Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Sam liked Steve. He really did. And sure, Sam was able to admit he had originally been drawn to Steve because of his title. Who wouldn’t want to try to befriend a living legend? But since meeting the man DC over a year ago, Sam had gotten to know who Steve Rogers was without the cowl and shield pretty well. That guy was a lot more hardcore than what Captain America's pristine image tried to present. 

Steve's biggest strength wasn't his intelligence, nor was it his shield or the serum coursing through his veins. It was that the man was stubborn as shit. He didn't seem to take no for an answer, no matter how hopeless it seemed. Which is why, even after a year without a sighting of the man, Steve continued to look for Barnes in every moment of free time he had. Which meant that Sam was looking for Barnes. 

Even if Sam thought Steve was barking up the wrong tree with Barnes, he still helped. Because Steve didn't trust most people with this mission, and yet, for some inexplicable reason, had chosen to trust Sam. So Sam respectfully kept his mouth shut on why he thought it was a bad fucking idea to be chasing after the man who had put Steve into the hospital the last time they had met. Sam was thankful that his job was only to find Barnes and then call it in to Steve so the other man could bring him in. He was in no rush to confront Barnes when he could still remember the feeling of the steel-toed boot against his chest and the fear he had felt going over the edge of the helicarrier with a ripped wing. 

He looked around the crowded Turkish cafe again, where Natasha's intel had led him, still not seeing any sign of the man. If he accomplished nothing else from this manhunt, at least he got to travel the world doing it. He took one last picture to send to Sarah from the cafe terrace that overlooked the clear blue water before paying. 

He stepped out into the cobblestone streets, cool night air greeting him. He considered going for a walk by the water but decided instead to return to his hotel for the night and call Nat to see if she had any more leads aside from this seaside village in Turkey. He decided to cut through the back alleyway of one of the roads to try to avoid the foot traffic of the main road. The incline back here also seemed to be better than the sloping road he had come down to get to the cafe. 

He reached for his phone to text Nat when an arm grabbed him from behind, squeezing his throat tightly, knocking the wind from Sam. Instinctively, he tried to swing back to grab them, or claw their eyes out, perhaps. He froze a moment later, hands still in midair, when he felt the cold press of a gun barrel against his exposed neck.

“Scream and I’ll kill,” the man said, his voice low. “Try to struggle and I’ll kill you.” 

“Try to signal for help and–” 

“You’ll kill me, I got it.” Sam wheezed back, trying and failing to inhale with the weight crushing against his windpipe. He started reaching ever so slowly for his belt and the knife he had tucked along the waist back, only to find himself pinned face-first against the brick wall, hands forced above his head as the gun was lifted to the back of his skull. 

Sam gasped, finally able to breathe again without the pressure on his neck. He glanced up at his hands, seeing the glint of silver metal restraining them. It took a moment for his oxygen-deprived mind to piece together what he was seeing.  

“Barnes?" He gasped, right before a strong blow to the back of his head knocked him unconscious. 

Chapter Text

When Sam woke up, the first thing he noticed was that he was sitting in a chair with both his legs and his arms restrained. The second thing was that he had been stripped down to nothing but his boxers. No chance to reach for his knife then. 

He looked around the room, realizing that he was back in his own hotel room. Barnes must have found the key in his pocket. But he seemed to be gone now. Sam reached his fingers around to feel the knot on the rope behind him. If he could just reach it, it wouldn't be too hard for him to get it undone. He was the son of fishermen after all. There wasn't a rope he couldn't untangle. He arched his back, trying to extend his arms far enough to reach the knot. 

“Stop,” Barnes warned. Sam's head snapped up to see the man lurking in the shadowy alcove by the curtains, a small knife glittering in the moonlight as he twisted between his fingers. Shit. 

“Why am I here, man?” Sam asked, trying to keep his voice as casual as he could. Steve seemed to believe that Barnes wasn't a threat to them. But Steve was also an idiot who was emotionally attached to the man, so Sam wasn't sure how much he trusted his judgment.

“No. I ask the questions." He stammered out, his voice as rough as before. Sam scanned his face, catching the hints of fear and confusion in his expression. He didn't look like the cold, calculating man that Sam had fought in DC. In all honesty, he looked like a hot mess. His hair was longer now and looked greasy from days without being washed. The purplish bags beneath his eyes were extremely pronounced. He didn't look like the most deadly assassin of the 20th century. He looked more like a disgruntled vet who had just returned home after a long tour. 

“Okay,” Sam said gently, “Okay, go ahead, what do you want to know?" Barnes' eyebrows shoot up like that, and Sam noticed the knife drop ever so slightly. Maybe he was only being so aggressive because he hadn't expected Sam to be cooperative then. 

“Who are you?” 

“My name is Sam Wilson,” Barnes chewed at his lip. He looked like his mind was racing, trying and failing to place the name. 

“You don’t know me. I’m Steve’s friend. Steve Rogers," Sam definitely caught the hint of recognition at that. Barnes lowered his knife completely but didn't step closer to Sam, his blue eyes scanning Sam's face for any sign that he was lying. 

“Why are you following me?" Barnes asked. A slight accusation of the word you, like he expected Steve to be here instead. 

“We, Steve and I, have both been trying to find you ever since Project Insight," Sam explained, "he has sent me all over the world trying to find you." 

“Why?” Barnes asked.

“Because Steve’s worried about you," Sam said.  

“He shouldn’t be,” Barnes grumbled, looking away from Sam, turning to peel the curtain back to glance out the window. 

“But he is. And he's not going to stop until he knows that you are safe. Guy's as stubborn as a bull." Barnes didn’t respond, but Sam figured if he hadn't hurt him yet, that he could keep pressing the advantage. "He's not mad at you. We know Hydra tortured you and forced you to do those things. All he wants is to bring you home." The muscles on his back flexed, but Barnes remained silent. 

“I’m not… I'm not who he thinks I am," Barnes whispered softly, letting the curtain fall back to cover the window. 

"You're saying that your James Buchanan Barnes, then?" Sam asked, hearing Barnes' soft inhale at the sound of his name. "Look, man, I get it. You've been through a lot of shit and you don't know what to believe, but I'm not your enemy." Barnes finally turned to look at Sam again and shook his head slightly. 

"This was a mistake." He said under his breath, more to himself than to Sam, reaching up to run a hand through his long hair. Sam caught the barest flash of red under the dark material of the man's shirt before he dropped his hand. He studied Barnes' posture and realized for the first time that he was using the wall of the hotel room to prop himself up. The back of his right hand still had flakes of dried Bucky on it. 

“You’re bleeding." Barnes betrayed himself immediately, his hand falling to the wound on his gut. Eyes panicked as if terrified that Sam had been able to find a weakness. 

"If you untie me, I can help you," Sam said. 

"No." Barnes barked. 

“Come on, man. We already established that I am here to help you. At least let me take a look at it. I was a medic in the military."

"I can take care of myself."

"Clearly, that's why you're bleeding out and you look like you haven’t showered in days," Sam sniped back. Barnes looked away, the barest hint of pink filling out his cheeks. 

"I— These are the only clothes I have." Well fuck now, Sam felt like an asshole. What type of hell had Barnes been through this past year that he didn't even have a fresh pair of clothes? 

"There's a duffel bag by the bed. I have extra clothes in it." Sam offered. He normally traveled light, but what was he supposed to do? Not offer the guy clothes after he told Sam he had none? Barnes glanced at the bag, then back at Sam, who gave him a small nod to go ahead. 

Barnes knelt and rummaged inside the bag, pulling out the clothes and placing them carefully on the bed. His eyes caught on the Hershey's bar that I had fallen out of the bag with the clothes. He picked it up, examining the wrapper. Sam had started carrying them around after he had met Steve, the guy had a serious sweet tooth. Judging by the way Barnes was looking at the candy bar, so did he. 

"Do you like chocolate?" Sam asked. Barnes looked up at him with wide eyes, dropping the candy bar. Embarrassed, he was caught with his hand in the metaphorical cookie jar.

"You can have it if you want," Sam told him. 

"Really?" Barnes asked, sounding both unsure and hopeful. 

"Yeah, man. It's all yours. I think there's another one in there. If you want it too." Barnes reached back for the bag, digging around in it. Fuck when was the last time this guy ate? Sam knew the metabolism from the serum was no joke, and Barnes didn't look like the type of guy who would actually sit and eat at a seaside cafe in Turkey. Sam shifted slightly in his seat, while Barnes dug through his bag, his shoulders already sore from his arms being forced behind his back for a long period of time. He rolled his neck, shrugging his shoulders to try to get some of the stiffness out of his muscles. When he looked back up, Barnes's piercing blue eyes were back on him, knife already back in hand. 

"Sorry, I'm a bit sore." Barnes cleared the distance between them in two strides, knife still brandished in his hands. Sam pressed back in the chair, trying to get further from the tip of the blade.  

"You're not going to hurt me, right?" Barnes asked. 

"No," Sam said, "I only want to help." Barnes stared at Sam for a long moment before nodding and moving behind Sam to cut the rope that bound his wrists. 

"If you try anything, I'll kill you." 
 
"Yeah, alright," Sam said, believing that threat less and less with each time Barnes made it. If Barnes had actually wanted Sam dead, then he would have killed him long before Sam woke up kidnapped in his own hotel. It didn't take Barnes long to get through the rope, and Sam pulled his arms forward slowly, rubbing at his wrists. He tried his best to make no sudden movements when Barnes was standing so close to him with a knife. 

"So are you going to let me look at the wound on your side?" Sam asked, looking up at Barnes, who was already retreating back, knife still in his hand, held out between himself and Sam, like he was expecting Sam to leap up and attack him now that he was free. Sam turned around slowly, still sitting in the chair so that he was facing Barnes again, doing his best to appear unthreatening. Which should have been easy because he was still in nothing but his boxers. 

"Do you really need the knife? You have a metal arm. If I tried anything, you could like crush my windpipe, or I don't know, squeeze me till my eyes pop out." Barnes held Sam's gaze for a long moment before nodding and tucking the knife away into one of his many pockets.

"So, are you going to let me see it then?" Sam asked. 

Barnes nodded again and slowly lifted his shirt up, showing off the wound. It was bad. It almost completely covered the left half of his abdomen. Sam couldn't tell if the darkness around the still bleeding cut was dirt or dried blood. 

"How long have you been walking around like this?" 

"I don't know," Barnes said, looking down at it as if the answer could be found in the blood stains. Sam wanted to demand how you would not know when someone tried to cut you in two, but he decided to let it go for the time being. 

"Okay. This is what we are going to do. You are going to go take a shower and get that as cleaned up as you can, and then I will try to stitch up the wound. And then I will help you with any other injuries you have." Because Sam had a sneaking suspicion that this was not the only injury Barnes was trying to hide. "Deal?" 

Barnes chewed on his bottom lip, looking at Sam.

"Do you have a better plan?" Sam asked, with a raised eyebrow. 

Barnes shook his head. "Deal," He agreed with a dejected sigh. 

"Good, you go get in the shower and I'll get you something to eat." Barnes notably perked up at food and moved to the bathroom without further protests. Sam waited till he heard the shower turn on before he got up from the chair. This was definitely not what he had been expecting to do tonight. But on the bright side, he wasn’t dead in the back of an alleyway.  

Sam moved to the mini fridge in the room, grabbing his leftover pide from earlier. He had planned to eat it for breakfast, but Barnes clearly needed the food more. There was no microwave in the room, so Barnes was going to have to eat the meat flatbread cold, but considering the guy had been bleeding half to death with little to no reaction, Sam didn't think he would care all that much.

Sam looked around the room for his clothes from before, finding them folded in one of the drawers with military precision. His wallet, knife, and phone were nowhere to be found, so he was going to have to cross his fingers that Barnes didn't throw those out in the alleyway. 

He got dressed and dug through his duffel for the emergency medical kit he always carried with him. Which honestly, with the frequency it had been used in the past year, seemed more like a necessity than an emergency. Then Sam climbed onto the bed as he waited for Barnes to be done, deciding that he had spent enough time trapped in the chair to willingly get back into it. 

By the time Barnes finally stepped out of the shower with a blood-stained towel wrapped around his body, Sam was about to fall asleep. He looked at the growing pinkish-red stain over on the two, realizing that he was going to have to pay for that. Well, actually, since he was traveling the world on Captain America's dime. Steve was going to have to pay for that. Steve, who had no idea Sam had found his friend. That was a problem for another time. Right now, the best thing he could do was try to make a connection with Barnes. He might be able to convince the other man to come home with him. So really, this was just a temporary lie that would help give Steve exactly what he wanted and give Barnes what he needed. It's a win-win all around. 

“Here you can eat this,” Sam said, offering him the to-go box with the food. Barnes took it and then retreated back a few paces away from Sam before eating it, in a way that made Sam think of abused dogs. It was hard to believe that the same man who had ripped the steering wheel straight out of Sam's windshield was now terrified of him. 

“Here,” Sam said, extending his arm out to offer Barnes a water bottle. “You can have this too.” Barnes took it from Sam, nearly finishing the bottle in one go. Sam didn't comment on it, only handed Barnes another bottle. Barnes was already looking significantly better, now that he had showered and changed into clean clothes. But he still had the dark shadows under his eyes, and the bloodstain on the towel was still growing.

“You gonna let me see your wound yet?” Sam asked. Barnes nodded, but made no movement to get closer to Sam. Sam sighed, moving over on the bed to give Barnes more room before patting the empty space, indicating for Barnes to sit down on it next to him. Barnes cautiously stepped towards the bed, sitting on the very edge of it, never taking his eyes off from Sam. 

“I need you to lean back,” Sam said. Barnes obeyed. 

"You okay if I lower your towel so I can see your wound?" Sam asked, deciding that reaching out for Barnes without his consent would likely end with him injured or dead. 

Barnes nodded slowly, his whole body stiff as a board. Sam moved the towel down slowly, exposing multiple bruises on Barnes' chest, and a gnarly scar where his left arm was fused with his chest. He kept lowering it till it was down to his navel and allowed Sam to see the full cut. It wasn't as bad as Sam had previously thought, but the wound was deep enough that it wouldn't heal without stitches. He looked up at Barnes' face to see that the other man was still watching him, his body shaking slightly. 

"You okay?" Sam asked gently. Getting another brisk nod from Barnes. 

"I won't do anything without telling you first, okay? And if you need a break or want me to stop, then you just say the word and I'll stop." Barnes nodded again, closing his eyes, his bottom lip trembling slightly. 

Sam looked at the wound and let out a long sigh. "I'm going to go wash my hands first, while you roll over onto your right side," Sam said, moving back from the bed to step into the small bathroom. 

Barnes' clothes were still in the bathroom, neatly folded and set on the countertop, a series of knives and a gun next to them as well as a small notebook. Sam resisted the urge to open the book to see what was inside, not wanting to break Barnes's already fragile trust in him. So he quickly washed his hands. Which turned out to be the correct decision because Barnes had already sat up on the bed like he was debating if he should follow Sam. 

Sam held out his hands in a mock surrender to show Barnes that he was unarmed as he moved back to the bed, electing to sit on the other side so that he was in front of Barnes instead of at his back. 

"I'm going to start by disinfecting the wound," Sam told Barnes as the other man lay back down on his side. "Once that is done, I am going to have to give you stitches." 

"Okay," Barnes said softly. So Sam got to work, reaching for the first aid kit to get the right supplies to clean Barnes's gash. 

“This is pretty bad,” Sam commented, hoping that talking would help distract Barnes from his pain and fear. 

“I’ve had worse,” Bucky said, and Sam couldn’t stop his eyes from going to the metal arm and the gnarly scar tissue around it. Which didn't go unnoticed by Barnes, because he shifted the arm up, bending it behind his back so that it was less visible.

“Just because you've been hurt worse before doesn’t mean you deserve to be in any pain now. I mean, who even did this to you?” 

“Hydra,” Barnes said as if it should be obvious. Sam's blood ran cold. Hydra was still around and kicking after the Triskelion.  

“Hydra’s after you?” Sam asked. Still not sure if that was a good or bad thing. Bad because Steve thought they had gotten rid of Hydra, good because Barnes didn’t seem to want anything to do with them. 

“They don’t like people stealing from them," Barnes said with a soft hiss as Sam started to clean his wound.

“What did you take?” Sam asked. Barnes gave Sam a cold eye gaze. It took Sam a moment to catch his meaning. Himself… he was referring to himself. Oh god. 

“Jesus.” Sam muttered, “That’s— I’m sorry, Bucky.” Barnes's head snapped up at the use of his name, his body jerking underneath Sam's hands. "Sorry, do you not like going by Bucky. I should have asked.” 

“I— I like it.” He admitted softly, leaning back down against the bed, his metal hand lifting up to pull at his long hair in frustration. He looked so tired. 

“Okay, Bucky, I'm going to start with the stitches now. I don't have anything to help numb the pain, so this is going to hurt. Let me know if you need a break.” 

"Okay," Bucky said, letting out a soft breath as the needles pierced his skin for the first time. His whole body tensed. After completing five stitches, Sam stopped. 

"Are you finished?" Bucky asked, his eyes squinted closed with pain. 

"Halfway there. I'm going to give you a minute to let you catch your breath." Sam said. Bucky nodded, not protesting. "I know it hurts, it's almost over. You let me know when you are ready for me to start again," Sam told Bucky, since Bucky didn't ask for the break he so clearly needed Sam decided it was better for Bucky to tell him when to start going again. 

After a few minutes, Bucky finally said, "Okay, I'm ready." Sam nodded, carefully adding five more stitches before cutting the surgical string. Sam got up to wash the blood off his hands before coming back to apply the bandages over Bucky's fresh stitches. 

Bucky was still lying in the bed, his metal arm thrown over his face, which was still contorted with pain. Sam rubbed Bucky's back gently, hoping to help alleviate the tension. 

"You're okay. It's over now," Sam said softly. "You did so well." Bucky pulled back his arm so that he could look at Sam, and Sam couldn't help but brush the loose strands of hair out of his field of vision.  

"Alright. I'm going to need you to sit up so I can put on your bandages, and then you should be good to get dressed." Sam said, reaching for Bucky's metal arm to help pull him up. Bucky froze when Sam made contact with the metal. Sam looked at the intricate silver plates of the arm and wondered if he could feel the contact.

"I'm going to help you up," Sam said, tugging on the arm gently, his other arm moving around to cup Bucky's back to make sure he didn't get up too quickly. He reached for the medical kit again, grabbed the gauze, and placed it over the wound. 

"Here, hold this for me," Sam said, guiding the metal arm to hold the gauze in place as he started to wrap the bandage around Bucky's wound. 

“Why are you doing this?" 

“Doing what?” Sam asked, looking up to meet his eyes. 

“Helping me.” Bucky clarified. 

“Because it's the right thing to do," Sam said, ripping off the end of the bandage. 

“You want to control me?”

“No," Sam said, slightly appalled by the implication. 

“You want to fuck me?” 

“What?” Sam asked, his stomach twisting slightly. Bucky was attractive. Sam knew that. He wasn't blind after all. But for Bucky to say it so blantly, as if someone else had done something like that to him. "No," Sam said, moving away from Bucky, putting a careful distance between them. 

“People don’t help me. Not unless they want something. What do you want, Sam Wilson?” 

Sam swallowed around the lump in his throat as he closed the first aid kit, “I want you to be safe.” 

“You don’t even know me.” 

“I don’t.” Sam agreed. “But I would like to get to know you. I mean, the way Steve talks about you, man. You would think you personally hung the stars and the moon in the sky. You mean a lot to him.” 

“I’m not that guy anymore.” 

“But you could be,” Sam said insistently. Maybe all of Steve’s soapbox speeches were rubbing off on him. Or maybe after seeing how lost and broken Bucky was, his savior complex was kicking in. Telling him he had to protect this man, who, in all honesty, was a lot stronger than Sam would ever be. 

“I can't. I’ve hurt too many people to go back.” 

“Seems like you got hurt plenty yourself.” Sam pointed out. Bucky looked away, not meeting Sam's eyes, as he stood up, letting the towel drop as he slowly got dressed in Sam's extra clothes. Sam looked away, trying to give the other man some semblance of privacy.

Look, I’m not going to force you to do anything you don’t want to do. If you tell me you’re not ready to see Steve, then I won’t tell him about any of this. But even you have to realize that you can’t keep going like this. You have people who are willing to help you if you're willing to accept it.” 

"I... I have some things I need to work through first." 

"At least stay here tonight. You need to get some rest, and even if it's just for one night.” 

"Okay," Bucky agreed. Sam turned back around to see if Bucky was done changing, to find him still holding Sam's shirt in his hands like he couldn't figure out how to put it on without ripping a stitch. 

"Here, let me help," Sam said, reaching for the shirt, surprised that Bucky relinquished it so easily. Sam carefully slipped it over his head before guiding his arms through the sleeves. 

"There," Sam said, sliding it the rest of the way down, to find Bucky watching him for what felt like the 100th time, "You know you got a bit of a staring problem, right?" 

"You're going to stay here while I'm sleeping?" Bucky said his eyes narrowed on Sam in a way that made Sam unsure if that was something he wanted or not. 

"I can," Sam told him, "but if you want me to go—" 

"Stay," Bucky told him, closing his metal hand around Sam's wrist, dragging him back over to the bed. 

"Alright, I'll stay," Sam said, letting Bucky push him on to the bed, before walking back into the bathroom. Bucky walked out a moment later, a gun in his hand, turning off the light. He moved back to the window to check outside of it for a moment before drawing the curtains back down over the frame. 

"Bucky?" Sam asked. 

"This is for you," Bucky said, walking back over to the bed and flipping the gun so its handle was pointed towards Sam. Sam stared up at him, making no movement to take the gun. "Take it—" Bucky said pushing it against him. 

"Why?" Sam asked, taking the gun, checking to make sure the safety was still on. 

"Just in case," Bucky said, moving over to the other side of the bed, piling back the covers so he could climb into it. 

"In case of Hydra?" Sam asked. Bucky nodded, moving closer to Sam so that his back was pressed against Sam's legs, his own gun resting in his hand. 

"Okay, you get some sleep, I'll keep watch. I won't let anyone hurt you," Sam promised. 

Bucky reached out for Sam, his hand closing around Sam’s hand that was currently not holding the gun wrapped around his chest. Maybe Bucky felt better with the physical contact. Or maybe he just wanted to make sure Sam didn't try to leave to call someone. Either way Sam decided it was best not to question it. Instead he held Bucky close and whispered, "Goodnight." 

"Goodnight," Bucky repeated, his breathing settling into an even rhythm moment later as he feel asleep. 

Sam didn't remember fall asleep. He was only faintly aware that he must have been working up groggy the next morning, back sore from sleeping in an upright position. He looked beside him on the bed to find the spot next to him empty and cold. Bucky must have left a while ago. He pulled himself out of the bed to see his phone, wallet, and knife resting on the desk, along with a greasy brown paper bag. He opened it to see a rather large chocolate croissant inside and a sheet of white lined paper. He pulled out the pastry and then the note, looking down at the elegant handwriting on the slightly greasy sheet of paper. 

Dear Sam, 

Thank you for making me believe that I can trust some people.

Till we meet again,  
Bucky

Sam smiled slightly, folding the note up. Till we meet again. He liked the sound of that.