[ It takes a moment to find a path through the warring instincts inside of him, the rolling turmoil of needing to keep up appearances against the unshakable knowledge that he needs this space in which he can just not be okay for a moment or two. And what's the harm in cracking open a little? Bucky's seen a few levels of Sam at his worst already. And Bucky is leaving anyway - isn't he?
Sam doesn't want to think about it. Pushes the thought away resolutely, just focuses on the gently brush of Bucky's thumb behind his ear, the way his hand rests on the side of Sam's neck, where Bucky can surely feel the shuddering, shattered glass pulse of Sam's heart. He swallows, hard, lower lip trembling on a sharp intake of breath as he feels something inside of him relax into the touch. Something tingles at the back of his head, like white noise, like rain on darkened windows, like the gentle rocking of a docked boat.
Sam doesn't know if Bucky tugs him closer or if he's the one who takes that small little step forwards, isn't sure who between the two of them closes that last bit of distance. All he knows in that weird, hazy swirl of familiar, horrible grief is that he ends up with his face tucked against Bucky's neck, the warmth of a hand on his neck a steadfast anchor so he doesn't just get pulled away by the undertow of his own emotions. His arms are locked around Bucky, fisted tight in the fabric of his coat. He's not sobbing, but he thinks he's crying, and has to fight the urge to swallow his tears, because this isn't something Sam Wilson does - he's the strong one, the one who comforts his friends and kicks ass for them. He doesn't put his turmoil out like this, doesn't allow people close like this anymore.
Whatever he needs? ]
Just you.
[ That will be enough. Bucky is enough. And there's a relief in that Sam hasn't allowed himself to feel in a long time, perhaps in years. It doesn't come easily, to let this happen, and part of him balks from it. Part of him bargains with itself - he can take this moment, this comfort, so that he can be strong for the others he needs to break this tragedy to.
He's taking this moment to be weak so he can be strong later, but he doesn't let himself be alone, because they agreed, didn't they. And there's no boat here, just a roof top. There's no familiarity, just each other.
It's not quite true, and Sam knows it. Knows that he can only let go of his walls because it's Bucky specifically, and somehow the man has slipped past every defense Sam has ever erected. Somehow, Sam feels like he opened the door he always keeps shot quite willingly. ]
I don't know how to do this again.
[ A quiet confession, barely more than a whisper on a breath that puffs against Bucky's throat. And he means all of it - losing another partner, losing Natasha specifically a second time, recover from that blow within hours rather than days or weeks or months.
Sam squeezes his eyes shut, ignores the hot streak of tears on his cheeks and focuses on the feel of Bucky's hand cradling his head. It's all he needs, right now. He can't afford to lose a month like he did with Riley, or a week like he did with Steve and Natasha, or even just a day. Can't afford to be reckless like he was after his mother and father, can't afford to give himself the slack. All he can allow is for Bucky to afford him that slack, just for a moment, just for now. ]
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Sam doesn't want to think about it. Pushes the thought away resolutely, just focuses on the gently brush of Bucky's thumb behind his ear, the way his hand rests on the side of Sam's neck, where Bucky can surely feel the shuddering, shattered glass pulse of Sam's heart. He swallows, hard, lower lip trembling on a sharp intake of breath as he feels something inside of him relax into the touch. Something tingles at the back of his head, like white noise, like rain on darkened windows, like the gentle rocking of a docked boat.
Sam doesn't know if Bucky tugs him closer or if he's the one who takes that small little step forwards, isn't sure who between the two of them closes that last bit of distance. All he knows in that weird, hazy swirl of familiar, horrible grief is that he ends up with his face tucked against Bucky's neck, the warmth of a hand on his neck a steadfast anchor so he doesn't just get pulled away by the undertow of his own emotions. His arms are locked around Bucky, fisted tight in the fabric of his coat. He's not sobbing, but he thinks he's crying, and has to fight the urge to swallow his tears, because this isn't something Sam Wilson does - he's the strong one, the one who comforts his friends and kicks ass for them. He doesn't put his turmoil out like this, doesn't allow people close like this anymore.
Whatever he needs? ]
Just you.
[ That will be enough. Bucky is enough. And there's a relief in that Sam hasn't allowed himself to feel in a long time, perhaps in years. It doesn't come easily, to let this happen, and part of him balks from it. Part of him bargains with itself - he can take this moment, this comfort, so that he can be strong for the others he needs to break this tragedy to.
He's taking this moment to be weak so he can be strong later, but he doesn't let himself be alone, because they agreed, didn't they. And there's no boat here, just a roof top. There's no familiarity, just each other.
It's not quite true, and Sam knows it. Knows that he can only let go of his walls because it's Bucky specifically, and somehow the man has slipped past every defense Sam has ever erected. Somehow, Sam feels like he opened the door he always keeps shot quite willingly. ]
I don't know how to do this again.
[ A quiet confession, barely more than a whisper on a breath that puffs against Bucky's throat. And he means all of it - losing another partner, losing Natasha specifically a second time, recover from that blow within hours rather than days or weeks or months.
Sam squeezes his eyes shut, ignores the hot streak of tears on his cheeks and focuses on the feel of Bucky's hand cradling his head. It's all he needs, right now. He can't afford to lose a month like he did with Riley, or a week like he did with Steve and Natasha, or even just a day. Can't afford to be reckless like he was after his mother and father, can't afford to give himself the slack. All he can allow is for Bucky to afford him that slack, just for a moment, just for now. ]