Hey :)

“I’m your girlfriend, Bucky. If something is bothering you, it bothers me,” you reminded him. “So, please, wake me up next time, okay?”

It didn’t matter how big or small of an issue it was, you’d help him through anything and everything.

“You need more sleep than I do,” he tried to argue, a ghost of a smile on his face when you narrowed your eyes. 

“I can always catch a nap later,” you said.

“If you say so,” he said, sounding in better spirits than he had moments ago.

But that didn’t last when he started fighting with Sam via text. He didn’t like fighting with his friends and it wore on him as the day went on. You saw it in how he carried himself. If that weren’t enough, Alexei accidentally shot a paint gun in the common room and hit Bucky’s thigh. The flare in his nostrils told you he was two seconds away from losing his shit when John laughed.

You half expected Bucky to punch John, but he silently got to his feet and went to change. “So sorry!” Alexei called after him, also leaving the room.

“Did you have to laugh?” you asked John. Sure, you all gave him a hard time, but he dished it out as well and it was clear that Bucky wasn’t in the best mood.

John shrugged, not at all phased. “He’ll live.”

“You won’t if you keep pissing him off,” you teased, going to get Bucky’s jacket while you waited for him to come back. 

Bucky returned a minute later, somehow looking more pissed off. Maybe it was because John scooted closer to you once you sat back down. As much as you adored Bucky’s signature grumpy stare, this was different. That look was on his face because of his bad mood. Your heart went out to him, and what kind of girlfriend would you be if you didn’t try to cheer him up? 

“Hey,” you smiled, holding out a hand so Bucky could help you to your feet. You gave him a quick kiss once you were close enough and handed him his jacket. “Let’s go for a ride.”

“A ride?” he asked, closing his eyes when you brushed his hair back.

“Yeah, a ride,” you smiled. As much as you both loved being in the tower, he needed to get out and you were more than happy to join him. “And maybe we can stop off at that bakery you love?”

Bucky’s eyes lit up. Between a ride with you and stopping off to get a treat, he’d be in a much better mood. “Let’s go.”

“Hang tight for just a minute. Just need to grab something,” you said, sneaking in another kiss before you headed toward your room. You wondered how much Bucky would argue if you tried to pay for the treats. He was always such a gentleman when it came to-

“FUCK!”

You stopped at the sound of John’s loud and piercing scream. It wouldn’t have been the first time he yelled, but that was typically done out of anger or frustration. This scream, however, sounded like pain.

“Oh, shit,” you mumbled, rushing back to the common room.

Your eyes went right to your boyfriend since he was always at the forefront of your mind. You took a step forward when he locked eyes with you, the coldness in the blues almost making you shiver. He happened to be right beside John who was a bit more pale than usual and gripping his arm like a lifeline. Your mouth fell open when you realized the former Captain America had a knife in his hand. And he wasn’t holding it, oh, no. Bucky’s knife was through his hand. You knew it was Bucky’s knife because you bought it for him. 

What the fuck happened, and why did that excite you?

Ava phased beside you, likely drawn by John’s scream. Yelena and Bob came in seconds later though Yelena didn’t seem too concerned. “What are you…” she trailed off with a snort. “That’s not good.”

Ava sighed. “And we just got the blood out of the sofa from the last incident.”

“No fucking shit this isn’t good! And who gives a shit about the blood on the sofa!” John snapped, screaming again when Bucky yanked the knife out. 

“You’ll live,” he muttered. 

Your eyes went wide. Super soldier hearing and all, had Bucky heard John mutter his earlier comment? “What happened?” you asked. You had only been out of the room for a few seconds. What possibly happened during that time to cause this?

John scrambled to find something to wrap his hand with. “Your fucking boyfriend stabbed me!” 

“Yeah, America’s Asshole, I stabbed you.” Sitting back on the sofa, Bucky got a cloth out of his pocket to wipe his knife. He stabbed John. He really did it. But why? “And you have the serum. You’ll be fine.”

You made the mistake of looking at Ava who had a smirk on her face. It didn’t do you any good to look at Yelena either since she also looked pleased. Only Bob looked concerned. And where the hell was Alexei?

“Okay, Bucky,” you began, trying to keep the laughter out of your voice because you had to be the mature one. “I know you threatened to stab him during Uno.”

“He put down Draw Four…” He sneered at John. “FOUR times.”

“I know, I know. Dick move. And I know I threatened to stab him because he raised his voice at Bob because, well, we don't yell at Bob.” You gave Bob a smile when he dipped his head. “But-”

“He’s lucky I didn’t cut this tongue out,” your boyfriend growled.

You tried hard not to whimper, which was tough since the sound was sexy as hell. “But why-”

“You can still cut out his tongue,” Yelena encouraged, taking out one of her own knives. “Allow me.”

You put your hand out while John took a few steps back. “No, Yelena. Not today,” you said, which earned you a pout in response before you turned your attention back to Bucky. “Just tell us why you stabbed him, please.”

“He talked about putting his hands on your ass!” Bucky snapped, wincing when he realized how loudly he said it.

You could hear a pin drop from the silence that followed. Your eyes darted between Bucky and John, seeing the mixture of anger and discomfort. There was no way John was dumb enough to say something like that in front of your boyfriend. Right?

“He what?” Yelena asked for you.

“Ew,” Ava whispered. 

“But she… she’s not your girlfriend,” Bob added.

“I didn’t say I’d put my hands on your ass!” John defended himself, taking a breath when everyone stared at him. “Look, all I said was ‘I’d never leave my bed if I could get my hands on an ass like that’ and that’s it! That’s all!”

You were thankful you didn’t take a drink of something because you would’ve spit it out. As admittedly smart as John could be when it came to missions, he could also be an idiot. “Bucky, put the knife down,” you ordered when his grip tightened on the handle. You couldn’t have him stabbing him again. 

Though it was kind of hot that Bucky stabbed someone in your honor. 

“I might stab his other hand,” he said. 

“Do it,” Yelena encouraged. 

John sputtered when Ava nodded in agreement. “What the fuck?”

“Okay, one, Bucky, we both know I’d never let John touch my ass. Sorry, but. No,” you said, shrugging at the bleeding agent. Your ass was off limits to him. “Two, it doesn't sound like he said he was going to put his hands on my ass.”

“I don't care.” Bucky carefully inspected his knife. “As far as he’s concerned, you don’t have an ass.”

The girls scoffed with you and you weren't sure if you should've felt flattered or offended. “Okay, old man, so I have no ass now? Do I not have tits either?”

You held your breath when Bucky slowly got to his feet, his jaw clenched. It wasn't fair how hot and bothered that stance made you. “Did he look at your tits?” he asked in a low voice.

John quickly shook his head out of the corner of your eye. You felt for the guy, but you weren’t going to lie. “He may have glanced at them when I leaned over the other day.”

“Oh, when you were wearing that black top?” Ava asked, humming when you nodded. “Oh, yeah. He looked.”

“What the fuck, Ava?!” John shouted. “You looked, too!”

“I didn’t look,” Bob said immediately, his hands up in surrender. He was too pure for this world.

Bucky swung his head toward John. “Forget your other hand. Let’s see if that serum helps you grow your eyes back.”

Oh, shit. Maybe you shouldn't have said anything. “No! No more stabbing today!” You moved to block Bucky’s path. The mood he was in, you had no doubt he’d stab him again if he got the chance. “I appreciate you defending my honor and I always will, but we are going for a ride. Now.”

The former assassin pouting shouldn’t have been as adorable as it was. “But he-”

“You didn’t sleep well, you’re in a bad mood, and you need a breather,” you gently said, framing his face so he’d only see you. Your touch took most of the anger away. “Please, let’s go. We can go right to bed when we get back.”

Sex, cuddling, sleep, all of it, you’d give him whatever he needed later.

Bucky huffed, but put his knife away. He recognized that your tone wasn’t one to argue with. “He better not look again or try to touch you.”

“He won’t,” you said for John, looking over your shoulder to glare at him.

“Jesus, it was meant to be a compliment,” he told you, daring to glance at Bucky. “You have a good looking girlfriend, okay?!” 

“Stop talking,” you begged when Bucky tensed up. You had just calmed him down.

“If you want to compliment him or her, tell them how murderous they look,” Yelena suggested, looking to the others for support. “That’s cool, right?”

“Yeah, sure,” Ava said.

“Um, Bucky?” Bob asked. 

“Yeah?” he answered, slipping an arm around you. 

Bob swallowed a little. “If she looks nice, am I allowed to say so? Or should I just avoid looking at her?”

You giggled. Bob deserved the whole world. “You can say whatever you want,” you replied. Bucky would agree. 

“Okay,” he smiled a little. “I just. I-I don't want to get stabbed.”

“No one will stab you, Bob,” Yelena promised, ever the protector. 

John looked around the room and asked, “So, Bob can say whatever he wants, but I can’t?” 

“Yes,” everyone answered in unison. Bob wasn’t an asshole like John.

“Now apologize to each other so we can leave,” you said. The longer you stayed, the bigger the chance that Bucky would snap again.

The men stubbornly refused to look at each other, like children being scolded after a fight. John broke first when you cleared your throat. “Sorry for complimenting your girlfriend, I guess.”

“Sorry for not stabbing both of your hands,” Bucky mumbled.

“And we’re leaving now. Try to behave while we’re gone,” you announced, pulling your boyfriend away. Chances were that they’d start arguing over dinner or dish duty. “I can’t believe it.”

“What, that I stabbed him?” Bucky asked, grinding his teeth. “He gets under my skin.”

They were teammates now, but it didn’t get rid of the bad blood or the past. You sympathized with that. “I know he does, and I can’t believe that it took this long for you to stab him, but maybe try not to do that again?”

His warm laughter brought a smile to your face. “I’m surprised it took this long, too, and I’ll try not to again, but I’m not sorry that you were the tipping point.”

Your cheeks warmed. “Bucky Barnes stabbed a man because of me.” You weren’t exactly sorry that you were the tipping point either. “In his defense, my ass does look good in these pants,” you smirked.

Bucky waited a beat before he smacked your ass, making you shriek. “He still isn’t allowed to look or touch.”

Hadn’t you made it clear earlier that you’d never allow John to touch you? Even if you weren’t Bucky’s girlfriend, that would never happen. “So possessive, but I love that about you,” you teased.

His eyes softened, the look making your heart race. “I’m not too much?” 

Your gaze softened, too. “You’ll never be too much,” you assured him, almost to the elevator when Alexei waltzed by in his robe.

“What did I miss?” he asked.

“I stabbed John,” Bucky answered.

The Red Guardian looked stricken. “And I missed it?”

The last thing you heard before you and Bucky stepped into the elevator was John yelling, “What the fuck?!”

“Right to bed when we get back?” Bucky smiled, bringing your hand to his mouth to kiss it.

“Right to bed,” you smiled back.

He pulled you against him to give you a deep and thorough kiss, one that left you breathless and yearning for more. “And thank you.”

“For what?” you asked breathlessly.

“For trying to cheer me up,” he whispered, touching your cheek. “And for being mine.”

You leaned into his touch, thrilled to be his. “Thank you for being mine, too,,” you said, hoping the ride and treat would make him feel much better before you went to bed. Maybe tomorrow he could hash things out with Sam. And maybe you’d look through the footage later so you could see for yourself that Bucky stabbed John. 

And maybe, just maybe, you’d make a copy of the footage for Bucky if he ever needed a laugh after a bad day.

So, did John deserve that? What other shenanigans do we think this group gets up to? ! Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

LEMAR HOSKINS DIDN’T DESERVE TO DIE. Neither did Nico. That’s really all Y/N Rogers is sure of at the moment. It seemed everything had gone kind of sideways, mostly thanks to John Walker overstepping his boundaries 90% of the time. And Y/N believes if Bucky had stopped holding her back, none of this would’ve happened.

You didn’t want to be anywhere near John. Not while he hid behind the shield, pretending to be something he would never be. If you had just dealt with this how HYDRA taught you to, you’d have the shield and be hiding away somewhere far far away from New York. Maybe Budapest, maybe Sicily, somewhere warm. Sunny, warm, everything you weren’t anymore.

Bucky didn’t like that plan, and now here they were. Chasing down a killer that had gotten blood all over your brother's shield.

Tainted. Dirty. Changed. Alienated. That shield turned into the last thing Steve wanted it to be. He wanted it to be a symbol, hope for those who didn’t have it, a reminder that someone was always on their team— fighting for them. It wasn’t supposed to be a killer, just like you weren’t, or Bucky. They were supposed to be heroes.

Now? Now you were just angry.

“You saw what happened. You know what I had to do.” John argued, Bucky well aware of the way his wife would only look at the shield. “I killed him because I had to! He killed Lemar!”

Bucky shook his head curtly. “He didn’t kill Lemar, John.” Watching John scoff and shake his head, like they were being the ridiculous ones here. “Don’t go down that road. Believe me, it doesn’t end well.”

John bores his eyes into the veteran. “I’m not like you.” It’s an accusation, and that catches your attention, but Bucky covers his hurt and fizzles your raging fire with one look. You can’t start fights over him, a lesson he’s been trying to teach you for quite a while now.

Sam lifts a hand, being a mediator as per usual. He’s good at it, he’s good with his words and always has been. You know that’s one of many reasons your brother chose him. Sam’s first instinct isn’t to fight, and that’s a valuable idea to have. John doesn’t have it. “Look, it was the heat of battle, alright?” Sam hears your scoff and promptly ignores it. “If you explain what happened, they may consider your record. We don’t want anyone else to get hurt.”

Well, you want just one more person to hurt. “Walker, you gotta give us the shield.” You truly try to keep your tone calm, not shake like your white-knuckled fists are.

John freezes, blinking slowly before his head slowly cranes to meet your burning gaze. “Oh...” he sighs, almost smiling out of pure disbelief. “So that’s what this is. You almost got me.”

Sam tilts his head. “You made a mistake.”

John turns to him. “You don’t wanna do this.”

“Yeah, we do.”

YOU KNOW DEEP DOWN BUCKY DOESN’T WANT HER TO FIGHT LIKE THIS ANYMORE. Nor does Sam. Bucky’s been tossed to the side, nearly fried medium rare against a support beam riddled with wires. There are live sparks sizzling off his metal arm underneath him. Sam— wings ripped to shreds courtesy of John's newfound power and unbelievable strength, he’s on his back, muscles refusing to mush any harder and fight John alone.

There’s a glint in John's eye, one you’ve has seen before dozens of times. But Steve never had that look, that vengeance swirling in the iris.

You stand, dusting yourself off curly with a puff of air. You’ve heard John, listened to him as he fights, hearing him trying and use his given title as a reason. Crying, saying they're making him do this, why are you making me do this? The man is desperate to play victim, desperate to think he’s pulled the short straw this time. But he hasn’t, he pulled the longest straw— and cut it.

“I told you, John. The shield doesn’t belong to you. That the next time I got my hands dirty— it would be you.” You huffed, stalking forward towards the soldier. “You really wanna fight me alone?”

But he’s lost his middle man, no conscious to warn him what he’s going up against. “We could’ve been a team.”

You snap. It’s all become too much in less than a second. Your husband twitching, eyes in limbo between unconscious and alive. Sam, trying to breathe correctly, as if he hadn’t just seen his entire life in the reflection of Steve’s shield being brought down upon him. The sickening red stain on the disc of metal, a hunk of metal that didn’t mean really anything more than what the person held it believed.

Those words. They’re utterly painful, and you’re hearing HYDRA all over again. It’s a plea bargain, swaying you to join them, to let go of all your morals and be what you’ve been designed to be. You assume to don’t have as much perseverance as you did seventy-some years ago.

“You’ll never be a hero, John!” You boom, roaring and hearing your voice echo throughout the workshop like you’ve spoken into a loudspeaker. “Never. You’ll be just like me. You’ll be in their shadow, you’ll be on the cusp of being happy— and then the scale will tip, and you’ll be stuck in that limbo of pain. Because you made the wrong call. You got somebody killed— and you don’t feel a thing.”

John lets out a battle cry, hurling the shield at you from his arm, and you don’t miss a single beat catching it like his force it nothing; ripping the shield off his entire with the sickening crack of his arm bone. The metal bangs onto the ground, bouncing off it and again as it rolls to a final resting place. But you’ve lost all interest in it— John is your new mission.

You comply.

His scream of pain is distant, barely even real as you stare into what he has left of a soul. He throws a punch with his other hand, your fist catching it just as easily, tightening your grip and crushing all of the tiny bones inside. No regret, no hesitation, just you taking what you know is rightfully yours. A tear falls from his eyes, one of pain or sadness, you don’t care.

“You’re not Steve.” You curl a right hook into his cheekbone, splitting the skin on impact. “You’re not a hero.” An uppercut. “You’re not worthy.” Black eye. “You’re not good.” You shove him back, feet tripping over forklift arms and tumbling to the ground spastically. “You’re. Not. Captain America.”

Your shoe drags the shield, snapping it up into your arms. It’s natural, it’s yours, it belongs in your hands. You grip the edges of it tightly, pushing the opposite edge into his jugular. You hear him sputter, trying to take back the air you’ve just snatched out of his lungs. His eyes swell with fear, and his arms flail and beat your legs. But it’s nothing— it’s all nothing.

You can’t see past that veil of grief.

The last remnant of your bloodline is gone. Your brother, your other half, the only part of you that was good— was gone. It’s not John’s fault, maybe you do know that deep down, maybe you know it’s no one's fault but time. But you just want to push the pain onto someone else, you don’t want to feel sad for one measly second— you just want to make someone else understand what you feel.

And HYDRA didn’t teach you how to talk through her emotions. They taught you how to kill.

“Ple — se — y — n.” He sputtered, but it seems you’re too far away. Your mind, thinking of every person who’s begged for mercy. Everyone who’s clawed at your hand on their throat told you they had a family when you’ve aimed a pistol between their eyes, screamed they were ‘just following orders' when you twisted the knife in their backs. This time wouldn’t be any different.

A body threw themselves at you, tackling you to the cold ground, one real arm and one metal one pinning your wrists to the concrete floor, panting.

James Buchanan Barnes.

Was it fear in his eyes? What is fear of the ledge you’ve nearly been tossed off once again without him there to catch you? Was it disappointment in you or himself for letting it come this close?

You considered yourself good at reading people, generally. But Bucky, your Bucky... his mind was a true mystery to you. And you wished just this once you might be able to see what he was thinking, what he thought of you in this very moment. Did he see what you saw in the mirror? The same monster you saw?

“You’re done.” He said. He didn’t ask, it wasn’t a question. You were out. “You’re done.”

Letting out a breath, dropping your head onto the concrete roughly, looking away from Bucky and up to the ceiling. The air was thickly still, allowing you to ignore the sounds of Sam shuffling to his feet and picking up the shield that had been knocking away. You wouldn’t fight Bucky, no amount of anger would change that. You didn’t have words for your love, for the man who saw the good in you that you knew wasn’t there. There wasn’t anything you could possibly say that would change what you’d done— or almost done.

He nodded, satisfied, and didn’t even give Sam nor John another look as he climbed off and swiftly dug an arm under your sore arms and lifted you to your heavy feet. He kept an arm around your waist— unsure if he was worried about you turning around to finish, or John trying to get one last hit, and lead you away.

Bucky meant what he said. You were done.

This was too close.

“HOW DO WE GET IT OFF THE TRUCK?” Sam laughed, just as the pallet of parts weighing in at nearly a thousand pounds slid off the truck as Y/N Rogers handed it over to Bucky in the boat.

Bucky dropped onto the deck, before taking a wide step next to you as you dusted your hands, and peeked over his shoulder to Sam. “You’re welcome.” He mumbled, before grabbing the briefcase from beside your feet. “Were just dropping this off. You can sign for it, and I’ll go.” He dryly joked. “I called in a favor from the Wakandans,” Bucky mumbled like it wasn’t much trouble.

He’d taken you to get closure, you know that. And maybe some for himself. Proving to himself he could turn down the opportunity to kill, no matter the man, and he was truly becoming better. That even in the face of someone like Zemo, he could make the right choice. He could be better, he could help instead of hurt, he could take care of his wife, his family.

You knew he was trying to give you peace of mind. The Wakandans would give Zemo what he deserved for his crimes, justice for the Barnes’ couple, and everyone else he’s hurt.

You hadn’t spoken but a couple of words since John. Bucky didn’t push you, which you were eternally grateful for, he thought maybe seeing Sam would help you as well.

Just before Sam got the chance to peek inside the case, a pipe busted from the deck of the boat, everyone’s head-turning as Sarah came running over. “Sam!”

He hopped aboard, twisting at the bolt to try and stop the hot steam hissing at him.

You nudged Bucky gently, “It goes up.”

Bucky sighs and steps forward, giving a courtesy wave to Sarah as he steps beside Sam and takes the wrench. Sarah nods, before doing a double-take at you behind her. She recognized you, it’s obvious, but she doesn’t say anything other than a hi. “Hey.”

You smile tightly. “Hi.”

Bucky’s voice calls you out of your trance, “Doll, we’re helping! Let’s go.” He waves you over gently, offering his hand out to help you step over the gap. Can’t take the gentleman out of the man, you assumed.

Taking a deep breath, you step past Sarah. “Husband.” Pointing to Bucky, before remembering that’s not even remotely how you introduce yourself or anyone. “Er— I’m Y/N. That’s Bucky.” You quickly correct yourself.

Sarah likes her already. “Sarah. Brother.” She points to Sam.

A light laugh bubbles out of you as you take Bucky’s hand, stepping onto the boat with a grunt. And it seems Bucky’s idea has already paid off, seeing his wife even smile so faintly seems brighter than the sun itself.

And then they get to work.

Sarah adores the couple as she watches them work. They’re very domesticated despite their past, and she can’t help herself but smile when she sees Bucky display the smallest acts of love when he’s near his wife. And the smile on Y/N’s face when Bucky’s rounds the corner, it’s warm and friendly, that of a kind person.

Bucky is actually quite proud of himself, seeing Y/N throwing herself into the simple tasks she finds herself doing. She’s less tense, her shoulders more relaxed, eyes not in the constant scowl anymore. And he does what he can to leave her alone, let her immerse herself in the normalcy of the day. But sometimes he really just can’t help but push her hair behind her ear or press a chaste kiss to her cheek as he walks by.

And when he talks about the Flagsmashers, he makes sure Y/N is back on the dock with Sam’s family friends. She can’t hear them, he doesn’t include her quite yet.

“Well.” Bucky sighs, eyes watching Y/N and Sarah talk about whatever they found to talk about. Maybe it’s about Sarah’s kids, or maybe it’s about him, it doesn’t really matter. She’s talking, she’s having a conversation with someone other than him and Sam. That’s progress. “We gotta catch our flight tomorrow, which hopefully she’ll sleep through. And then get a hotel room for the night. Crash, you know? That married life.”

Sam chuckles. Married life, Sam always forgets. The two don’t wear rings very often, they probably haven’t renewed their vows in a few decades, and Sam doubts there are even wedding photos. “You’re just gonna set me up like that?”

Bucky shrugs, “I don’t wanna make it weird for your family.”

Sam shakes his head, scoffing. “Just stay here. The people here are the most welcoming people in the world. They don’t care if you wear small t-shirts, if you’ve got six toes, or if your mom’s your aunt. Hell, they’ll probably even let it slide that your wife doesn’t like Billy Joel. Probably.”

Bucky laughs. It’s real, it’s warm and lighthearted. It’s not forced or owed, Bucky sincerely laughs. It’s been a good day, and he’s seen his wife laugh at more than he piss poor jokes. “Okay, I get it.” He grins, “I mean, you know, the people are nice.”

Sam nods, laughing, beige lifting a pointer finger. “But no sex on my couch, you hear me?”

Bucky feigns a serious look. “No, of course not.”

“Cause if you do...”

“Never.”

“I’ll have Carlos cut you up and feed you to the fish. Aight?”

Bucky shrugs. “Eh. It’s a nice couch.”

BUCKY WAKES UP FIRST. He’s not sweating, he’s not afraid, it’s not a nightmare. It’s morning, and he slept through the night. Well, mostly, one moment near three a.m. thinks Y/N had gotten up and used the restroom before returning to his side. He’ll ask later if it was a nightmare or just all the sweet tea she drank at dinner.

He hears noises from the kitchen. Two little boys, ducking and throwing punches with the worst form he’s ever seen. Faux gunshots and whooshing, small giggles, and kid sneakers sliding on the hardwoods. And Bucky watches them for just another moment, letting himself have a moment of bliss where maybe he would reach this stage. Maybe one day he would watch his own kids, watch Y/N play with their two babies, find that kind of everlasting happiness.

“Hey.” He throws up a two fingers wave, startling the two boys as they dash to slide the shield back into its case and sprint out the door of the house. A smile grows across his face, just imagining his own family, of the shield simply being a toy— not his entire life.

That would be you. Sleeping beside him, completely at peace gripping his side and face pressed into the crook of his neck comfortably. Neither of you would let Sam spent an hour blowing up an air mattress, you both were just fine practically on top of each other. It was a habit anyway. That was his next spot to stare, basking in all your glory, the strongest woman he’d ever known. Strong, beautiful, intelligent, brave, there simply wasn’t anything you couldn’t do.

Except for whistle. But he’d love you anyway.

He hates seeing you so distraught. Tony, Steve, Natasha, the world at an impasse, everything that went down with Walker— it’s weighing on you, heavily. You still get every morning, you let him carry you out of that room, you let Zemo go. You were his idol, his everything, the love of his long-overdue life.

He decided to let you sleep, deciding you need it after all. A small piece of his heartaches to let you go, wishing he could just stay in this moment forever. But he moves, ever so slightly sliding you into the crevice of the couch as he slides away, metal hand briefly gliding over your cheek once more before he steps into the kitchen and searches for a pad of paper and pen to scribble a note so you’ll know to find him on the boat with Sam when you do wake.

He sticks it on your forehead and kisses it as he slips away.

The next time he sees you is when he gets back with Sam, now working on throwing the shield into the padded trees. By then, they’ve discussed the legacy of the shield, Bucky even finally got his chance to say he was sorry to Sam. But seeing you, it makes both men stop in their tracks as they watch. You’re outside with Sam’s nephews, they’re full of excitement as they show you each and every toy they own with wide eyes. Each baseball card, every action figure, even the ones of Steve— they proudly show you like it’s a Van Gogh painting.

Bucky physically can’t hold back his smile.

But Sam sees what Bucky is ignoring, Bucky’s is too happy you’re even with them to notice how you’re acting. “Watch her, she won’t get too close. They asked me last night if they’d made her mad.” He sighs, pointing out the hesitant movements and how you keep your hands tucked in tightly.

His smile falls slightly. “It’s progress. Ride over she didn’t even want to come inside. Said she’d sleep in the car.” Bucky shakes his head as he thinks about the worried tone when you’d asked. “It’s progress.” He sighs again, catching the shield as Sam had thrown it, ricocheting off three trees and onto his arm roughly. He throws it again

Sam nods, catching it off the two trees. It seems routine like they’ve done it before like it’s natural. “She knows I trust her, right? With my life?” Sam suddenly asks, realizing it meant you’d thought you might hurt one of the boys, or Sarah during your stay. Like you were dangerous, like you were a threat.

Bucky nods, “Of course. It’s just— it’s herself, she doesn’t trust. She’s completely in control, it’s just... what happened with Walker. It put her on edge.” Catch shield, throw it back.

Sam looks to Bucky. “You think she would’ve done it, if you hadn’t of stopped her?

His answer, Sam can see it scares Bucky. “I think so.” He points to the shield as it comes back to Sam. “That shield, it’s the closest thing she’s got left of her brother, her family. When you retired it, she felt like she had nothing left. Both of us... like Steve was really gone.”

Sam doesn’t interrupt for once.

“She wanted to kill him that night he went on T.V. We questioned everything, you, Steve, us, our marriage. And you know... I’ve got his book, and she got his wedding ring. But... I wear it. All she had was me, and I didn’t think I could...” he pauses, sucking a deep breath.

He’s afraid to say it out loud for the first time. That daunting feeling when he looked at you, seeing you fall apart at the mere image of your brother being replaced— he felt insufficient. He couldn’t help you. How could he? He was on court-mandated therapy, fulfilling meaningless amends, and having the same nightmares as you were. Bucky couldn’t help like Steve could, and it was a pain worse than heartbreak.

But Sam seems to understand. “I get it, man.” He does. It’s that same feeling when he wasn’t able to get the loan. Failing your family when you’ve fought wars that ended galaxies. Missing payments on a damn boat when he’s fought Thanos himself. Disappointment? Shame? Painful all the same. “But Steve... Steve is gone.” He says, knowing it’s a hard pill to swallow.

Bucky sighs lowly, and nods.

“And this might be a surprise, but it doesn’t matter what Steve thought, or what Steve did for her.” He hurls the shield, a satisfying feeling rushing through him as he catches it. “You gotta stop looking to other people to tell you who you are, who you should be. That’s your girl, man... not anyone else’s. She needs you.”

Bucky catches.

“Let me ask you. The nightmares, you still get ‘em?”

Bucky throws.

The corner of his lips lift, maybe internally rolling his eyes at himself. “All the time. It means I remember, it means a part of me is still there. And that means a part of the Winter Soldier is in me.” His eyes find Y/N Rogers. “She helps, more than she knows. But... it’s still there. And I know she gets them too.”

Sam nods, “You up for some tough love?” He doesn’t let Bucky say no. “If you wanna climb out that hell you’re in... you gotta do the work. If you wanna help her, you gotta be 100% you. Winter Soldier isn’t gonna help her grieve. She needs Bucky Barnes. So you do the work. No avenging, no fake ass ‘amending’. There’s got to be at least one person on that list that has something only you can fix. Be of service, help. Then you’ll be able to help her.”

“One? Probably all of them.”

“Start with one.”

“You boys having fun?” You mumble as you interrupt, both men shoving away their conversation into their pockets for later. You don’t care what it was about, you’re too calm right now, too zen to really care. “Little Wilson says I need to get over here and show you two how it’s done.”

Bucky smirks, Sam, handing the shield over without much hesitation. They both know you’ve been dying to hold it again, to feel close to Steve again, now clean of blood. They stand out of the way, observing as you balance the weight, finger wiping away a speck of dirt. And you see the reflection— the blue eyes of Steven Rogers staring back at her. A puff of air leaving your lips as you grunts, throwing yourself into a twirl in the air, hurling the shield with most of your might, landing perfectly on the balls of your feet just in time as the shield goes at twice the speed Bucky and Sam threw it, catching it with ease.

It’s natural.

Sam knows you should probably have it. You could easily be the next Captain America, heir to the throne he believes. That shield fits in your hand like it was molded for it.

But you don’t try again. You’ve had your fill. Taking a deep breath, sliding the straps off, and spins it in her hands, you turn it back over to Sam. A small part of you doesn’t want to let it go, you want to keep holding onto it with a vice grip. But you know you can’t. Steve’s gone, the shield doesn’t belong to him anymore. It’s not yours, it’s not Steve’s— it's Sam’s.

“Thank you, Y/N.”

You smile tightly. “It’s yours. Really. I didn’t listen to a lot of things my brother said— mostly because he was an idiot. But you, he was right about you.”

It means more than the world coming from you, more than you know it does.

But you do see the look in Sam's eyes, almost asking you out loud if you were completely sure, if you really wanted to hand it over. Rolling your eyes, shoving his shoulder. “You hang around Bucky too much, you’re staring. And I know what your gonna ask, and I’m fine.”

“I know. But we need to talk about it sometime.”

John Walker. You know it’s on the tip of his tongue. “Sam, you’re a good therapist, wonderful. But I hate to tell you that sometimes people just don’t get better.” You shrug. Sam can’t tell you to make amends, Sam can’t tough love you into motivation. “You can’t help everyone.”

“Come here.” Sam sighs, pulling you into a tight hug, and you're unable to help yourself from melting into after a few moments. “You’re not a threat, or a problem, Y/N. You’re family. And you’ll come to find out that as an honorable Wilson— we take care of our own.”

It’s like gospel.

You’re a sister again, and it’s the best kind of warmth filling that cold spot inside of you. One not even Bucky’s love could fill. You’ve looked up to Sam, and those words feel like a hug to your heart. People believing you’re still good even after what they’ve seen you do, it’s a relieving thought. “You really think?”

Sam scoffs. “Pshh! I got grandpa over here to say the words ‘I’m’ and ‘Sorry’ in the same sentence. I’m practically unstoppable. I’m gonna buy a planner, have you both doing neighborhood barbecues and matching Mr. and Mrs. mugs by next summer.”