Chapter Text
Sam didn’t think this all the way through.
That’s always been a problem Sam’s had: he doesn’t think shit all the way through.
You’d think that he would have a stronger sense of foresight, what with him being in service for all that time. You see, Sam’s managed to trick people into thinking that he is a logic-driven tactatian.
But he’s not. The few people left on this Earth that really know him could tell you that in a second.
Sometimes, Sam just jumps head first into the bullshit because his emotions told him to. And it’s some time later that he realizes how much trouble he’s gotten himself into.
You’d think he stop that bullshit one day. It’s nearly gotten him killed more times than Sam can count. But he keeps bulldozing.
Maybe it’s just how he’s programmed.
**
“ Bucky . . .”
The name falls off of Steve’s lip like a desperate prayer.
They’ve found him this time. Dirty, shivering, hunched beside rickety pipes while he hides from God knows who. Bucky looks up at Steve through his hair, mumbles some odd fact about Steve’s mother that only James Buchanan could’ve possibly known.
Sam watches Steve’s back the whole time; he watches how it tenses and shakes, how unsteadily Steve breathes when he realizes Oh my God. It’s him. It’s actually him.
Only once does Sam look directly at this man they’ve chased down for nearly two whole years. It’s a quick glimpse--he barely takes stock of Bucky’s torn red shirt and bright blue eyes--but it’s enough.
Sam glances between Bucky and Steve, and he feels his own breath getting shallow. His own stomach is starting to twist, and his own heart just skipped a beat. Far behind them, but getting much, much closer, Sam can hear voices and footsteps.
Sam didn’t think this all the way through. Because, if he had, he would have never left the cemetery with Steve Rogers that day. Hell, he would have never opened the door for him to begin with.
**
“Sammy. Wake up, man. Come on, now, get up!”
Riley’s voice is rough with sleep, a course alarm clock for Sam. Sam’s eyes barely open; Riley’s face floats above Sam’s, and Sam can’t tell if he’s startled or thrilled by the sight.
“You wake me up earlier and earlier every day, country boy,” Sam grumbles, too sleepy to worry about how affectionate he sounds. “Take yo ass to sleep.”
Riley grins, and his damn smile takes up his whole face.
“We gotta go running before the sun gets too high!” Good Lord. Riley sounds like a kid on Christmas morning.
The bed moves underneath Sam’s’ body; Riley’s straddling him now. And how the hell is that supposed to help?
“You getting lazy on me, Sammy,” Riley’s voice is soft and teasing.
Sam smirks. He reaches up just enough to spread both hands on his boyfriend’s stomach.
“You the one that’s getting soft.”
Riley takes Sam’s hands, and grins like the devil. Riley’s body is so warm that it’s bordering on hot, and Sam could live and die in the heat.
“And you love it, too. Don’t you?”
Sam bites his lip, pretending to be shy all of a sudden. Riley won’t make him say it. Nope. Not this early in the morning. Maybe later.
Sam’s eyes travel up from Riley’s stomach back to his face. Big, bright, mischievous green eyes stare back at him.
Riley leans down on top of Sam. Kisses Sam on the spot on his neck that makes Sam’s breath hitch. Sam runs his hands up Riley’s hot back.
“Thought you wanted to go running?” Sam’s breathless and hard and today’s little mission is the last thing on his mind.
Riley lifts himself up so that he can peer down into Sam’s face. Then he kisses Sam softly on the lips.
“Changed my mind.”
**
Steve drives. There’s no telling for how long or how far, but they’re driving. For hours and hours and hours and hours. Bucky’s nerves are shot, but that doesn’t make him special because Steve looks nauseated, and Sam is two gunshot sounds away from a fucking heart attack.
And they’re doing this for Bucky Barnes.
So as far as Sam is concerned, Bucky can sit there looking as baffled and anxious as he wants. Just as long as they keep driving.
They have to get somewhere safe. Sam doesn’t know if that’s even possible. But they have to try.
**
A motel. None of them even know where the fuck they are, but they’ve found a motel. An old extended stay in the middle of got damn nowhere. It’s a little rundown, but it’s not nearly as bad as some of the spots Sam and Steve have found themselves in. The rooms are clean and decent-sized. There’s even a pool with blue, chlorine-filled water.
They have a room on the ground floor. They throw what little belongings they have in it (Sam can’t help but notice that they’re mostly carrying concealed weapons.) and they try not to look suspicious as the three of them crowd inside.
When everything’s put away and they’re safely locked inside, Sam lets himself collapse onto one of the beds. He faintly hears his mother’s words in the back of his mind--something about hotels and motels being nasty and checking for bed bugs. But his exhaustion overtakes any desire for conscientious cleanliness. Sam takes a deep breath, and every muscle in his body deflates in response. Steve’s slipped into the bathroom, and the sound of running water is lulling Sam to sleep.
Just as Sam’s started to slip away, a nearby presence causes him to jolt away. Bucky Barnes, sitting in a chair that’s too close to the bed Sam’s spread out on.
“Shit,” Sam murmurs, like he has any reason to be surprised.
Sam props himself up on his elbows to look Bucky in his face. Bucky’s eyes widen, and he stares at Sam the exact same way a child does when he’s been caught red-handed.
“Can I help you?” Sam asks, his tone flat. And yeah, it’s a rude question, but this situation isn’t actually fostering warm feelings.
Bucky doesn’t seem to mind the rudeness. He doesn’t even seem to notice it, really. Bucky just . . . blinks at Sam, watching him as if he’s never seen anyone like him before.
“Sorry,” Bucky mumbles. His voice sounds rough. Like it would hurt to talk.
Sam’s heart skips a beat at the sound.
The sound of running water stops, and Steve reemerges from the bathroom. He leans against the wall and looks at them both. Steve looks tired.
“We need to get some rest,” Steve says softly.
Sam nods, and the movement takes the last of his energy.
“Damn, right, we do,” he grumbles. Then he lets himself fall backwards onto the bed again, not even bothering with taking his jacket off.
As Sam drifts into sleep, he feels the bed dip underneath him once. A warm, heavy body gently pressed against his.