[ The world refuses to remain steady, and Sam can't quite get his thoughts in the right order. He has made it up, sure, but certainly not far from the bed, much less out of the med bay. He's trying to reach for memory that's still fuzzy around the edges, as if he's suffering the world's nastiest hangover without ever having gotten the pleasure of a good drink beforehand.
Bucky's face swims into vision, and it takes Sam a moment to even be aware he's turned his head. Then it takes him another moment to figure out what is wrong with the picture in front of him. When that clicks, though, his gaze sharpens, sluggish mind zeroing in on what seems most important right then. ]
The hell...
[ He stops, has to clear his throat. Yeah, talk about hoarse and under-used. Must have been the longest post-mission nap he ever took - and that thought right there makes a few more things click into uncomfortable place.
There's terror slowly seeping into Sam's gaze, face carefully kept impassive otherwise. ]
[Where there'd usually be a teasing edge to his tone, this time, there's only exhaustion. Between Sam's three months of unconsciousness, the events of the last mission, and his own self-isolation, sleep has been next to impossible to achieve. Even the act of eating had been beyond him. It's only the small stockpile of supplies that he and Sam had tucked away months ago that have kept him going. Or at least kept him from keeling over.
Which is why his own progress towards Sam isn't as stable as it should be. Why, when he's finally close enough to reach the other man, guiding him back over to the bed isn't really an option. It's taking everything he has to keep himself moving right now. But for Sam, he's not giving up easily.]
Ninety-four days.
[Three whole months since Sam lost consciousness. Ninety-four whole days since he was last able to speak to the one and only friend he has left. They'd made plans on that mission. Had decided on how they were going to spend their days over whatever constituted Christmas here.
And then Sam went and ruined it all by sleeping through the last three months.]
[ Screw you, I'm hot shit and you know it. The words are right there, but they don't make it onto Sam's mouth. They sit there, and then they dissipate to nothing.
Ninety-four days.
Something goes ashen in Sam's skin tone, blood draining from his face. For a moment, the world is static and he doesn't feel like he's sitting quite right in his own skin, fingers numb like they're going to crumble to ash and dust. Only thing holding him in place are blue eyes.
Distantly, Sam's aware that he's on the verge of either panicking or dissociating, that he's forgetting how to breathe properly.
Ninety-four days. Three months.
He lost time. ]
You ain't good.
[ His voice sounds far away to his own ears, but he's hyper focused on Bucky's state. If he thinks about anything else, he's not sure what will happen. So he thinks about Bucky as he should look versus what Sam's seeing in front of him. ]
[So no, Sam's not wrong. But the fact he's awake now really does make all the difference. It gives Bucky something to focus on. Someone. The two of them had been growing closer over their time here. Had gotten to the point where even sharing a bed had become almost normal to them.
And then all of that was taken away from him in an instant.
There's a quiet hitch of his breath, and then he gives in. Steps close to Sam to pull him close. An arm around his waist, and the other at the back of his neck as he tugs Sam in tight. He doesn't have the capacity to focus on what he lost during those months. Not when he knows that Sam needs him to be strong here. Needs to be able to rely on him for support.
They lost five years before. But somehow, this feels worse. A fraction of the time. But he'd been left behind this time round.]
[ It's a testament to Sam's own state that he goes without a quip, without resistance, just lets himself gets folded in. Not that he's opposed to hugs, but theyboth know how much he struggles to show weakness, to accept help and support - from anyone that's not Bucky at least. Bucky's earned the privilege, proven himself more than enough to Sam.
He has to ask about what happened, what he missed. For now, he just grabs into the hug, tucks his face against Bucky's neck and lets his breath come shuddering but somewhat calmer than before. He feels the scrape of his own facial hair, having grown over three months, against Bucky's skin. Something to fix - later. Questions to ask - later.
Yeah, well. I yelled at you enough. Not surprised something got through.
[Not that there had really been all that much yelling. Pleading, perhaps. Begging, as the days had gone on and he'd been the only person awake in the entire medbay. The only one there to hear his attempts at trying to get Sam to shake off sleep and wake up. Not that it'd done any good in the end.
Pulling back from the hug, Bucky instead moves to Sam's side and slips an arm around his waist. Both support for the other man, and to sate his own need to stay close. As long as Sam's awake, he can deal with everything else. Can figure out how to be human again. Because he has a reason, now. A reason to try.]
Come on. We're going back to your room.
[Sam's room. Because it sure as hell hasn't been his for the last three months. He hasn't gone near it in most of that time.]
[ A soft huff of air. Sam doesn't quite have the mental fortitude to actually feel amused, but the jab brings a sense of normalcy that calms the prickling under his skin at least a little bit. Enough that he doesn't even protest for show at Bucky pressing in against his side and letting Sam lean on him. Shit, he can still barely stand, walking on his own is a stupid idea he's glad he's not left to attempt on his own. He would have, but that's besides the point now.
Bucky's got him, and no matter how groggy and shaky Sam feels, that sets something right in the world. ]
Yeah. Yeah, let's...
[ ... huh.
Sam starts walking with Bucky, and falls silent, but he caught that phrasing. It tugs at him, sharp and uncomfortable, but he keeps his gaze focused on the path ahead as they move through the station.
[He doesn't say any more than that. Not when the answer is likely obvious in the way the room looks once the door finally opens. His clothes from their last shared mission are dumped on his bed. The sheets of Sam's- their shared -bed still rumpled the same way they were the day they left on the mission to Kilnan. Even the glass of half drunk water left by the side of the bed has gone stale during its prolonged stay there.
Clearly nobody has been in the room for a long time.
The only thing that's any different from the day they left is the dirty wash cloths left dumped in the middle of the floor. Used to clean Sam's uniform right before he tucked it away in the closet. No matter how much he hated the idea of coming back to an empty room, he hadn't been able to leave the suit covered in the remains of their last mission.
Leading Sam over to the edge of his bed, Bucky offers whatever support he needs in getting the man to take a seat there. To get comfortable and leave everything else in Bucky's hands instead. He might not trust himself, but he knows that he'd sooner cut his other arm off than hurt Sam again.]
You hungry?
[Or thirsty. Or tired. Cold. Hot. Sore. Whatever Sam wants, Bucky is willing to give him. He needs to.]
[ The state of the room is disorienting in its own right. Like no time at all passed, like they're only just now returning from Kilnan, or at least like only a night might have passed with Sam in the medbay, if not for the fact that the room as the stale air of a place unused and left behind. Bucky hasn't been staying in here, clearly - and it's not just been a night, even though everything looks just like Sam remembers it, even though it feels like it was just pre-mission.
Sam follows Bucky easily, lets himself be nudged to take a seat and offers no resistance. Frowns at Bucky's question, goes to nod, then shake his head, then just sighs. ]
You don't need to---
[ But he stops.
The room's been empty. Bucky looks like hell. The suit was neatly cleaned and stored away.
Perhaps Bucky does need to.
Sam looks up at him from underneath long lashes, dark eyes heavy with rolling emotions as Sam swallows. ]
[He's silent for a long few moments, doing little more than just staring back at Sam. Taking in the fact that he's really sat there. That he's really awake again. It's not enough to undo the last three months. Not enough to wipe away those memories of Sam and Eleven collapsing the moment they arrived. Or the two of them laying motionless in the medbay. Of coming back to this room and being reminded of just how much he lost in those few, short seconds.
Of everything he did in Sam's absence. Who he became. Who he hurt. Killed-
There's no warning before Bucky lowers himself into a crouch, his right hand curling around Sam's, his left hanging like a deadweight at his side. This time, the choice has nothing to do with him being scared of hurting Sam, and everything to do with him needing to be able to feel Sam's hand beneath his fingertips. That steady beat of his heart, and the warmth of his skin. ]
You're here. Ain't letting you disappear on me again.
[Sure, he may not have had an option either time Sam had disappeared. But that won't stop him from fighting it. Won't keep him from doing whatever it takes to get Sam back again. He's made a deal once already to gain a future with the other man. He'll do it again if he has to.]
[ No hesitation - Sam just returns the grip, lets his hand rest in Bucky's and clasp tight. There's no hiding the small tremors in his fingertips, and perhaps Bucky's picked up on that in the past - how occasionally Sam will briefly and quickly shake out his fingers or clench his hand into a fist, nothing unusual, always a quick motion as if Sam's just shaking out a small cramp. Except now Bucky's got the context, too, that no one else has - that Sam's fingers tremble when he feels like he's about to be snapped out of existence again, when he can feel it happening again. When anxiety or panic rear up. ]
Stay with me.
[ Sam reaches up with his free hand, runs it over his face, up to his hair, nose wrinkling a little. It's a mess, he can tell that much immediately, and no wonder after three months. ]
Maybe in the bathroom. I need clippers. A shave.
[ He leans forwards then, and runs a thumb along Bucky's jaw, feels the prickle of beard under his touch. Tries for a wry smile, but looks sad instead. ]
[While he readily accepts the words, knows without doubt that he'll follow through on the request, Bucky doesn't move just yet. Instead, he simply stares back up at Sam for a little longer. Takes the time to remap every inch of his face. To remember what it feels like to be able to see in to the man's eyes again and see life. Awareness. Sam's really here, and no matter what state that may be in, it's enough.
His hold on Sam's hand tightens. Even if the man were to fall apart, were to collapse in to a pile of dust once again, Bucky will keep him contained no matter what it takes. Will keep him whole through sheer willpower alone. He's there for Sam, and he isn't going to fail him again.
Eventually, he manages to conjure up a hint of a smile, unable to help himself as he leans in to the touch. As he presses his cheek closer to Sam's reaching hand. The contact, whatever form it takes, will always be welcome. He hasn't needed to shy away from Sam's touch in a long time, and he isn't about to start now. Not when they both need this. Need to be grounded in reality. In the here and now.]
I'm not going anywhere.
[Short of Sam telling him to leave, that is. And even then, he wouldn't be going far. This is where he belongs.
So when he finally moves back to his feet again, he keeps a careful hold of Sam's hand. Keeps that contact in place as he urges Sam back to his feet again and starts to slowly lead the way towards the bathroom.]
[ Bucky's been without Sam for three months, and it's different now than it used to be. They've spent plenty of time apart before - Bucky on the run after the Hydra takedown, Sam in pursuit often with Steve along for the ride. Bucky in Wakanda, Sam on the run with Steve and Tasha. Six months, painfully so, after the Blip. A few days and weeks here and there while taking down the flagsmashers and settling into their new roles with one another.
This is different, though. They've not been apart like this on the entirety of their Ximilia stay. On the contrary, they've progressively gotten more entangled with each other. Shared the room, the boat in simulation, the bed ever since it had been part of their accidental cover story.
Bucky's not slept in this room, much less the bed, since Sam fell in a coma.
Grief is a bitch, Sam knows that from experience. Remembers being unable to set foot into his parents' bed room for long months after his mother's and father's deaths respectively. Remembers being unable to look at pictures of Riley for a long, long time.
The way Bucky keeps a firm hold on Sam's hand, the way he leans into the soft touch to his face... it aches. Almost but not quite like seeing Sarah for the first time after two years on the run and five years dead, and knowing she'd been without him all that time, just living on.
Is there still a Bucky without Sam and vice versa? Doesn't look like it from where Sam's standing - and the thought doesn't really unsettle him, so he just returns the hint of a smile on Bucky's face.
What rattles him more is how much assistance he really needs even just getting to the bathroom. The lights are so bright it stings, but Viveca dims them on request, and Sam still flinches at his reflection. ]
This might've been a bad call.
[ free hand shaking as he traces his fingers along the sink - eyes on his own reflection, eyes dark and troubled. A stranger looking back. He's lost time - again. Deep breath, doesn't help. Sam just drops his gaze into the sink, swears under his breath. ]
[Reluctantly, Bucky slips his hand free. But only so he can take ahold of Sam's hips instead, guiding him to turn on the spot. To lean back against the edge of the sink instead. It's not quite how he's planning to leave him. But for the time being, it'll serve its purpose as a temporary support. Just for the few moments that Bucky needs to step away.]
I'll be right back.
[And as much as he hates the idea of Sam leaving his line of sight right now, Bucky steps back out of the bathroom again. He's only gone for a matter of seconds though. Just long enough for him to go and collect a chair for Sam to use instead. One he purposely places with its back to the sink too. Or more importantly, the mirrors on the wall. It's a clear invitation for Sam to take a seat instead. If he wants a shave, then Bucky can manage that much for him.
Sharing close quarters for all this time means that he's long since learned Sam's daily routines. Has seen just how carefully he takes care of himself. How warm skin is needed instead of cool. How a two minute shave with a razor will only cause more harm than good. How the filled cabinet shelves are a necessity, rather than a luxury. Sam spends longer getting ready each morning because there is no other option for him. Yet another part of his life that Bucky had once been oblivious to.
[ There's an almost embarrassing flood of relief. The fact that Sam doesn't have to explain himself, doesn't even has to ask for a favor he didn't know he needed here. And the fact that one look at Bucky tells Sam he doesn't have to do a play by play either. They share a living space - and Bucky's been paying attention, whether intentionally or not, and that warms Sam.
There's relief in Bucky not asking an open ended question about Sam's needs right now, that he presents a choice but doesn't require Sam to think too hard. That he just maneuvers Sam has needed.
Sam doesn't let people take care of him. And yet... ]
Shower'd be great.
[ It's a relief, obvious in the way the tension in Sam's shoulders bleeds away a little more, in how he's looking up at Bucky, any hint of questioning or skepticism fading into something soft and grateful.
Bucky needs this. And maybe Sam does, too.
Maybe he can let someone take care of him, if he doesn't actually need to be the one asking to be cared for himself. ]
[A small nod of his head is his own response, before Bucky heads over to the shower to turn it on. He knows he could ask Viveca to do it. Knows that she would, no questions asked, and get it up to the right temperature in an instant. But this moment right here is meant for the two of them alone. He's the one meant to be taking care of Sam. And so he'll take every action needed. From start to finish. Sam's placing all of his trust in him here, so Bucky's going to do his absolute best not to break it.
So he stays at the shower for a few moments, tweaking the temperature a few degrees lower than he uses himself. A fresh washcloth is brought out. Soaps, shampoos, towels. The cabinet is raided for shaving supplies, his kit set out on the counter. Everything is collected and carefully laid out so he knows he won't need to leave Sam's side again until long after they're done here.
And then he hesitates. Keeps his back to Sam under the guise of checking everything over to make sure it's there. In truth, the hesitation is because he knows what happens next. Knows that he'll be climbing in to the shower right after Sam. That there's no chance he's leaving the other man to fend for himself when his very first request was for Bucky to stay with him.
But that means getting undressed. It isn't the prospect of being naked itself that causes the hesitation though. Instead, it's that he knows it'll only prompt questions, later. Ones that, were it anybody else, Bucky would be able to brush off. But Sam isn't like anybody else. Sam would want to know why his ribs are visible. Why he's lost so much weight over the last three months. Why his bruises haven't faded, despite just how long its been since the last mission. Questions that he doesn't want to answer. Especially not when he's only just gotten Sam back again.
So for now, he simple toes off his shoes, heading back to Sam again and offering a hand back up again so he can take him to the shower. He takes a moment to undo the ties of his gown. To help Sam slip it off, before tossing it somewhere into the corner of the bathroom. Then, a quiet question of "Underwear?"
With Sam's confirmation, Bucky helps him slip his underwear off too, before guiding him in to the warmth of the shower. And only then, with the steam rising and Sam's vision somewhat obscured by the water, does he tug his own clothes off and step in after him.]
You gonna be okay to keep standing?
[After three months in bed, he's pretty sure that staying on his feet is the better choice. But its been less than an hour, and he hadn't let McCoy give him the all clear to leave yet. So if there's even the slightest chance that Sam's legs are going to give out on him, he's pulling the chair in to the shower with them. Whatever it takes to keep him safe.]
[ Trust is a strange thing. Sam, for all that he is good with people and fast to make them feel close to him, does not actually trust easily. It takes a lot for him to really let someone in. Handing his body over into someone's care is the least difficult step when it comes to medical reasons. Handing control like this over is a different matter. Even with Bucky, there's a moment where Sam has to really examine whether or not he wants to do this, make himself this vulnerable. But then there's that small voice at the back of his mind reminding him: this is Bucky. And just like that the choice is easy. Just let Bucky steer them forwards, let himself float a little bit and not put pressure on his own sense of self, lest he crack.
It's nothing sexual, that ain't it at all right here and now - but it is intimate, and Sam feels a prickle on his skin that has nothing to do with panic and falling to dust. Feels the way his head's floating shift into something a little more safe than before.
Sam looks at Bucky, and he can't help it, the ways in which his eyes are drawn to everything wrong with the picture. The scar tissue around the arm doesn't shock him, but the ribs standing out do, and the bruises that by all accounts should be long gone. He can't see the full extent of it. Just enough to know he'll have to ask other people for the full picture. Just enough to know that the time he lost has been harrowing for Bucky in more ways than one.
His eyes wander back up, letting the steam and water lull him into feeling like they're the only people in the entire world. A small nod - put a pin in the questions. Bucky doesn't need them right now. Sam can't selfishly chase his own bleeding heart right now. Instead, for both their sake, he yields control of the here and now to Bucky fully. ]
I'll be alright.
[ In more ways than one. They both need the reminder, Sam thinks - and closes his eyes, tips his head back, lets the water wash over him and ground him by Bucky's side in the here and now. ]
[The affirmation is enough. As long as Sam believes he'll be safe to stand here, then Bucky will take him at his word. But while that should be the trigger he needs to spur himself in to action, he doesn't move. Doesn't do anything more than just watch as Sam drops his guard so completely. As he relaxes under the spray of water with seemingly no qualms about being left in a vulnerable state like this.
These open displays of trust are something that's taken him time to understand. To see as a strength, rather than a weakness. But that doesn't mean he's any close to accepting what Sam so readily offers him each time he bares his back to him. Each time he falls asleep in the same bed. Each time he lets Bucky in close.
Finally reaching for a washcloth, Bucky takes a moment to soap it up, before closing the space between them. He presses the cloth to Sam's collar, pausing just long enough to make sure that he's okay with this. That he isn't overstepping any boundaries by taking on the task of washing Sam himself. But with Sam's earlier request still in mind, Bucky knows he needs to take the lead here. That he needs to make the decisions so Sam doesn't have to. Just for tonight.]
I've got you.
[A reminder and a promise rolled in to one. Even before there was three months separating them, the words would have stood true. He's there for Sam, in whatever form that takes. Whether it's facing off against whatever enemy decides to threaten Earth again, or something as relatively simple as helping the other man get his first really wash in three months.]
[ He does. Bucky's got Sam. It took them time to arrive at that point, and Sam's oddly grateful for it. There are bonds with people that just click into place effortlessly, like his friendship with Steve. There are bonds that are tied through shared experiences, like with the other Avengers. But then there are bonds that you have to work on. Like old, near broken down houses and boats in humid heat, you have to put in the work, and you have to choose those bonds. Bucky and him aren't a team, aren't partners, just through happenstance or through instant similarity. They chose this. They chose each other.
Bucky's earned getting to be the only person to see Sam drop his guard, same as Sam's earned being able to lean on him like that. ]
This remind you of Bracchia?
[ It flits through his mind - Bucky backing him against the bathroom tiles as the room filled with Steam, whispering into each other's ears to avoid detection during their little game of pretend. Just them, in a secret bubble.
Sam's voice catches a little. Bracchia feels closer to him than it must for Bucky. And they no longer share everything they've been put through here - Bucky's had to go through some pretty significant shit on his own, judging by his state. ]
[Because it'd all been a joke there. A cover story. They'd shared that space as they'd played pretend, solely to keep themselves both safe from prying eyes. They'd had no option but to play the roles they'd accidentally brought down upon themselves back then.
Here though. Here is different. Right now, this is about the two of them coming together by choice. A decision they've both made. That they both need. With those three months separating them, this right here is an opportunity for them to reconnect. To rebuild their bond. Their friendship.
This is real. Both of their actions matter.]
Ain't playing pretend here.
[His words are still a quiet murmur, only audible thanks to just how close the two of them are. His movements are careful, gentle as he works the cloth across Sam's skin. As he takes care of the man whose spent his entire life taking care of others. Waking up with time missing is a terrifying experience, and one he knows all too well.
But those five years lost had somehow been easier to cope with than the time between each thaw. All because he knew he wasn't alone that final time. Sure, he hadn't accepted it back then. But the knowledge it was there had been enough. So if he can be there for Sam, can offer that same pillar of support that he'd felt, there's no way he's backing out now. Nowhere else he'd rather be.]
[ Sam gives a soft hum of agreement. It's an important distinction. Makes his throat go dry, because... yeah. This, right here - it's real. And it comforts Sam as much as it pulls the floor right out from under his feet, because... yeah, this is real. And the reality is that he missed three months of that, just like he missed five years before. And in those five years that went by like the blink of an eye from his perspective, in between crumbling to dust and being reassambled by the atom in a Wakandan thicket, he'd lost so much. Lost former team mates and friends, lost his way, lost his understanding of the world and lost what little of his own life had remained in the wake of two years on the run.
Sam's eyes are fixed on a point just over Bucky's shoulder. He feels like his head's slowly lifting upwards, leaving behind the weight of a body that for all he knows is crumbling to dust and washing down the drain. The sound of running water is the sound of distant, rolling thunder. ]
... Buck.
[ His fingers are numb like they're crumbling away, and there's a strange pull inside of him, the same not-quite-right tugging he felt just before losing time yet again. His mouth is full of cotton.
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Bucky's face swims into vision, and it takes Sam a moment to even be aware he's turned his head. Then it takes him another moment to figure out what is wrong with the picture in front of him. When that clicks, though, his gaze sharpens, sluggish mind zeroing in on what seems most important right then. ]
The hell...
[ He stops, has to clear his throat. Yeah, talk about hoarse and under-used. Must have been the longest post-mission nap he ever took - and that thought right there makes a few more things click into uncomfortable place.
There's terror slowly seeping into Sam's gaze, face carefully kept impassive otherwise. ]
You look like shit.
no subject
[Where there'd usually be a teasing edge to his tone, this time, there's only exhaustion. Between Sam's three months of unconsciousness, the events of the last mission, and his own self-isolation, sleep has been next to impossible to achieve. Even the act of eating had been beyond him. It's only the small stockpile of supplies that he and Sam had tucked away months ago that have kept him going. Or at least kept him from keeling over.
Which is why his own progress towards Sam isn't as stable as it should be. Why, when he's finally close enough to reach the other man, guiding him back over to the bed isn't really an option. It's taking everything he has to keep himself moving right now. But for Sam, he's not giving up easily.]
Ninety-four days.
[Three whole months since Sam lost consciousness. Ninety-four whole days since he was last able to speak to the one and only friend he has left. They'd made plans on that mission. Had decided on how they were going to spend their days over whatever constituted Christmas here.
And then Sam went and ruined it all by sleeping through the last three months.]
Pretty sure you shouldn't be standing right now.
cw: panic, dissociation
Ninety-four days.
Something goes ashen in Sam's skin tone, blood draining from his face. For a moment, the world is static and he doesn't feel like he's sitting quite right in his own skin, fingers numb like they're going to crumble to ash and dust. Only thing holding him in place are blue eyes.
Distantly, Sam's aware that he's on the verge of either panicking or dissociating, that he's forgetting how to breathe properly.
Ninety-four days. Three months.
He lost time. ]
You ain't good.
[ His voice sounds far away to his own ears, but he's hyper focused on Bucky's state. If he thinks about anything else, he's not sure what will happen. So he thinks about Bucky as he should look versus what Sam's seeing in front of him. ]
Buck...
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[So no, Sam's not wrong. But the fact he's awake now really does make all the difference. It gives Bucky something to focus on. Someone. The two of them had been growing closer over their time here. Had gotten to the point where even sharing a bed had become almost normal to them.
And then all of that was taken away from him in an instant.
There's a quiet hitch of his breath, and then he gives in. Steps close to Sam to pull him close. An arm around his waist, and the other at the back of his neck as he tugs Sam in tight. He doesn't have the capacity to focus on what he lost during those months. Not when he knows that Sam needs him to be strong here. Needs to be able to rely on him for support.
They lost five years before. But somehow, this feels worse. A fraction of the time. But he'd been left behind this time round.]
You're awake. S'all that matters.
no subject
He has to ask about what happened, what he missed. For now, he just grabs into the hug, tucks his face against Bucky's neck and lets his breath come shuddering but somewhat calmer than before. He feels the scrape of his own facial hair, having grown over three months, against Bucky's skin. Something to fix - later. Questions to ask - later.
For now Sam just... he needs... ]
I remember hearing you. When I. When I was.
[ Asleep. Not dead. Just asleep. ]
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[Not that there had really been all that much yelling. Pleading, perhaps. Begging, as the days had gone on and he'd been the only person awake in the entire medbay. The only one there to hear his attempts at trying to get Sam to shake off sleep and wake up. Not that it'd done any good in the end.
Pulling back from the hug, Bucky instead moves to Sam's side and slips an arm around his waist. Both support for the other man, and to sate his own need to stay close. As long as Sam's awake, he can deal with everything else. Can figure out how to be human again. Because he has a reason, now. A reason to try.]
Come on. We're going back to your room.
[Sam's room. Because it sure as hell hasn't been his for the last three months. He hasn't gone near it in most of that time.]
no subject
Bucky's got him, and no matter how groggy and shaky Sam feels, that sets something right in the world. ]
Yeah. Yeah, let's...
[ ... huh.
Sam starts walking with Bucky, and falls silent, but he caught that phrasing. It tugs at him, sharp and uncomfortable, but he keeps his gaze focused on the path ahead as they move through the station.
Your room.
He waits until the door looms ahead. ]
Why'd you move out?
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[He doesn't say any more than that. Not when the answer is likely obvious in the way the room looks once the door finally opens. His clothes from their last shared mission are dumped on his bed. The sheets of Sam's- their shared -bed still rumpled the same way they were the day they left on the mission to Kilnan. Even the glass of half drunk water left by the side of the bed has gone stale during its prolonged stay there.
Clearly nobody has been in the room for a long time.
The only thing that's any different from the day they left is the dirty wash cloths left dumped in the middle of the floor. Used to clean Sam's uniform right before he tucked it away in the closet. No matter how much he hated the idea of coming back to an empty room, he hadn't been able to leave the suit covered in the remains of their last mission.
Leading Sam over to the edge of his bed, Bucky offers whatever support he needs in getting the man to take a seat there. To get comfortable and leave everything else in Bucky's hands instead. He might not trust himself, but he knows that he'd sooner cut his other arm off than hurt Sam again.]
You hungry?
[Or thirsty. Or tired. Cold. Hot. Sore. Whatever Sam wants, Bucky is willing to give him. He needs to.]
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Sam follows Bucky easily, lets himself be nudged to take a seat and offers no resistance. Frowns at Bucky's question, goes to nod, then shake his head, then just sighs. ]
You don't need to---
[ But he stops.
The room's been empty. Bucky looks like hell. The suit was neatly cleaned and stored away.
Perhaps Bucky does need to.
Sam looks up at him from underneath long lashes, dark eyes heavy with rolling emotions as Sam swallows. ]
I feel like I'm about to crumble to dust.
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Of everything he did in Sam's absence. Who he became. Who he hurt. Killed-
There's no warning before Bucky lowers himself into a crouch, his right hand curling around Sam's, his left hanging like a deadweight at his side. This time, the choice has nothing to do with him being scared of hurting Sam, and everything to do with him needing to be able to feel Sam's hand beneath his fingertips. That steady beat of his heart, and the warmth of his skin. ]
You're here. Ain't letting you disappear on me again.
[Sure, he may not have had an option either time Sam had disappeared. But that won't stop him from fighting it. Won't keep him from doing whatever it takes to get Sam back again. He's made a deal once already to gain a future with the other man. He'll do it again if he has to.]
Tell me what you need.
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Stay with me.
[ Sam reaches up with his free hand, runs it over his face, up to his hair, nose wrinkling a little. It's a mess, he can tell that much immediately, and no wonder after three months. ]
Maybe in the bathroom. I need clippers. A shave.
[ He leans forwards then, and runs a thumb along Bucky's jaw, feels the prickle of beard under his touch. Tries for a wry smile, but looks sad instead. ]
Maybe... keep me out of my head.
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His hold on Sam's hand tightens. Even if the man were to fall apart, were to collapse in to a pile of dust once again, Bucky will keep him contained no matter what it takes. Will keep him whole through sheer willpower alone. He's there for Sam, and he isn't going to fail him again.
Eventually, he manages to conjure up a hint of a smile, unable to help himself as he leans in to the touch. As he presses his cheek closer to Sam's reaching hand. The contact, whatever form it takes, will always be welcome. He hasn't needed to shy away from Sam's touch in a long time, and he isn't about to start now. Not when they both need this. Need to be grounded in reality. In the here and now.]
I'm not going anywhere.
[Short of Sam telling him to leave, that is. And even then, he wouldn't be going far. This is where he belongs.
So when he finally moves back to his feet again, he keeps a careful hold of Sam's hand. Keeps that contact in place as he urges Sam back to his feet again and starts to slowly lead the way towards the bathroom.]
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This is different, though. They've not been apart like this on the entirety of their Ximilia stay. On the contrary, they've progressively gotten more entangled with each other. Shared the room, the boat in simulation, the bed ever since it had been part of their accidental cover story.
Bucky's not slept in this room, much less the bed, since Sam fell in a coma.
Grief is a bitch, Sam knows that from experience. Remembers being unable to set foot into his parents' bed room for long months after his mother's and father's deaths respectively. Remembers being unable to look at pictures of Riley for a long, long time.
The way Bucky keeps a firm hold on Sam's hand, the way he leans into the soft touch to his face... it aches. Almost but not quite like seeing Sarah for the first time after two years on the run and five years dead, and knowing she'd been without him all that time, just living on.
Is there still a Bucky without Sam and vice versa? Doesn't look like it from where Sam's standing - and the thought doesn't really unsettle him, so he just returns the hint of a smile on Bucky's face.
What rattles him more is how much assistance he really needs even just getting to the bathroom. The lights are so bright it stings, but Viveca dims them on request, and Sam still flinches at his reflection. ]
This might've been a bad call.
[ free hand shaking as he traces his fingers along the sink - eyes on his own reflection, eyes dark and troubled. A stranger looking back. He's lost time - again. Deep breath, doesn't help. Sam just drops his gaze into the sink, swears under his breath. ]
I don't think I can look at that right now.
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[Reluctantly, Bucky slips his hand free. But only so he can take ahold of Sam's hips instead, guiding him to turn on the spot. To lean back against the edge of the sink instead. It's not quite how he's planning to leave him. But for the time being, it'll serve its purpose as a temporary support. Just for the few moments that Bucky needs to step away.]
I'll be right back.
[And as much as he hates the idea of Sam leaving his line of sight right now, Bucky steps back out of the bathroom again. He's only gone for a matter of seconds though. Just long enough for him to go and collect a chair for Sam to use instead. One he purposely places with its back to the sink too. Or more importantly, the mirrors on the wall. It's a clear invitation for Sam to take a seat instead. If he wants a shave, then Bucky can manage that much for him.
Sharing close quarters for all this time means that he's long since learned Sam's daily routines. Has seen just how carefully he takes care of himself. How warm skin is needed instead of cool. How a two minute shave with a razor will only cause more harm than good. How the filled cabinet shelves are a necessity, rather than a luxury. Sam spends longer getting ready each morning because there is no other option for him. Yet another part of his life that Bucky had once been oblivious to.
But not any more.]
Towel, or shower?
[He won't shy away from either answer.]
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There's relief in Bucky not asking an open ended question about Sam's needs right now, that he presents a choice but doesn't require Sam to think too hard. That he just maneuvers Sam has needed.
Sam doesn't let people take care of him. And yet... ]
Shower'd be great.
[ It's a relief, obvious in the way the tension in Sam's shoulders bleeds away a little more, in how he's looking up at Bucky, any hint of questioning or skepticism fading into something soft and grateful.
Bucky needs this. And maybe Sam does, too.
Maybe he can let someone take care of him, if he doesn't actually need to be the one asking to be cared for himself. ]
cw: malnutrition and injuries?
So he stays at the shower for a few moments, tweaking the temperature a few degrees lower than he uses himself. A fresh washcloth is brought out. Soaps, shampoos, towels. The cabinet is raided for shaving supplies, his kit set out on the counter. Everything is collected and carefully laid out so he knows he won't need to leave Sam's side again until long after they're done here.
And then he hesitates. Keeps his back to Sam under the guise of checking everything over to make sure it's there. In truth, the hesitation is because he knows what happens next. Knows that he'll be climbing in to the shower right after Sam. That there's no chance he's leaving the other man to fend for himself when his very first request was for Bucky to stay with him.
But that means getting undressed. It isn't the prospect of being naked itself that causes the hesitation though. Instead, it's that he knows it'll only prompt questions, later. Ones that, were it anybody else, Bucky would be able to brush off. But Sam isn't like anybody else. Sam would want to know why his ribs are visible. Why he's lost so much weight over the last three months. Why his bruises haven't faded, despite just how long its been since the last mission. Questions that he doesn't want to answer. Especially not when he's only just gotten Sam back again.
So for now, he simple toes off his shoes, heading back to Sam again and offering a hand back up again so he can take him to the shower. He takes a moment to undo the ties of his gown. To help Sam slip it off, before tossing it somewhere into the corner of the bathroom. Then, a quiet question of "Underwear?"
With Sam's confirmation, Bucky helps him slip his underwear off too, before guiding him in to the warmth of the shower. And only then, with the steam rising and Sam's vision somewhat obscured by the water, does he tug his own clothes off and step in after him.]
You gonna be okay to keep standing?
[After three months in bed, he's pretty sure that staying on his feet is the better choice. But its been less than an hour, and he hadn't let McCoy give him the all clear to leave yet. So if there's even the slightest chance that Sam's legs are going to give out on him, he's pulling the chair in to the shower with them. Whatever it takes to keep him safe.]
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It's nothing sexual, that ain't it at all right here and now - but it is intimate, and Sam feels a prickle on his skin that has nothing to do with panic and falling to dust. Feels the way his head's floating shift into something a little more safe than before.
Sam looks at Bucky, and he can't help it, the ways in which his eyes are drawn to everything wrong with the picture. The scar tissue around the arm doesn't shock him, but the ribs standing out do, and the bruises that by all accounts should be long gone. He can't see the full extent of it. Just enough to know he'll have to ask other people for the full picture. Just enough to know that the time he lost has been harrowing for Bucky in more ways than one.
His eyes wander back up, letting the steam and water lull him into feeling like they're the only people in the entire world. A small nod - put a pin in the questions. Bucky doesn't need them right now. Sam can't selfishly chase his own bleeding heart right now. Instead, for both their sake, he yields control of the here and now to Bucky fully. ]
I'll be alright.
[ In more ways than one. They both need the reminder, Sam thinks - and closes his eyes, tips his head back, lets the water wash over him and ground him by Bucky's side in the here and now. ]
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These open displays of trust are something that's taken him time to understand. To see as a strength, rather than a weakness. But that doesn't mean he's any close to accepting what Sam so readily offers him each time he bares his back to him. Each time he falls asleep in the same bed. Each time he lets Bucky in close.
Finally reaching for a washcloth, Bucky takes a moment to soap it up, before closing the space between them. He presses the cloth to Sam's collar, pausing just long enough to make sure that he's okay with this. That he isn't overstepping any boundaries by taking on the task of washing Sam himself. But with Sam's earlier request still in mind, Bucky knows he needs to take the lead here. That he needs to make the decisions so Sam doesn't have to. Just for tonight.]
I've got you.
[A reminder and a promise rolled in to one. Even before there was three months separating them, the words would have stood true. He's there for Sam, in whatever form that takes. Whether it's facing off against whatever enemy decides to threaten Earth again, or something as relatively simple as helping the other man get his first really wash in three months.]
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Bucky's earned getting to be the only person to see Sam drop his guard, same as Sam's earned being able to lean on him like that. ]
This remind you of Bracchia?
[ It flits through his mind - Bucky backing him against the bathroom tiles as the room filled with Steam, whispering into each other's ears to avoid detection during their little game of pretend. Just them, in a secret bubble.
Sam's voice catches a little. Bracchia feels closer to him than it must for Bucky. And they no longer share everything they've been put through here - Bucky's had to go through some pretty significant shit on his own, judging by his state. ]
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[Because it'd all been a joke there. A cover story. They'd shared that space as they'd played pretend, solely to keep themselves both safe from prying eyes. They'd had no option but to play the roles they'd accidentally brought down upon themselves back then.
Here though. Here is different. Right now, this is about the two of them coming together by choice. A decision they've both made. That they both need. With those three months separating them, this right here is an opportunity for them to reconnect. To rebuild their bond. Their friendship.
This is real. Both of their actions matter.]
Ain't playing pretend here.
[His words are still a quiet murmur, only audible thanks to just how close the two of them are. His movements are careful, gentle as he works the cloth across Sam's skin. As he takes care of the man whose spent his entire life taking care of others. Waking up with time missing is a terrifying experience, and one he knows all too well.
But those five years lost had somehow been easier to cope with than the time between each thaw. All because he knew he wasn't alone that final time. Sure, he hadn't accepted it back then. But the knowledge it was there had been enough. So if he can be there for Sam, can offer that same pillar of support that he'd felt, there's no way he's backing out now. Nowhere else he'd rather be.]
cw: panic, dissociation
Sam's eyes are fixed on a point just over Bucky's shoulder. He feels like his head's slowly lifting upwards, leaving behind the weight of a body that for all he knows is crumbling to dust and washing down the drain. The sound of running water is the sound of distant, rolling thunder. ]
... Buck.
[ His fingers are numb like they're crumbling away, and there's a strange pull inside of him, the same not-quite-right tugging he felt just before losing time yet again. His mouth is full of cotton.
This is real. So why doesn't it feel that way? ]