[While he doesn't lean in to the touch, he doesn't back away from it either. Not yet. Instead, he simply listens in silence. Keeps his eyes on Sam as he finds the confirmation he wants. The reassurances that he needs. And even after the words stop, all Bucky does is just...stare back at the man. Until suddenly-
There's a hitch in his breath. A heavy inhale as the words finally sink in. The truth of it all hitting him hard.
He'd made a mistake when he first came here. When he's sought out the opportunity to wipe himself from the history books in exchange for his service here. He'd been so willing to throw away everything. To lose all the progress he begrudgingly admits he's made. To turn his back on the only real friend he has left. The family that's been opened up to him. He would have willingly given it all up, just so he could take the cowardly way out.
And now, he's given up a part of himself. Given up his autonomy. His freedom. But the cost is worth it if it means he's able to keep ahold of this. His headache-inducing, pain in the ass best friend. His family, and the only thing that keeps him grounded in the twenty-first century.
When he finally lets his breath back out again, his energy practically drains alongside it. He ends up relaxing in to Sam's hold at last. Ends up finally breaking his stare as slumps against Sam, his face hidden in the crook of his neck. His arms don't move though, despite just how much he wants to reach out and take the comfort that's being offered. Sam may not judge him for it. May not see it as a weakness. But knowing that still doesn't make it any easier to accept what Sam so freely offers.]
[ The truth is that Sam doesn't let people this close, not anymore. Keeps even his loved ones at arm's length. Hugs, sure. But this is something else. Holding someone in the dark, emotions coiled painfully tight. Needing to be in someone's space, close enough to breathe in sync.
Sam tightens his hold on Bucky for a moment, lets him feel how good this can be. Wants to tell him without words: I got you. I'm not letting go, no matter what. Wishes, desperately, the offer had never been made to either of them to begin with. But they're here, and Bucky's given up his autonomy and freedom to be able to come back home with Sam one day. It's gonna be hard, having this over their head constantly. It's gonna be hard to go back home, to have to find a way for the Wakandans to help Bucky again. But Sam's determined. Won't let Bucky live his life under constant fear of this hanging over his head, constantly worrying that someone, somewhere unearthes the trigger words and uses them. Bucky deserves better than this, even if he doesn't believe it. Deserves the freedom to relax, to smile, to roughhouse with Sam over the remote control, play fight with shrieking, delighted kids, walk around Delacroix in a stupidly tight t-shirt and never worry about what people think about his metal arm.
Sam's hand drifts over Bucky's shoulder and down his arm. Tugs, gently. Bucky deserves people reaching out to him - and he deserves to be able to reach back without fear. So without letting him go, without loosening his own hold on Bucky, Sam gently tugs one arm around his own middle, if Bucky lets him, then the other.
Whispers in his ear, quiet and soft: ]
Please.
[ Please hold me back. Please let me give this to you. Please don't be afraid with me, ever. ]
I want you to.
[ You're free to, even now. Especially now.
Anything Bucky could possibly want, Sam will give to him, because it breaks his heart to see his best friend like this, to know just what has been taken from him, what threat is looming over him again. To know that right now, here, there is no fixing it. There is only learning to carry it again, and knowing that even if Bucky as a person is not a danger, not a threat, he now once again carries something inside of him that will strip him of his agency and make him a threat against his will. Sam swallows, feels his own breath threatening to catch. And knows, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Bucky would never, could never him. ]
[There's no resistance against Sam's prompting, his limbs loose and easy to maneuver. But even as his arms are wrapped around Sam's waist, even as hes offered up the comfort he's only recently come to understand is open to him, Bucky doesn't move. Doesn't do anything more that stay perfectly still.
Until the request comes.
Then, his arms move, his hold tightening around Sam's body. His fingers end up twisted in the fabric of his shirt, the space between them disappearing in its entirety as he shifts closer. As he give Sam exactly what he's asking for. (As he takes exactly what he needs.)
The fact that Sam is willing to give him this still means more to him that he could ever truly explain. Their friendship has been a decade in the making, has involved more than one attempt on Sam's life. A shared loss of the one person who connected them. Six months of silence, followed by weeks of arguing and fighting. Walker, the Flagsmashers, Zemo. And still, Sam had given him yet another chance. Had opened up his home, his family, and let him in close. And here he is, doing exactly the same thing. Putting his own safety on the line, for a man who once tried to kill him.
He sure as hell hasn't done anything in his life to deserve to have a person like Sam in it. But he's willing to do whatever it takes to earn it now.]
Ain't going anywhere.
[His words are equally as quiet, a whispered response against Sam's neck. There's a reason he'd had the conversation with Viveca that night. A reason he'd gone to bed with the express purpose of speaking with the orbs. Of changing his regret, no matter how much it may have cost him to do it. And that reason is Sam.]
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There's a hitch in his breath. A heavy inhale as the words finally sink in. The truth of it all hitting him hard.
He'd made a mistake when he first came here. When he's sought out the opportunity to wipe himself from the history books in exchange for his service here. He'd been so willing to throw away everything. To lose all the progress he begrudgingly admits he's made. To turn his back on the only real friend he has left. The family that's been opened up to him. He would have willingly given it all up, just so he could take the cowardly way out.
And now, he's given up a part of himself. Given up his autonomy. His freedom. But the cost is worth it if it means he's able to keep ahold of this. His headache-inducing, pain in the ass best friend. His family, and the only thing that keeps him grounded in the twenty-first century.
When he finally lets his breath back out again, his energy practically drains alongside it. He ends up relaxing in to Sam's hold at last. Ends up finally breaking his stare as slumps against Sam, his face hidden in the crook of his neck. His arms don't move though, despite just how much he wants to reach out and take the comfort that's being offered. Sam may not judge him for it. May not see it as a weakness. But knowing that still doesn't make it any easier to accept what Sam so freely offers.]
no subject
Sam tightens his hold on Bucky for a moment, lets him feel how good this can be. Wants to tell him without words: I got you. I'm not letting go, no matter what. Wishes, desperately, the offer had never been made to either of them to begin with. But they're here, and Bucky's given up his autonomy and freedom to be able to come back home with Sam one day. It's gonna be hard, having this over their head constantly. It's gonna be hard to go back home, to have to find a way for the Wakandans to help Bucky again. But Sam's determined. Won't let Bucky live his life under constant fear of this hanging over his head, constantly worrying that someone, somewhere unearthes the trigger words and uses them. Bucky deserves better than this, even if he doesn't believe it. Deserves the freedom to relax, to smile, to roughhouse with Sam over the remote control, play fight with shrieking, delighted kids, walk around Delacroix in a stupidly tight t-shirt and never worry about what people think about his metal arm.
Sam's hand drifts over Bucky's shoulder and down his arm. Tugs, gently. Bucky deserves people reaching out to him - and he deserves to be able to reach back without fear. So without letting him go, without loosening his own hold on Bucky, Sam gently tugs one arm around his own middle, if Bucky lets him, then the other.
Whispers in his ear, quiet and soft: ]
Please.
[ Please hold me back. Please let me give this to you. Please don't be afraid with me, ever. ]
I want you to.
[ You're free to, even now. Especially now.
Anything Bucky could possibly want, Sam will give to him, because it breaks his heart to see his best friend like this, to know just what has been taken from him, what threat is looming over him again. To know that right now, here, there is no fixing it. There is only learning to carry it again, and knowing that even if Bucky as a person is not a danger, not a threat, he now once again carries something inside of him that will strip him of his agency and make him a threat against his will. Sam swallows, feels his own breath threatening to catch. And knows, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Bucky would never, could never him. ]
I need you, too.
no subject
Until the request comes.
Then, his arms move, his hold tightening around Sam's body. His fingers end up twisted in the fabric of his shirt, the space between them disappearing in its entirety as he shifts closer. As he give Sam exactly what he's asking for. (As he takes exactly what he needs.)
The fact that Sam is willing to give him this still means more to him that he could ever truly explain. Their friendship has been a decade in the making, has involved more than one attempt on Sam's life. A shared loss of the one person who connected them. Six months of silence, followed by weeks of arguing and fighting. Walker, the Flagsmashers, Zemo. And still, Sam had given him yet another chance. Had opened up his home, his family, and let him in close. And here he is, doing exactly the same thing. Putting his own safety on the line, for a man who once tried to kill him.
He sure as hell hasn't done anything in his life to deserve to have a person like Sam in it. But he's willing to do whatever it takes to earn it now.]
Ain't going anywhere.
[His words are equally as quiet, a whispered response against Sam's neck. There's a reason he'd had the conversation with Viveca that night. A reason he'd gone to bed with the express purpose of speaking with the orbs. Of changing his regret, no matter how much it may have cost him to do it. And that reason is Sam.]
Not anymore.