Work Text:
Sam watched him fall.
Riley. Joaquin.
Tumbling towards the desert sand. Tumbling towards the churning ocean. Trailing smoke from the explosion that just knocked them out of the sky. Their wings distorted and broken.
Sam dove after them with a singular focus. Nothing else mattered. He didn't care if there was a missile after him, threatening to knock him out of the sky. He had to catch them.
But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't reach them. They fell further and further away and he wasn't fast enough.
He watched them hit the ground -
Sam shot up in bed, a scream tearing from his throat.
The bedroom was dark and silent. The images of the nightmare still played behind his eyes and Sam had to know... had to know they were okay.
He struggled to get the covers off himself; the air hitting his sweat-covered skin. He was frantic, unable to coordinate his limbs. Suddenly, someone was restraining him - no, holding him, gently.
"Sam!"
Sam couldn't place the voice, and tried to get away, he had to... he had to... Sam didn't know what he had to do to. The arms were still holding him, one firm muscle, the other warm metal.
"Sam!"
The voice grew louder. The memory of the nightmare faded away, and with it, the urgency he felt vibrating through his body.
"Sammy!"
"Bucky?"
"Yeah, I'm right here. It's okay. You're okay. It was a nightmare."
"Joaquin?"
"He's okay. He's fine."
"I have to... I have to call him." Sam tried to get out of Bucky's hold, and to his phone, but Bucky kept his arms around him.
"Sam! It's the middle of the night, let the kid sleep."
"I have to make sure he's okay. Please. Bucky."
Finally Bucky let go, only for him to snatch Sam's phone before he could reach it.
"Check his Insta, he posted before we went to bed." Bucky held out Sam's phone, and Sam took it. His hands were shaking badly, and he was barely able to punch in his password to unlock it. It took a lot in him to not immediately call Joaquin and instead open Instagram like Bucky had said.
"He's fine. See?"
Bucky was right. There it was. Joaquin had posted just a few hours ago. He was fine. He didn't plunge to his death in the middle of the ocean because Sam couldn't catch him.
"Fuck." Sam collapsed, as suddenly all the anxiety and dread left him, leaving him empty and exhausted. Just the overwhelming feeling of failure remained. Bucky caught him and pulled him close, wrapping his arms protectively around Sam and Sam let him. Tears spilled from his eyes against his will. Sam buried his face against Bucky's shoulder and curled up in Bucky's lap. He felt absolutely drained, yet his body was shaking with sobs.
"It's okay. I've got you." Bucky rubbed Sam's back as he cried, murmuring assurances that did little to ease Sam's anguish. When he closed his eyes, he only saw Joaquin falling. The image forever burned into his mind just like Riley's fall.
"It's my fault." Sam eventually choked out.
"No it's not." Bucky immediately countered.
"I wasn't fast enough."
"You did everything you could."
"And it wasn't enough."
"Sam...It wasn't your fault."
"He could have died."
"But he didn't. Joaquin's a tough kid, and learned from the best."
Sam knew Bucky was right, logically, but his damn brain refused to accept any explanation. Bucky's words helped though. He continued to assure Sam, and slowly the adrenaline left his body. His rapidly beating heart calmed down, and Sam could think more clearly.
"I can't believe you still call him a kid," Sam huffed. "He's almost thirty."
"Still a kid to me." Bucky chuckled, tightening his arms around Sam. "How are you feeling?"
"Exhausted, but better. I haven't had one this bad in years."
"I'm sorry, I wish I had noticed sooner and woken you up."
"It's not your fault."
"Still. I hate seeing you in so much pain."
They sat in silence for a moment, before Bucky spoke again.
"You want to go back to bed or...?"
Sam thought about it for a moment. He was incredibly tired, his body held a bone-deep exhaustion, but the idea of sleeping again felt daunting. Sam feared the moment he closed his eyes, he would find himself back in the air, watching his loved ones fall to their death.
"You can go back to sleep. I'll find something to do around the house." Sam extracted himself from Bucky's arms to move to the edge of the bed, but Bucky moved with him, keeping a hand on Sam's back.
"I'm not leaving you alone. What do you want to do? Watch a movie?"
Sam knew it was pointless to argue. They've had the same argument numerous times when their positions had been reversed and he had never backed down either.
"No... I want to do something. Something dull. Just move my hands and focus on that."
Bucky hummed, thinking for a moment. "I've got some stuff that needs sanding in the garage?"
Sam shrugged. "Sure." He'd take anything right now, even doing the dishes, but he knew Bucky had already taken care of that after dinner last night.
Sam pulled on some socks and a hoodie and made his way down to the garage. Bucky followed him, keeping a hand on Sam's back.
Bucky turned on the light in the garage to reveal the latest project he was working on. Sam had no idea what it was, and he really didn't care - he just needed something to do with his hands. Bucky left him standing in the doorway as he pulled out some pre-cut lumber and a sanding block.
"I would have probably done it with a sander at some point, but you can just do it by hand now." He placed everything on the workbench. "Why don't you get started and I'll make some tea?"
Sam grabbed the sanding block and the first piece of wood and got to work.
Bucky lingered around for a second longer, as if making sure Sam would be okay to leave alone for a minute.
"I'll be fine."
Sam focused on what he was doing, feeling the roughness of the sandpaper and wood under his hands, hearing the noise the sandpaper made when he dragged it over the wood. The garage always smelled of freshly cut wood, as Bucky always had some kind of project going. There was also always the lingering smell of motor oil coming from Bucky's bike. That smell always clung to Bucky whenever he worked on it, and Sam found it comforting.
Sam had been so focused on his task that he didn't notice Bucky appear beside him until a cup of steaming hot tea was pushed into his field of view.
"You're going to sand a dent into this," Bucky said, chuckling, and Sam realized he had been sanding the same spot vigorously for the past couple of minutes.
"What's this going to be?" He asked, shifting to actually sanding the piece in its entirety.
"A new perch for the pigeon coop." Bucky sipped his own tea and gently trailed his hand up and down Sam's back. "How are you feeling?"
Sam sighed and put the sandpaper down. His thoughts had calmed down and his hands no longer shook when he picked up his tea. He no longer felt like he was going to fall apart at the seams.
"Tired... I'm just tired." Sam took a sip of his tea and found it was chamomile, with a touch of honey. Just how he liked it. "Thanks Buck."
"Hey, no need. I'd do anything to help, you know that." Bucky put his tea down and opened his arms. Sam stepped into his embrace and melted against Bucky. Bucky was warm and solid and Sam couldn't resist the temptation of closing his eyes again. He was bone tired and he could probably fall asleep standing right then and there, but the memories of the nightmare still lingered on the edges of his mind. Reluctantly, he stepped back, forcing his eyes open.
"Can we stay here a little longer?"
"Of course. You want to continue sanding, or...?"
Sam looked at the wood and sanding block. The physical task had helped, but he was too tired to continue.
"I don't know..."
"Alright." Bucky stepped closer again, took Sam's arms and laid them around his neck. "Hold on."
Sam was confused and before he could really do much, Bucky lifted him up and sat him down on the workbench.
"What was that about?" Sam asked, keeping his arms around Bucky's neck.
"You looked like you were about to keel over." Bucky stepped between Sam's legs, keeping his hands on Sam's ribs. "And I just want to hold you."
"I did not." Sam huffed. "But this is nice." He leaned against Bucky's solid form and Bucky slid his arms around him, holding him gently. Bucky started talking about the projects he had planned for their own garden and for the neighbors and the other people in their community, who occasionally asked their resident super soldier for help.
Sam dared to close his eyes again, and this time, he didn't see his friends falling from the sky. He saw Bucky, working in the garden, dirt smudged across his forehead from when he had wiped away the sweat. The Luisiana sun was shining brightly in the sky. Their four pigeons hopped around the lawn, occasionally scrambling and fighting over an earthworm Bucky had thrown them. If all went well, they would soon be joined by a few chickens.
Sam didn't notice he was dozing off as he imagined the serene scene that wasn't a faraway fantasy, but a reality taking place almost every day in their shared lives. He roused slightly when Bucky lifted him up and started carrying him, but Sam was too tired to protest. For once, he didn't need to put on the facade of the veteran counselor who had processed all his trauma, or portray the image of the infallible Captain America. With Bucky, he could simply be Sam, and occasionally, Sam needed someone who held him.
Sam let himself be tucked into bed, let Bucky arrange the pillows and covers until he was snuggled against Bucky's chest, head cushioned on a pillow over Bucky's left arm, and Bucky's right arm firmly wrapped around him. The last thing Sam remembered before falling asleep to much more pleasant dreams was Bucky kissing the top of his head.
"Just sleep, Sammy. I've got you."