him either. So, she let it happen, schooling her reactions until it seemed like he was slowly getting through to her, as if she wasn’t pathetic enough to accept him back instantly. As if he wasn’t the only family she had left, and that hadn’t been all she wanted; a family, people to come home to, and honestly he was a big part of why the ‘Thunderbolts’ stayed together long enough to become the New Avengers.
In the end, she consulted Bucky about it. She wasn’t entirely sure why, since she certainly wasn’t the closest to him (that spot would probably go to Bob), but he had been given the unofficial title of ‘Most Stable Member’ or, as Walker put it, the team’s mom. He was just a measured guy, with the best ability to get on with any one of them (or pretend, in Walker’s case, but he did a damn good job of it), and that led to him solving a lot of their problems. He’d sit with Ava through a pain flare, giving her water and food when he could, or put Walker in his place when he got too aggressive.
He handled Bob’s nightmares best out of any of them, since Yelena herself got too upset by them to keep him from feeling bad and Alexei’s fatherly role dragged up too many memories for comfort. Yelena had watched him, like it was some type of magic; he’d use his metal hand against the back of Bob’s neck to shock him back into reality and breathe aloud, creating a rhythm. He credited the techniques he used to his court-mandated therapy sessions, and Yelena was just glad at least one of them had some hope for the future. Then, when Bob was calmer, he’d hand him off to Yelena or plop him on the couch and put a movie on, skilfully avoiding any thanks.
He was a hard guy to get a read on. Antisocial, inexpressive and so woefully private he didn’t even contribute to their Team Trauma Dumping, yet seemed to have no issue caring for everyone around him. Apparently, Yelena was no exception, since he offered to talk to Alexei the moment Yelena brought it up, needing no explanation. It proved just how observant he was, and just how stealthy he was, since Yelena couldn’t recall him being around for half of the situations she was complaining about. Awkward as he was, he patted Yelena on the shoulder in attempted reassurance, the smile that went with it tense like he was struggling to hold it, but so clearly genuine.
Though he never openly admitted that he’d had a talking to, Alexei’s showmanship came to an end. He’d sit with Yelena while she watched TV or offer to help her cook, offering her time, which was all she’d ever wanted. It was a hell of a lot better than feeling like she had to react a certain way, had to respond to his expectance with thanks no matter how she really felt. Even though she knew her dad would understand, she was still so scared. Scared he’d up and leave, abandon her like when she was a kid knowing she’d go through hill, even though she knew, deep down, he wouldn’t.
He told her so enough, and she was learning to believe it. Slow, slowly enough to keep herself safe, but hastened by eagerness. Having him back in her life, so willing to be her father, felt a little like a dream, and no amount of caution could keep her from sinking into that feeling eventually.
With all Bucky’s nonchalance around helping her and Alexei’s silence on the matter, she never really got the chance to thank him, and soon it slipped her mind. Bucky never seemed to be around, at least not as much as the other members of the team, which certainly didn’t help to remind her. He always seemed to be in his room or out doing… whatever he did, when they weren’t on missions or doing Valentina’s bidding. Maybe with Sam Wilson, maybe some government stuff even though he was no longer in congress; she never felt comfortable asking. He always seemed tense in the Tower’s communal areas, so no one particularly wanted to force him or feel like they were quizzing him.
It wasn’t easy to forget who he was; once an Avenger, Steve Roger’s right hand man, the Winter Soldier, Congressman Barnes. All the names had attached an authority that made things a little awkward, at times, like no one knew how to speak to him. Walker pissed him off, Ava was too quiet for either of them to attempt much conversation, he intimidated Bob and Alexei’s overexcitable nature seemed to overwhelm him. For Yelena, he hit a little too close to home; after all, he’d helped train in the Red Room as the Winter Soldier, the perfect candidate for the girls to train with since he wouldn’t hold back. That metal arm had broken bones, left bruises with almost neon vibrancy, had left girls crumpled and unconscious on the floor at his feet. She didn’t blame him, couldn’t blame him, not when she knew when it was like to be so deprived of your autonomy that you could commit atrocities that weren’t your own. Memories like dreams that wouldn’t cooperate, steering you into rooms of slaughtered people and seeing the blood on your hands, the gun trembling in your grip.
She’d watched how they’d treated him. Caged like an animal, thrown around mercilessly like he wasn’t flesh and blood like anyone else, forcibly defenceless. His eyes had always looked dead, lifeless, like he wasn’t seeing what he was doing, except for those select few occasions where he seemed to awaken, blinking and wide-eyed until he received another command and he returned to his task like a machine. She didn’t blame him, but it made things hard, and he seemed to understand. He’d apologized to her, once, out of nowhere one morning still dishevelled with sleep. He hadn’t made excuses, just apologised, and she’d been too stunned to do anything but accept.
He made her uneasy, sometimes, but he was one hell of a reliable team member, and that was all that mattered at the end of the day. That was all that mattered to any of them, it seemed, his reliability; on missions, at the tower, always ready to help when someone needed him no matter what it took. It was remarkable, really, and Yelena privately considered him the best of them, at least on the heroics front. She couldn’t imagine coping even half as well as he seemed to, being so put together he had the space to comfort others too. Illusion of his invincibility became admiration, and she let it cloud her opinion of him without thought.
With the benefit of hindsight, she cursed herself for how obvious it should have been; the long stretches where they assumed he was busy but never knocked on his closed door to check, the fact he seemed to be around no matter what time of night and the way he never seemed truly comfortable with any of them. But she didn’t pay attention, and after six months of torturous press tours and missions, their first certified day off was a big deal. Walker made plans to see his son; supervised, for the moment, but a step in the right direction considering he admitted he was worried he wouldn’t see his child again. Alexei claimed he wanted to ‘build public relations’, which was code for stroking his ego by finding fans and enjoying being made to feel like a celebrity. Considering how many pictures she saw where their cereal boxes were involved in some capacity, she was fairly certain that half the time he just hung out in grocery stores, waiting for someone to notice him, but that wasn’t her problem. If it made him happy, Yelena could hardly complain.
As for Bob, Ava and herself, they had plans to visit an amusement park for the day. As stupid as it sounded when Bob timidly brought it up to them, really it was beyond thoughtful; he knew neither of them had much of a childhood and, according to him, amusement parks had been a highlight of his own, so he felt it was a necessary experience for anyone. It was an escape from real stuff, he’d clumsily reasoned, a way to forget all the bad stuff about life thanks to a safe adrenaline rush, and who was Yelena to argue with that? Ava seemed surprisingly keen to give it go to, apparently curious since all she could associate with her own childhood were white lab walls and pain, and so the plan had been set. They made the trip to Coney Island, and despite how overwhelming it was and the embarrassment of getting recognised in such a location even in civilian clothing, it was fun. They got hotdogs and played stupid rigged games and spun so fast on the teacups ride that Bob threw up, and Yelena found he’d been right.
Though she’d always enjoyed the adrenaline of her job, it was a hell of a different experience to experience fear unfounded, where she knew she was entirely safe but could still feel her heart pounding, her breath quickened with excitement. For a short while, Yelena could forget all the bad memories that had once consumed her, and she could tell her companions had felt the same from the warmth in their faces. It was silly, but in a way Yelena had never felt closer to either of them. She shouldn’t have; she’d literally seen some of Bob’s deepest traumas, seen his self-hatred in horrific clarity through the Void, and yet she came away from the amusement park feeling more connected to him than ever before. Watching Ava smile like it had consumed her entire face, teeth bared, and face illuminated in a dozen colours by carnival lights, she’d honestly been happier that the ‘Thunderbolts’ had been forced to work together that day. Without them, she’d be drinking alone or dead at Valentina’s hands. Instead, she returned from their trip with a stuffed bear Ava had won for her clutched in her hand, arm in arm with Bob, all smiles and hush laughter.
It was late, nearing ten at night, and they made their way up to their bedrooms in pantomime quiet, wanting to avoid a lecture from Walker if they interrupted his beauty sleep. There was no sign either he or Alexei were home, however; only Bucky’s light was on, the door ajar, spilling a pale yellow glow into the dark hallway their rooms were on. At the sight of it, Yelena’s chest titled with guilt, wondering if he’d remained at the Tower alone the whole day. She’d never asked what his plans were, never invited him along with them; he’d probably thought he wasn’t welcome, and hell if that didn’t make Yelena sad. She did want to be closer to him, wanted him to feel as part of the team as the rest of them, but what was she actually doing to make that happen? Very little was the answer, and she broke away from Ava and Bob, determined to at the very least let him know that he was welcome the next time to clear her consciousness. They had a decent amount of time off in the coming weeks; maybe she’d pull an Alexei and try to bribe him by taking him out somewhere, at the very least in thanks. Hell, they could go to Coney Island again, or maybe do a bigger trip out to Disney. They had the means, with Valentina in their pocket.
She knocked on the wall beside Bucky’s door, trying not to peer into the room and invade his privacy, then again when she received no response. By the third knock, she assumed he must have left the light on and gone out, and pushed the door the rest of the way open to peer into the room, only for her heart to drop. There was a sizable new hole in the concrete wall, vaguely in the shape of a fist, and the whole room was ransacked like a tornado had passed through it which wasn’t in character for Bucky at all. Maybe they really had upset him when they left, but she couldn’t imagine that being the sole cause, not when Bucky had problems so much worse. His time with Hydra, being on the run, losing so much in so little time even though it had spanned nearly a hundred years, with public scrutiny all the while. All that weight, and he never shared it with any of them, and with how little they saw him leave the Tower she couldn’t imagine he was sharing it with anyone else.
Just as she was about to leave the room and try and search for him, more determined than ever to make things right, there came a dripping sound from the bathroom. Slow and sluggish, too much so to be water, and Yelena’s brow furrowed in suspicion. The light was off, but she could hear the faintest movement, and that was all she needed to investigate. She quickly paced across the room, letting her mind cloud with the dread filling her sister, and gave herself the chance to inhale before whatever scene she was about to witness. She’d gotten a sixth sense for when things were about to go wrong, and a sort of cold acceptance came over her; another thing to add to her conscience, someone else she couldn’t save.
She switched on the bathroom light and the scene that greeted her deflated her lungs so forcefully it was as if she’d been punched, bracing herself as her knees buckled. Bucky was curled up on the floor of the shower, blocking the drain so all the blood had collected around him like a sick pool. A handgun was grasped in the weak grip of his hand, and though she couldn’t see the wound, its origin was obvious; the darkest of it, the most condensed, was all collected around his head, and she would have assumed him dead if she couldn’t see his ribs expanding and contracting as he breathed. He didn’t outwardly react as Yelena entered the room, but he let out a pained groan, like he’d been holding it in and couldn’t manage it any longer.
“What did you do?”
Yelena’s voice was thick, her accent stronger in her distress, and she sank weakly to her knees, unable to support herself any longer. She half crawled, half dragged herself to his side, dropping the teddy bear she’d been holding in the process and watching as its fabric stained with blood. Bucky shifted in her direction, and she completed the action for him, dragging him closer to her until his head was resting in her lap, forcing herself to ignore the whimpers that left his lips as she did so. The wound was at the centre of his forehead, but was angled reassuringly towards the right; no exit wound, but the damage didn’t look fatal, at least not for a super-soldier. Still, the reassurance was limited when the situation was the same; Bucky had shot himself in the head while they were all out, and if they’d invited him in the first place, or done more to ensure he was okay or maybe gotten back just an hour earlier, none of this would have happened.
He'd been crying. He was still crying. Somehow, that was what upset her the most.
“I’m sorry, I just needed it to stop,” He rasped weakly, peering up at her through weighed eyelashes, “I couldn’t take it anymore, I-”
“It’s okay.”
Her voice sounded calm, in that distant manner that occurred when she couldn’t take what she was seeing, when she sunk back into her training. She grasped his hand, and he choked on a sob, eyes fluttering as he fought to stay awake. The shot wouldn’t kill him; the edges of the wound were already scabbing, which was an indicator that his healing would take care of it, but blood loss would, and he’d lost so much already. Just as she started to edge over into panicked helplessness, she heard footsteps behind her, and she cried out before she could think about it.
“Don’t come in here!” The footsteps stopped, shuffled, and she could immediately tell it was Bob, “Call an ambulance, tell them we have a gunshot wound to the head. He’s alive, but he needs help.”
“Okay.” Bob’s voice wavered, and he thankfully made no attempt to enter the room, and she heard the sound of his fingernails against the glass of his phone screen, clumsy with panic. She ran her free hand through Bucky’s hair, a soothing sound like she was trying rock a baby to sleep, and she was sure she’d never get his expression out of her mind. Beyond helpless, scared and desperate, a man who’d survived hell in every sense reduced to a half-dead heap on the bathroom floor, all because his supposed teammates hadn’t been there for him as they should.
“I’m sorry, Yelena.” He whispered, and she shook her head through sobs.
“I get it.” She shrugged, struggling to gather enough breath to speak, “You’ve been through hell, and it hurts, and you were trying to make things better. I just wish I could have stopped you.”
She held him even closer as Bob called out than an ambulance was on its way, his voice beyond tremulous with fear, and he curled against her as he cried, still bleeding sluggishly onto her shirt. His blood was all over her, she realised, her hands practically coated in it, and nausea joined the cocktail of emotions swirling in her stomach. She’d never wanted this to happen, being a hero and especially a performative one was meant to stop this from happening anymore. She couldn’t take any more blood on her hands. She couldn’t do it. Blood smeared across Bucky’s face and into his hair as she tried to comfort him, and he followed every movement with his poor head like he was trying to sink into her touch, whispering apologies even as his consciousness waned. Yelena had no more words to offer, no more comfort she could muster; she just sat there, cradling him and praying she wouldn’t lose another member of her family.
-
Sam made it to the hospital within an hour of Yelena’s call, despite the considerable distance away he’d been. The moment he’d gotten a call from Bucky, and he heard the shakiness of the breathing on the other line, he knew. He knew, because he’d seen the amount of pain Bucky was in with startling clarity since Steve left, grown to know him better than anyone else. He’d heard the other man’s screams after a bad nightmare, the way he hyperventilated when he woke and retched with what he’d seen, what he’d done under HYDRA’s control. He’d held him on some occasions, kept a measured distance in others; he learned when touching was allowed and when it wasn’t, which dreams featured his own torture and which were about what he’d inflicted on others. Bucky stayed at his place so often it became second nature; it got to the point where he could pick up on Bucky’s rushed breathing even before he woke, preparing in advance for however the other man wanted him.
Bucky did the same for him in return, and more; Sam wasn't sure what he would have done if the other hadn't been there for him when he first took on the shield, as infuriating as he'd found him at the time. Despite his struggles with physical contact, on the nights Sam woke with Riley's name on his lips and that image at the forefront of his mind, Bucky would hold him through it, perhaps tense but always dependably there. Really, Bucky was beyond selfless, but Sam imagined he rarely got credit for it with his past, people unwilling to overlook his time with Hydra. It annoyed him to no end, watching people make assumptions about his closest friend for something he had no control over.
For a while, things had been better. Bucky had warmed to Sam more than he ever could have hoped for, and the latter got the privilege of watching the other begin to heal. He found purpose in his new government role, recognised for something he could actually be proud of, and gained some semblance of a normal life again. Then came that breaking news broadcast with the reveal of the ‘New Avengers’, and Sam was faced with Bucky at the edge of the group, bruised and exhausted looking. And there was Valentina, announcing her new group of heroes when Bucky was supposed to be taking her down.
Admittedly, he’d been pissed. It was bad enough that he was now working with Valentina for some goddamn reason, but worse that he’d formed a new superhero team without telling Sam shit. He’d thought they were going to fight together, that Bucky would help support him when it came the time to reform the Avengers since many people still didn’t accept him as Captain America. Instead, he’d formed a team with Walker, of all people, and several other controversial figures Sam didn’t even want to think about looking into. He did anyway, and that pissed him off even more, seeing just who Bucky thought to be preferable to working with him.
It felt more personal than it probably was, and the moment Sam knew they weren’t actively on live television he called Bucky up. The other was immediately apologetic, trying to offer excuses, but Sam wasn’t particularly in the interest of hearing it; Bucky hadn’t wanted to talk things through before, so why would he then? Bucky let him, took the abuse, then hung up the moment Sam finished talking, and for the latter that was indication enough. Overnight, they went from seeing one another a few times a week to not seeing each other at all, and, admittedly, it was hard. Sam was pissed, sure, but Bucky was his best friend, though even that term didn’t quite summarise their relationship well enough. He missed him, even if he was mad at him.
Still, the ice was hard to bridge, especially when he was reminded of the goddamn ‘New Avengers’ just by walking into a grocery store. Cereal boxes? Really? It was cheap and watered down all Sam had been working towards into a cheap publicity exercise, with his best friend involved to boot. Weeks became a month, then two, and then it was nearing half a year only seeing Bucky on a TV screen. It wasn’t like he didn’t care about him anymore; admittedly, watching any coverage of the New Avengers he could get his hands on had become a bit of a pastime, and he’d watched as Bucky grew more exhausted looking, any enthusiasm in his movements waning. As hard as it was to watch, it was easy to ignore when everyone always had a task for Captain America, lives always on the line.
Just hours before he’d been forced to make a panicked trip to the hospital, Sam had received a voicemail on his personal cell, which he only gave out to those closest to him. He’d listened to it without, in the middle of trying to pull together some semblance of a meal when he hadn’t had chance to go grocery shopping in a week, only to pause when he heard Bucky’s voice. It was thick, in a manner Sam associated with those late-night, post-nightmare conversations, and he moved closer to the phone, until every little shallow breath Bucky made was loud and clear.
“I, uh. I know I fucked up, Sam. I never meant… I never meant to screw you over the way you thought I did, I swear. It all happened so fast, I didn’t have much of a choice, really. I just… went along with it, I guess. I miss you, man. I don’t want you to think that I didn’t- that I don’t care about you. I’ll always be on your side, buddy, I just… I don’t know. Call me back, if you can? It’s been a while since I’ve heard your voice, outside of interviews. I love you.”
Sam’s hand had found his mouth, at some point, shielding his shaking breaths. He blinked hard to refocus his vision, clearing the most from his eyes, and made a prompt decision. Grabbing the keys he’d only just put down and his phone, he’d readied himself to make some calls; Joaquin had said he needed a day off for months, and it was about time he cashed in.
Before he even made it to the Tower, Bucky’s name flashed on his screen with another call, and he scrambled to answer before his brain could catch up and he’d chicken out.
“Buck?”
“Sam Wilson?” Comes the raspy, distinctly accented voice of Yelena Belova, and Sam’s heart didn’t just sink; it crash-landed against his navel, dread so potent it felt like a physical weight in his stomach, “I didn’t, uh, have your number so-“
“What happened.” Sam cut in, needing to know exactly what situation he was going to turn up to.
“He- Barnes, he-“ Her voice broke, and for a moment, Sam was certain his best friend was dead, and that he’d failed Steve entirely, “He tried to kill himself. He- he shot himself in the head and he lost a lot of blood-“
“But he’ll be okay?” Please let him be okay. The momentary silence before she responded was deafening, and Sam’s nerves were shot. “Yelena!”
“On the outside, yes. It’s already healing, they just give him blood and remove the bullet. But he did this to himself, Wilson.”
Even with his panic, his fear over Bucky’s condition, he had room to feel bad for Yelena. She sounded distraught, and it wasn’t hard to conclude that she had been the one to find him. Worse was the fact that she’d been shocked by it; Steve had relayed Bucky’s suicidal tendencies when Sam first started working with him, back when Stark was still around and they’d found themselves on opposing sides. As he started to process more of what he’d been through, as more of HYDRA’s brainwashing slipped away, Steve had been worried Bucky would do something drastic, and Sam couldn’t say the worry was unfounded.
He’d seen it happen in the support groups he’d run. People who dropped out without explanation, never hearing anything until a kind family member let him know or he was brave enough to look for an obituary. Sometimes, people would disappear and return weeks or months later, thinner or eyes bruised or sometimes overly enthusiastic, but Sam knew. He always knew. Sometimes they’d tell him, sometimes they wouldn’t, but he’d been trained to know the signs.
He noticed when Bucky did stupid shit on purpose, beyond even the excuse of protecting someone, got himself in dangerous situations for no reason and brushed it off when Sam questioned him. He noticed when his friend made self-deprecating comments, when he gave Sam a glimpse of the guilt he felt in his post-nightmare vulnerability, lamenting how much better it would have been if HYDRA’s experiments failed or they never picked him up at all. Though it was skilfully said in a manner that could be mistaken for self-interest, saving himself from close to a century of torture, Sam knew better. He knew, because he’d thought the same, when Riley got shot down and when Joaquin was almost killed; it should have been me.
“Where is he?”
“We’re just at the closest hospital to the tower, we-“
“I’ll be ten minutes.”
Before Yelena could respond, he hung up, and promptly went about fifteen miles over the speed limit in his rush to get to the hospital. In homage to Steve Rogers, of course; a man who’d abided by the rules until they didn’t suit him, at which point they became a guidance he had no obligation to follow. He parked in a manner that ordinarily would have made him cringe and rushed into the ER, surveying the distressed people in the waiting area until he spotted Yelena. Admittedly, he wasn’t the most familiar with her, but it was easy to tell who she was from the group she was with; Sam recognised most of them from the broadcasts, and he definitely recognised Walker’s smug fucking face, looking more inconvenienced than worried about his supposed teammate.
It contrasted wildly with the pure distress in Yelena’s face. The oldest guy on the team, the ‘Red Guardian’, was steadily patting her on the back in a clumsy attempt at comfort, but the moment she saw Sam she rose, wringing her hands. She’d been crying, eyes puffy and swollen, ringed with smudged makeup, and despite the grudge he’d held over the formation of the New Avengers, it was hard to feel anything but sympathy for her. Clearly, the team were fairly close; the emo-looking girl (Ava?) was glaring at the floor like it had been the one to land Bucky in the hospital, and the guy next to her, who Sam didn’t recognised but assumed to be Bob (who’s near-destruction of New York had been so neatly covered up by Valentina it had even taken Captain America some digging to find out the cause of it) was curled on the plastic seat, arms around his knees and quietly trembling, like he didn’t want to draw attention to himself.
Despite what had happened, the reason Sam was there, it was clear Bucky’s team cared about him and that, at least, was a relief. At the end of the day, Sam Wilson might not have been called at all. Bucky would have never told him, not if he could help it, and it would have been another obstacle to their reconciliation that they could do without. Sam could’ve turned up to a complete absence of Bucky’s teammates, greeted only by cold concrete and vacant chairs, the only one there to support him. Or, maybe, Sam might not have gotten a call at all. He might have turned up to the ‘Watchtower’, told where Bucky’s room was and been greeted with his best friend’s lifeless corpse: pool of blood, gun in hand. He could have been too late. He was distracted from his spiralling train of thought by Yelena abruptly standing, seeming to have only just noticed him, shrugging off the Red Guardian’s arm and instead clutching each of her own in opposite hands, about her chest and stomach like she was trying to hold herself together.
“Sam Wilson, I am so sorry,” The words came out in a rush, like she was anticipating him being angry at her, “This never should have happened. I- I didn’t look out for him enough, never noticed that he was hurting so bad, and I let this happen. I would never forgive myself if he’d… if I hadn’t found him in time, and it was too close, he lost so much blood-”
“Yelena, breathe.” The blonde woman gasped tremulously, chest visibly stuttering as she did so, “Where is he?”
“They were still stitching him up. They did x-rays, scans, gave him blood, did it all, and they say he will be okay, that he shot at an angle and the bullet did little damage to his brain, considering the injury. Only bad shot I have known him to take.”
A knot of tension that had been sat sickeningly in Sam’s stomach loosened in a rush, sending a flood of relief through his system. He focused on calming his breathing; Bucky was alive, and though Sam had been close to losing him, he had a chance to fix things. Although the anger he’d felt was still, raw and unresolved, knowing Bucky was laying somewhere recovering from a gunshot wound to the head really put things into perspective. At the very least, he could let go of how personally he’d taken it; nothing made it clearer that Bucky hadn’t meant anything bad by it than the fact that he’d reached out to Sam at his lowest and tried to make things right between them, unable to ask directly for help but seeking it anyway. He’d needed him, and Sam hadn’t been there, and look where they were.
Sam blinked the mist from his eyes and slowly sank into one of the plastic waiting room chairs, Yelena mirroring the action as he did so. She sat in the chair opposite him, knees anxiously as her gaze focused uncomfortably on him. It was the sort of vacant, half-murderous stare Bucky seemed to be so fond of, the very one that tended to make people so nervous around him, but in Yelena’s case it was clear there was something she wanted to say but couldn’t quite manage it. In an attempt to ease how tense she seemed, Sam spoke first.
“Did they say when they’d let you see him?” He asked, and Yelena only shook her head dejectedly.
“Family only, they said.” Sam opened his mouth, ready to protest how unfair that was when all of Bucky’s family had been dead since the nineties, but Yelena held up a hand to stop him, “Do not worry, I told them you were his husband. They will not refuse you.”
Sam decidedly did not dwell on that, despite how flawed the logic was; what the hell were they going to say when the Winter Soldier’s supposed husband turned up and it was Captain America?
“What about you guys?” Sam asked, gesturing to the rest of the rag-tag team of New Avengers, who looked to be some mixture of exhausted, bored and distressed, all leaning on one another in some way like they were holding each other together.
“I thought it would be… inappropriate. He probably will not want to see us, not when we failed him so badly.”
“Yelena, it’s not your fault.” She looked at him skeptically, and Sam doubled down, “Whatever you think you did, it was likely the straw that broke the camel’s back, with all he’s been through.”
“I should have known something was wrong,” Yelena’s voice had dulled, and she let her head tip forward until her forehead rested on her knees, talking to the floor, “He did not spend time with any of us, always alone, and it should have been so obvious he was suffering but we did not see it. So blind, when he was so kind and we did nothing in return, not even check on him. Maybe this would never happened if we had just been a good team.”
“You haven’t known him for long.” Yelena peered up at him through her fingers, looking unimpressed, “Only Steve really knew Bucky, and Steve’s gone. I’ve been trying my best to get to know him even a fraction as well as Steve did, but it’s hard, the guy’s like a goddamn clam. All I know for certain is that he’s hurting all the time, no matter what. The shit HYDRA made him do fucking haunts him, and that kind of trauma doesn’t go away. You just learn to live with it. He’s never lived for himself, always for some cause, whether it’s the Avengers or HYDRA or the goddamn government, and if I’m honest, this doesn’t shock me. Sounds harsh, but it’s true. When he stopped being dangerous to others, he became dangerous to himself, and despite knowing that, I let hero shit come between us. If this is anyone’s fault, it’s mine.”
Sam finished his impromptu monologue breathless, and Yelena reached forward to grasp his hand, an understanding gracing her pained expression.
“You will make things right with him. You care about him too much to let him go.”
With those words, Yelena let them lapse into silence, or as close to it as they could manage amongst the bustle of the hospital. Just the day before, reconciliation with Bucky had seemed a nigh impossible task, one easy to avoid taking on by simply staying away, but in the wake of a goddamn suicide attempt, the whole thing seemed petty. They were grown adults, for crying out loud; Bucky’s involvement in the creation of the New Avengers had been inconsiderate, sure, but Sam hadn’t even talked to him about it. Clearly, the circumstances weren’t as black and white as they seemed, and rectifying things shouldn’t have taken such a long period of distance. Surely, Bucky should have meant more to him than that, enough that Sam wouldn’t let superhero shit come between them. That might have been how they grew close, how they ever met at all, but close to a decade of knowing one another should have had them far past that in their relationship.
Steve wouldn’t have let that happen. He’d broken up the goddamn Avengers over Bucky, taking a conflict that could have realistically been solved with a meeting to battle with his determination to protect his childhood friend from further harm. Of course, Zemo had made things a million times worse, putting Steve in impossible situations to try and force him to give up on Bucky, but he never did. In every way, no matter how much more secure Sam had become in his position as Captain America, he could still feel inferior to Steve Rogers; in every idyllic feature he possessed, his seeming ability to always do the right thing, despite knowing he obviously wasn’t perfect. Bucky could have always relied on him, no matter what he’d done, no matter how easy it would have been for Steve to consider him a lost cause. He’d done everything to bring Bucky back from the corpse that was the Winter Soldier, would have died for it, if it meant Bucky could live.
But then he left. Passed Bucky off like an unwanted pet for the sake of a life that wasn’t his anymore, not with all he’d done with the Avengers. Peggy died, and he’d done so much to move on, only to give it all up like it didn’t matter, like everything they’d done together didn’t matter, including saving Bucky. In the weeks after, Bucky had stayed with him not far from Tony’s place in a rundown motel that didn’t have enough rooms for them each to have their own, not with everyone coming back after the Blip, but in all honesty it was likely for the better. No matter how much he feigned being okay with it, he couldn’t fool Sam, at least not entirely. Bucky didn’t seem all there, if Sam was honest, rendered almost in shock by the whole thing, but any time the latter brought up how he felt about Steve leaving, Bucky seemed almost relieved. Rather than sharing how being left behind in such a manner made him feel, he instead always mentioned how glad he was that Steve could ‘finally be happy’, that he could have what was taken from him.
In Bucky’s mind, Steve had never been happy with him, at least not post HYDRA. Burdened, perhaps, feeling sorry for him, but never satisfied. That made Sam even angrier, because how could he challenge that when Steve was gone? The moment they weren’t in peril, the moment Bucky wasn’t a ‘problem’, as he openly regarded himself, Steve left him behind. From what Sam knew of Bucky’s therapy meetings, they didn’t talk about Steve. Didn’t talk, at least not in detail, about what HYDRA had done to him, only how to act in a manner that made him palatable to general society, how to move on. A band aid to a bullet wound, all with the purpose of covering up just how James Buchanan Barnes had been failed by everyone, including Captain America. There had been little Sam could do at the time, since the therapy was court ordered, but seeing how horrifically Bucky’s privacy had been handled and the fact that it seemed to do him little good, but he definitely didn’t argue when the other stopped going.
Sam was drawn out of his thoughts by the appearance of a nurse, looking curiously over the group and he stood, drawing her attention. She looked shocked to see him, eyes wide like she’d been electrocuted, and Sam internally signed, unwilling to have to put his public relations training to use while Bucky was in hospital, but she gathered herself better than he could have hoped for, offering a knowing smile.
“Are you James Barnes’ husband?”
She must have known that was bullshit, especially since she almost certainly recognised Bucky too, but she said it entirely seriously, and he respected her for that. He imagined just how many times she had to go with people’s obvious lives for the sake of peace. Sam nodded in response to her question, smiling slightly at Yelena, who squeezed his arm in response, the gesture humorous and reassuring and grateful all in one.
He followed after the nurse, who did a decent job at feigning that she didn’t recognise him, except for how disproportionately nervous she seemed while doing her job, but he was appreciative anyway. She guided him through the maze of corridors that characterised a hospital, explaining that they’d placed Bucky into a private room to ensure he wouldn’t be recognised, which Sam offered his thanks for while guessing that likely wasn’t the only reason they thought Bucky would be better off alone. According to her, they had a policy to keep patients under a seventy-two hour psychiatric hold after a suicide attempt, but they could discuss whether or not that would be necessary the next morning, which, again, Sam was grateful for. She also said that by the time they removed the bullet, there was no evidence of damage to the brain, likely due to his accelerated healing factor, but they’d continue to observe him just in case progress slowed with his healing and they needed to do anything more.
She left promptly once they reached Bucky’s room, giving them privacy, and Sam was suddenly left to stew in his own apprehension, readying himself for whatever state Bucky could be in. What if he didn’t want to see Sam at all? If he turned him away, unwilling to see him after never receiving a response to his attempt at making things right? If he tried to do that sacrificial shit again, going at it alone because he thought it was better that way, or simply because Yelena’s fears were true and Bucky thought no one cared about him? Before he could catastrophize any further, Sam knocked, and for a moment there was silence. His heart hammered against his ribs, outstretched fist trembling ever so slightly, stock still until there was finally a weak ‘come in’ from within the room.
Bucky looked like shit. There was no other way of putting it, not when the dark circles under his eyes were reminiscent of the smudged rings of eye makeup he had as the Winter Soldier, something Sam had never been entirely sure whether it was to help conceal his identity or entirely for the aesthetic. He looked thinner, too, his physique still impressive with the effects of the serum but an unhealthy hollowness to his cheeks that made him look paler than usual. His hair was all over the place, in his face and sticking up at random angles with dried blood, despite the fact that his actual face had been wiped clean, and smack bang in the middle of his forehead, a pad of gauze secured with tape that concealed his actual injury. He hadn’t bled through it, which was a good sign, and he was clearly alert, alert enough for his eyes to widen in shock when Sam stepped through the door. Seeing that alone almost brought the latter to tears, but he held it together; Bucky needed him, and he hadn’t been there, and he wasn’t about to make his friend feel guilty now that he was present.
“Hey, Buck.” Bucky let out a shuddering breath, eyes immediately misting.
“I wasn’t trying to kill myself,” He said the words in a rush, surveying Sam’s expression, and apparently what he saw there didn’t satisfy him because he continued, “I wasn’t, Sam, I swear. I just- I needed everything to stop, for a while, and my head was all over the place, I didn’t think things through.”
“It’s okay.” Bucky bowed his head defeatedly, like the answer disappointed him, and Sam inhaled shakily, trying to come up with the right thing to say, “I’m just happy you’re alive, Buck.”
That sat thick in the air between them for several long seconds, too heavy to be broached, and Sam watched Bucky’s fingers, flesh and metal, clutch tremulously at the thin bedsheets. Always anxious, quietly seeking any form of reassurance he could from his environment that he could. Sam remembered the image of Bucky from the Smithsonian, the fresh-faced baby Bucky Barnes in the photos Steve showed him from when they were young, back in the forties. Grainy, creased in brown sepia, but the softness of Bucky’s face was still so obvious. Smiley, even after his initial torture at the hands of HYDRA, always with his arm around Steve like he couldn’t bear to be apart from him. That boy in HYDRA’s hands, the initial images they’d recovered as they documented the effects of the serum, Sam could see him in Bucky’s bandaged face, despite how insistent the other had been that the ‘old Bucky’ was gone. Bucky had brought his knees close to his chest, not allowing himself to truly curl up but trying to make himself as small as possible, and that was the final straw.
“Should I just stand here or are we gonna talk things out?”
Bucky sniffled in answer, and Sam took that as invitation enough, half-jogging over to the bed and perching on the edge of it. He left a considerable amount of space between them, enough to ensure Bucky would be comfortable, but to his surprise the latter scooted closer to him, the movement slight but so clearly there. It was enough for Sam to put his arm around him, and that was all it took for Bucky’s composure to fail him, leaning forward until his gauze-covered forehead pressed against Sam’s shoulder, apparently in spite of any pain it could cause. Sam wrapped his arms securely around him, threading his fingers through the hair at the back of Bucky’s head in order to hold him tighter, murmuring nonsensical reassurances just to prove he was there. That Bucky could cry, and he’d hold him through it for hours if he needed to, through no obligation but a wish to be there for him.
“I never wanted any of this,” Bucky’s voice was raw and plaintive, and Sam blinked hard to keep the tears out of his eyes, “I never wanted to be an Avenger, I never wanted to be this at all. I thought I could finally do some good, but it all went to shit, it always does. I never have a choice in anything, they took it away, and I just want to escape it all, but I didn’t want to die. I swear I didn’t want to die.”
“I shouldn’t have left you.” Sam whispered, and Bucky only sobbed harder, “No team is worth this.”
“I made things harder for you, I get it-”
“Valentina made things hard for me, this whole team is clearly a plot to keep her afloat, which I’m sure you know better than me,” He felt Bucky nod, and the confirmation was beyond a relief, “This should never have been about you and me, it never was about you and me. You’ve been there for me, supporting me every step of the way after I took over the shield when you could have hated me for taking Steve’s place. No matter how I felt about it, I should have been there for you too.”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry-”
Bucky was bordering on unintelligible, clearly overcome, so Sam let his words soften into whispers again, reassurances rather than apologies. The shaggy-haired man scrambled for purchase on the back of Sam’s jacket, so he squeezed him tighter, rocking the two of them ever so slightly in an attempt at calming the other down. Slowly, it began to work, Bucky’s desperately rasping breaths calming back into a rhythm, the trembles wracking his frame lessening, and Sam smiled, knowing the other couldn’t see it. The release of emotion was, admittedly, a relief on his part; Bucky’s habit of bottling shit up until he imploded was one of the things he found the most worrying about him, and why he’d been so focused on building trust between them for so long. The fact that Bucky still trusted him enough to fall apart so blatantly was beyond a relief; Sam hadn’t ruined things, hadn’t failed Steve, and he could still help Bucky.
The latter pulled away suddenly, scrubbing self-consciously at his face like he was ashamed, and Sam couldn’t allow it. Reaching forward, he cupped Bucky’s stubbled jaw in both hands, thumbs tracing his cheekbones as he affectionally took in the man before him. Several emotion passed over Bucky’s face in a short space of time; embarrassment into mortification, which relaxed into surprise before shifting into something that mirrored what Sam felt; that affection, that warm something, and he leant into Sam’s grasp, closing his eyes and sighing. Some of the tension seeped from his, bleeding out of every previously rigid muscle until Sam was practically supporting his weight, not that he minded. In fact, he took pride in being able to support Bucky in such a manner; it demonstrated how far they’d come, for sure.
He wondered what Steve would think, if he saw them now. He wondered how much Steve thought about them at all, all those years with Peggy, in the life he’d dreamed of.
Sam removed one hand from Bucky’s face and used it to ease off his shoes, letting them fall clumsily to the floor, and climbing fully into the bed. With it being so late, the lights were already dimmed, and Sam slowly guided Bucky’s head into his lap, running a hand through his hair. Though it was dirty, it was clear Bucky had finally found out about conditioner, and he privately appreciated how soft the older man’s hair was between his fingers.
“Is Yelena okay?” Bucky murmured, almost too quiet for Sam to pick up.
“She’s shaken, but okay. Just worried about you.” Bucky nodded and seemed to relax further, cheek pressing further weight against Sam’s thighs, “She told them we were married so I could visit you.”
“I wondered why they told me my husband was coming.” Sam huffed out a laugh and Bucky mirrored it, a soft smile gracing his features, “I always forget that’s allowed, now. That it’s normal.”
Sam couldn’t quite muster up a response to that, at least not an adequate one, so he didn’t try; he let it sit comfortably between them, a silent acknowledgment of all that had changed in Bucky’s lifetime. Not much of a life, up until more recently, but a life all the same, and Sam couldn’t help but anticipate helping Bucky truly adjust; experience all the things he’d missed, be just a person rather than an asset or a weapon or a sidekick. He’d never seen the other happier than when he was with Sam’s family, half of whom didn’t recognise him at all; playing with his nephews, making small talk, smiling and laughing like Sam had never seen.
He wanted that look in his life. He wanted to be the reason Bucky smiled like that.
The dark-haired man’s eyes were fluttering closed from where he lay in Sam’s lap, forcing their way back open every few moments as he fought sleep, and Sam made a crooning noise in the back of his throat.
“Go to sleep, Buck. I’m not leaving you.”
No time constraint, no limits or deadlines; only a promise to be there. Bucky pressed his face against Sam’s stomach and was soon breathing steadily, perhaps the most relaxed Sam had ever seen him. A few hours ago, Bucky had been laying of the cold floor, gun in hand, alone, and Sam was more determined than ever to make sure it wouldn’t happen again. Even if things got bad, if Bucky was brought to the brink by the past, Sam just wanted to be there to pry the gun from his hand, to hold him through it.
With Bucky curled against him, trusting in sleep, he couldn’t imagine ever leaving again.