Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“—bitch!”

In a burst of light, he’s stumbling across the platform. Bruce’s face looks stunned and he side-eyes Hill, slowly moving away from her. Hill’s eyebrows have disappeared under the curtain of her bangs.

He nods at the two of them, letting the helmet retract, “Ma’am. Mission was successful.”

“Clearly,” she states. “Believe me when I say that we would know if you were not successful.” Her eyes grow distant again, “or, maybe we wouldn’t,” she says with a frown before shaking her head and walking away.

“She really hates time travel,” Bruce says, shrugging his broad shoulders.

“Who doesn’t?” he mutters quickly, disengaging the rest of the quantum suit and tossing it through the air to Bruce.

“You didn’t have a good time?” Bruce asks, a twinge of sarcasm in his voice.

He thinks back to just a few hours ago and the sounds he’d forced out of Bucky. “I guess it wasn’t so bad.”

There’s no debrief, no after-action review, which he's grateful for. There's too much story he'd have to omit to account for his moment-to-moment movements and he's simply out of energy. As it is, Bruce takes off in the same direction as Hill, leaving Sam on his own. He showers off in one of the empty locker rooms, letting the hot water ease the tension from his muscles while he works to calm his mind. There’s a razor-thin line between relief and guilt and he’s walking it.

“You’re home,” he tells himself. He repeats it over and over in his mind until it starts to feel real. The past doesn’t have water pressure like this, he reminds himself while the suds wash off his skin.

“You’re home,” he says again and then thinks of Delacroix. “Well, almost.”

When he gets back to Louisiana he’s going to take a whole week to do nothing but rest and relax. He and Bucky will take the boys and do all the cool uncle shit.

Finally, he turns the water off and dries off. He redresses in the clothes he was wearing before the mission, and after a moment’s consideration, stuffs his mission clothing into his bag to take home with him. He stops in the same sterile hallway he walked before, letting his back hit the wall before leaning over to brace his hands on his knees, mentally preparing himself for the encounter he’s heading into.

He doesn’t feel like he has the right to feel sad, but he feels it all the same. Sadness that he only had such a short time with Bucky before his fall. And beyond that, gratitude that he was granted anytime with Bucky at all.

And of course, there’s the guilt that he didn’t tell Bucky what was going to happen. He’d kissed those lips goodbye, knowing that it wouldn’t be long before Bucky wouldn’t know anything but pain and misery and agony. Knowing that on the other side would be people who blamed him for things he had no control over.

And a shitty therapist convincing him that he should make amends.

Inside the room, Bucky is exactly where he left him, book in front of his face, his body relaxed and lounging...actually not all that different from the Bucky he left behind. Sam stares at the book—it has to mean something. Bucky’s comments before he left have to mean something, all those double-meanings.

Bucky has to know that he’s there, standing in the entryway like an idiot. He looks relaxed, but he hasn’t turned one page since Sam stepped through the door. Clearly, he’s waiting on Sam to say something and he’s so close to opening his mouth but he chickens out and walks to the kitchen to give himself a few more minutes. He grabs a glass from the cupboard and shoves it against the lever. He listens to the ice drop into his glass with his eyes closed. It’s when he’s switching to water when he sees it, right in front of his face.

Trapped under a Captain America magnet—a small chibi Sam—is a paper. Neatly written at the top is ‘Sammy-Do-List’ with Sammy crossed out and Tommy written below. There’s only one item on the list. A number one off to the side and ‘Bucky’ written next to it. He touches where Bucky had written, feeling the slight indentations from where the pen was pressed into the paper. ‘Bucky’ his fingers spell out, following the black ink across the page.

It does mean something.

He leaves the water and walks back to Bucky. He sits down on the coffee table, a repeat of how they were earlier, yet totally different now.

“Good book?” he asks.

Bucky closes the book and traces the mountains on the cover.

“It has sentimental value,” Bucky says softly. “I got it from someone special.”

“Not that one though,” he says.

“Actually…” Bucky says with a smile, his eyes alight with excitement, “most of my stuff ended up in storage with Steve’s, and then the Smithsonian thought the book was his so they kept it in great condition.”

“It’s the same book,” he says in disbelief.

“The one you gave to me," Bucky says, handing the book over to Sam. He turns it over in his hands, marveling at the idea that he gave Bucky this book. 

“You never said anything.” It’s not what he wants to talk about right now. He doesn’t really want to talk at all. He wants to pull Bucky up and see if he still squirms the same as before. He wants to touch him everywhere he touched him before, decades ago. He wants to show Bucky the same gentleness he’d shown Sam hours ago.

“About the book?”

Sam raises an eyebrow. “That too. But more broadly, you didn’t say anything.”

“Well, it took a while to convince myself that it was you,” Bucky says, sitting up on the couch, crossing his legs beneath him. “My mind healed while I was in Bucharest but a lot happened between the Accords and Wakanda...and then Thanos. It actually wasn't that long ago that I was convinced I was looking for a grandfather or a great-uncle. Sarah said that there were a few Thomases in your family, but she didn’t remember any of them having a scar or going to New York. Or being some kind of secret agent.”

“And what changed your mind?”

"I was standing outside in the yard one windy day when Sarah got home. I was lost in thought, just staring out into space, but she thought I was looking at the trees and she stood by me and told me how you used to climb to the top when you were little. She said that you terrified your mother because you'd just stand there, as high as you could go and sway back and forth like you wanted to fly."

"What did you say?"

"Nothing. I knew she wouldn't know about your mission. I didn't even know what your mission had been, not really. But a few days later I asked if you were the better swimmer and she laughed in my face and told me—"

"That she was the fastest swimmer," he finishes.

"But that you were the one who could hold his breath the longest." Bucky untucks his legs from underneath him and pushes himself forward so he’s seated at the very edge of the couch. Their knees slot in between each other and Bucky reaches out with his left hand, the one that sewed the gash in his cheek, and runs a vibranium finger down its length. “But this...this is when I was certain. This is when I knew it was really you. I just had to wait for you to catch up."

“I hate that you didn't have anyone to tell.” 

“What could I say? It was one of the last great mysteries of my mind and I'd solved it—why does Sam look so much like Tommy? It felt so good to finally have all the pieces in place. You know, when I first made the connection, of who you reminded me of, it was easy to dismiss because you hated me a lot back then and I thought ‘Tommy would never look at me like that’.”

He takes Bucky’s hands back into his own. “And now?”

“And now,” Bucky says with a gentle smile, “you look at me the same way Tommy once did.”

“And how is that?”

“Like I’m worth more than I could have ever imagined.”

“That’s good,” he says, smiling back before leaning forward and finally, finally kissing Bucky, soft and chaste, but it’s just the beginning and he can be patient. “I’m glad you remembered.”

“I did,” Bucky says against his lips. “It made a difference, even when I didn't believe it. And it made me realize that you like me too.”

“Too? Wait, you like me?” he jokes. “Who would have thought?”

Bucky pulls away and gives him an amused look.

“We practically live together.”

“True.”

“I stay with you at your childhood home.”

“You do.”

“You’ve never told me to stop coming.”

“Why would I?”

“I buy you your favorite coffee.”

“You buy the coffee?”

“Oh my god, Wilson.”

“What? That’s real sweet, Buck.”

“Shut up,” Bucky groans, leaning back and pulling Sam toward him by his hands. “Come here and lay down while we wait for our plane to get here.”

“I am not going to fit on the couch with you,” he laughs. The couch is just wide enough for Bucky to lay on comfortably.

“You will,” Bucky says, pulling him across Bucky’s body so he’s wedged on the far side. He gives in and relaxes half on top of Bucky, resting his head on Bucky’s chest.

“We were just doing this a few hours ago,” he says. “It was nice.”

Bucky hums in agreement. “It still is.”

It’s late in the evening when they land outside the house. He and Bucky tiptoe through the house and into Sam’s room and he finds that he’s far more nervous here and now than he was even just hours ago. There’s something about being here—home—that makes this thing between them so much more real.

Bucky looks at Sam’s bed and then back at the door and Sam can see the self-doubt in his eyes too, so he reaches out and catches hold of Bucy’s hand. “Stay,” he whispers, pulling Bucky to him and lifting his hand to his mouth. He gives the vibranium a kiss and holds it against his chest. “Stay,” he repeats and holds Bucky’s hand in place until he nods.

They clean up and fall into bed, quiet and comfortable. No words pass between them as they find each other in the dark. Bucky wraps him in his arms around him, pulling him close like he did that afternoon on the couch and Sam falls asleep to the feeling of his short nails making blissful little paths along his back.

His sister nearly spits out her coffee when she catches Bucky laying in his bed when Sam sneaks out in the morning.

“When did that happen?” she asks, dragging him into the kitchen.

“Shhh,” he hushes her, “supersoldier hearing, remember?”

She folds her arms across her chest and raises her eyebrows at him.

“You look just like mom when you do that.”

“Where do you think I learned it from?” she says. “Stop stalling and spill it, because I’m pretty sure I didn’t miss that,” she gestures toward his room, “before you left.”

“You didn’t. It’s new, so,” he levels her with a serious look, “do not make a big deal, Sarah.”

“Are you kidding me?” she asks. “I’ve been waiting months for you two to get a clue. I am going to hold this over both of your heads forever.”

“Great. I don’t know why I expected anything different.”

She drains the rest of her coffee and sets her mug by the sink. With three quick strides, she’s hugging him. “I’m happy for you,” she whispers. “You deserve to be happy, Sammy.”

“Thanks,” he mumbles to her, squeezing her tight. “Don’t call me Sammy.”

“Whatever. I’m taking the boys out for the rest of the day. We’ll be out late. If you catch my meaning.”

“I do, please don’t go on.”

He waits in the kitchen long enough for the boys to come down so he can say hi and bye and to tell them about his planned week of ‘cool uncle shit’.

“Thanks a lot,” Sarah says, watching as the boys run out the door to plan their epic week with Uncle Sam, “they’re going wired for the rest of the day.”

“Anytime. Oh hey,” he stops her before she leaves, “Bucky was buying the coffee.”

“No shit, Sammy,” she says before leaving him alone in the kitchen.

Bucky is awake but still has his head buried in his pillow when Sam crawls into bed.

“She knows?” Bucky asks into his pillow.

“She is excited.”

That gets Bucky’s head to pop up, “yeah?”

“Yeah. Were you worried?”

“A little,” Bucky admits. “I don’t have the best reputation.”

“The woman leaves you alone with her kids, Buck. If she didn’t like you, you would be at the bottom of the Gulf somewhere before she’d let you stay here.”

That gets a relieved smile from Bucky.

“Hey, so, did we decide? Are we boyfriends? Like officially?” he asks.

“Are we—” Bucky shakes his head. “I mean, I’ve been trying to date you for a while now.”

“Bucky, you’ve gotta say it,” he says. “I need to hear the words.”

“I made us a picnic.”

“Those are not the words, Barnes.”

“I smiled at you a lot more.”

“That usually just means you're up to something.”

“Yes, I was up to getting you into my bed.”

“Well, I got you into my bed first.”

“Technically—”

“Nope, time travel shenanigans don’t count.”

Bucky draws in a dramatic breath, “Sam, that’s no way to talk about your boyfriend.”

Sam smiles, happiness flooding his body. “Boyfriend?”

“Boyfriends.”

Unsurprisingly, they end up back in bed for most of the day. Sam explores Bucky’s body, delighted to find that he can still make Bucky moan just like before. Bucky returns the favor when he marvels over Sam’s body.

Just like I remember you, Bucky says.

It’s strange—there’s really no way for it not to be. Yesterday morning, he’d been single and crushing on his friend and work partner. Yesterday afternoon he slept with his friend and work partner’s younger self. It’s the same body, yet so different now, but no less beautiful.

With the house to themselves, he’s able to take his time. He gets to open Bucky up, fingering him until he’s cursing Sam.

“That’s no way to talk to your boyfriend, Bucky,” he says and kisses Bucky before he can respond.

Later, after they’ve washed up and straightened the bedding, he calls into the command center to clear his time off. They don’t like it, not that Sam had expected them to, but Sam wasn’t about to let it go and they relent when he promises to be available for any major issues.

Bucky drags him to the boat so they can check on Alpine, who soaks up all of Bucky's attention. He tells Bucky that he's being neglectful and when they get home Bucky pulls him back to their bed again and straddles him. This time they make out lazily, Bucky’s hands back in his hair and Sam’s hands caressing the smooth skin of Bucky’s flank. When Bucky rolls off of him they sprawl out and doze on and off for the next hour. Sam hasn’t felt so lazy or content in a long time.

He wakes up with his face plastered to Bucky’s chest, which is clearly the best way to wake up and he’s in no rush to move.

“Do you need a pillow?” Bucky asks drowsily while he flips through the TV stations. “I’m not sure how comfortable the vibranium is.”

Bucky shifts under him and against his cheek, Sam can feel where Bucky’s flesh meets the metal. He’s seen it hundreds of times now, the scars running along the seam, but he had never felt it before today.

“It doesn’t bother me.”

“Okay,” Bucky says, relaxing again.

“You getting hungry?”

“I’ve got it covered. There are pizzas coming,” Bucky says.

“Where from?” he asks.

“Dela’s.”

Sam lifts his head enough so he can look at Bucky in the eye. “I love that place.”

Bucky smirks, “I know, Sam.”

He twists so he’s laying on his stomach, reaches up, and runs a hand through Bucky’s hair. “You’re really good at this taking care of me thing.”

“Uh-huh,” Bucky agrees, leaning his head into the touch, “when you let me.”

“When I let you,” he mimics with an eye roll. “Although, you did feed me the blandest chicken I’ve ever had in my life.”

“I thought you liked that meal?” Bucky says with a pout.

“Shut up. You knew that I’d be eating that crap. That’s why you told me to eat something before I left.”

“And did you?”

“No,” he grumbles, dropping his head back down to Bucky’s chest. At the time, he’d thought Bucky was being sarcastic.

They lay together on the sofa until the pizza arrives at their door and spend the rest of the night on the couch, exchanging casual touches that are so much more meaningful now. They lean into one another, and Bucky listens to Sam recall his mission, or the parts that Bucky wasn’t around for. He pauses when he reaches the part where he meets the Ancient One.

“What was she like?”

“Intimidating. Creepy. Like she could see everything,” he says. “She knew where the stone was. She said that the payoff was here in the present.”

They both look down at where their hands are clasped between them and then up at each other.

“So, you were sent back in time for a booty call with a hot twink.”

“God, you were very tempting.”

“Tempted you straight out of your pants.”

"Hey," he says, "I'll have you know that I was conflicted."

"Yes," Bucky says, rolling his eyes. "You sure did hold out."

“Speaking of temptation,” he asks, turning more serious, “you weren’t tempted to go back?”

Bucky closes his eyes, frowns as he ponders the question.

“That’s a difficult question. I would give so much to hug my ma and pa again. To have seen my little sisters before they passed. But to stay? To what end? I can’t guarantee it would help anyone. Would the people who are dead, stay dead? Could I save myself? If I could...if it was a sure thing that was allowed and it made a difference, I would go back in time and I would wipe myself clean from this earth.”

“Bucky—”

“No, it’s not that I don’t want to be here. Especially here with you now, because I do. But the amount of pain I could prevent…”

“They would have done it no matter what,” he says, “they would have just found someone else to let loose on the world.”

Bucky's quiet for a moment, considering his next words. “In the end, it doesn’t matter. Whatever reason there is, you going back was meant to be. I have the book and I remember you. Steve went into the past and stayed, lived an entire life supposedly, but the Avengers couldn’t go back and kill Thanos to affect future events. There’s too much unknown, something bigger in control. I’m not willing to risk what I have now for that.”

“Good, because I really hate time travel and I’d hate to have to go back in time again to drag your ass back here where you belong.”

“Understood," Bucky answers fondly.

They watch the sunset from the dock, the sky full of blues, yellows, and deep purples. 

"Thanks for showing me Louisiana," Bucky says, his voice soft. "It really is beautiful here."

"It sure is," he says, not taking his eyes from Bucky. 

"Now who's staring."

"Me. You had a jump start. I'm just catching up, remember?"

"Fair enough," Bucky says, the last of the sun disappearing behind the trees.

Sam yawns, the emotions of the last forty-eight hours crashing down on him again.

"Come on." Bucky gets up and helps Sam off the dock. "Let me take you to bed—for sleep.”

They slip under the covers and settle in, naturally migrating toward each other in the center. The greens and blues of The Hobbit catch his eye when Bucky picks it up.

“Are you going to read me to sleep?” he asks, yawning again.

“Shhh,” Bucky hushes him. “Remember that whole I’m good at taking care of you thing? Let me do it.”

“Okay,” he murmurs, turning to his side so he can watch Bucky as he reads. He opens the book and fingers through the worn pages until he finds the one he’s looking for. Bucky’s voice is smooth and calming and he can feel himself drifting on and off to the sound of Bilbo and the dwarves on their journey.

“You should be loving this part,” Bucky says softly. Sam had unconsciously moved so he’s laying on Bucky’s chest again, feeling the vibration of his voice under his ear and feeling Bucky’s breath against his hair. He’s just barely hanging on to consciousness, but Bucky doesn’t seem to mind, enjoying his snoozing audience.

How long would they have danced around their feelings if Sam hadn’t been given the mission in the past? The payoff is here in the present, he thinks drowsily. Well, he doesn’t know if there’s something larger in play, something he has a hand in, but he knows that for him, the payoff really is here in the present. And he plans on reaping all of its benefits. He rubs his head against Bucky’s soft tee and burrows in closer and sighs when he feels the blanket pulled up over his shoulders.

“It’s got birds and Gandalf,” Bucky whispers, making Sam’s lips twitch in a small smile and as he drifts off to sleep, he listens to Bucky read.

[ID: A digital painting of a first edition copy of The Hobbit lying on a table. A piece of notepaper is used as a bookmark, which has Sammy-Do-List written on it, with Sammy crossed out and Tommy written underneath. On top of the book there is a Captain America shield keychain. End ID]