sambucky shorts

here and now

 Rewrite of I'm here, kinda I got bored so here's some rewrites from 'i miss you'

Bucky had come to terms (if you could call it that) with Steve's, eer, choices you could say. He had too, not because he wanted to, but his oblivious therapist assigned him to make amends. He couldn't lie his way out of therapy, at one point or another, Bucky had to admit certain things. Of course, that didn't mean it stopped him from omitting specific details, his therapist didn't need to know everything although they knew Bucky's background. One thing led to another, and Bucky was left emptier than before, it was an ache that went bone deep. It made him grasp at his chest, the tight feeling inside him never went away no matter how hard he hugged his sides and dug his fingers into his flesh.

After everything, Bucky no longer went to see his associates or friends, though he never felt like he actually had any; something was always missing, and the yearning Bucky had to be understood had him questioning any relationships he's ever had. Bucky just wanted someone to understand him, to know him in this moment, here and now, and forever. Bucky had no one, or so it felt like.

Sam Wilson, the Falcon, and now, Captain America.

He came around Bucky's apartment, at least that's what Bucky thinks, he can't really remember anything between passing out and waking up to see Sam above him. His memory is fuzzy, and he can't help hating himself, hating how he gets when he lets himself think too long. The sight of his apartment isn't forgetful though, evidence of what happened is easily identifiable if you took the time to take in the scene.

Bucky's flip phone was beyond repair, bits and pieces of the metal and plastic were littered below the wall it was thrown at. That same wall had taken a few, but powerful, punches that left Bucky with no chance of getting his deposit back. His stare goes on for miles as he looks at the mess he's made, Bucky is filled with shame as Sam barges inside his apartment.

The sound of Sam cursing fills Bucky's ears, he hears him apologizing for breaking the door frame and lock, but Bucky doesn't really care. He was still out of it by the time Sam pulled him to sit down, slowly pressing him down by the shoulders onto his couch. Something Bucky's never done, mostly sitting on the hardwood flooring of his apartment until he eventually fell asleep.

"What– What happened, Bucky?"

Bucky had something of a glare on his face when he heard Sam call him that name, that name that wasn't really his, it was Steve's he owned that name and used it when it worked for him. Nothing was his, nothing he had was his own, Bucky just wanted to have something for himself and he couldn't even have his own name without it reminding him of Steve. The longer Bucky thought, the more it was harder for him to be present, zoning out and spiraling into self-hatred and pity.

Sam tentatively touched him, seeing as his demeanor changed when he called his name. He was beginning to grow scared, seeing that distant look in his eyes made Sam get worried for him and he didn't know what to do. He yelled out of nowhere, anxiety building up inside him and forcing him to blurt out what he was thinking.

"James! James–"

Sam's voice always gets low and rough when he yells, it has the same tone a parent would have and,

"Mama always called me James," James whispered, looking at Sam. Sam sees how worn he's getting by the second,"shit, James."

James is crumbling, his frame falls into Sam and his eyes are barely opened. He leans into Sam's touch, he's warm and soft and always nice to him, even when he's an asshole. Sam cups his chin–"fuck man, you need sleep– you need a real bed, Jamie"–he states and his heart breaks when he sees James's melting in his hands. James closes his eyes,"...don't have one, Sam."

Sam stands up and pulls James up with him, his usual statue seems less daunting, and he appears small, worn down into a shell of himself.

"No, what the hell, man?!" Sam hugs Jame to his chest, his face contorting as his emotions grows from worry to anger. Sam tugs him towards his broken door,"Jamie, you deserve a real bed."

James tightens his hand, intertwining his fingers with Sam's as they leave his apartment. He doesn't say anything, only hugs Sam with shaky arms and hopes Sam understands him.

"Let's go," Sam whispers into the hug. James nods, though he stays leaned into Sam. Sam gives his hand a quick squeeze,"Let's get you to bed, c'mon Jamie."