Chapter Text
Sam opened his eyes and, out of habit, reached for the space beside him.
Empty.
Oh. Right.
He sighed quietly and stretched, glancing around the room. The living room. The couch. The blanket had slipped halfway onto the floor. He must have tossed and turned during the night, even though he didn’t remember actually falling asleep.
Bucky was in the bedroom.
It had been Sam’s idea to take the couch, it was reasonable. Safe. For Bucky. For both of them.
Yesterday… he’d basically just shown him around. The kitchen, the bathroom, the balcony. Where the towels were, where the glasses were, where the remote was. Neutral things. Everyday things.
He hadn’t told him how they’d met.
He hadn’t told him what they actually did. He’d promised to explain another day. Slowly.And he definitely absolutely had not told him who Bucky used to be.
He had no idea how he was supposed to do that.
How do you tell someone who looks at you with stranger’s eyes that they’re a hundred-year-old former assassin, a super soldier, a legend and a nightmare all at once?
Reluctantly, he got up from the couch and went to the kitchen. He needed something to occupy his mind. Breakfast. Breakfast was familiar. Routine. Something that kept him grounded when everything else was falling apart.
He took out eggs. A pan. Coffee. He started working.
That was when the phone rang.
Sam looked at the screen and felt his stomach tighten. Sarah.
Shit, he thought. She doesn’t know.
He answered on the third ring. “Hey,” he said quietly.
“Hello, future Mr. Barnes!” his sister’s voice rang out, cheerful and way too enthusiastic. “I know I’m rushing things, but Carlos already found out about the wedding. Long story short: he’s invited whether you like it or not. And one more thing, they want to throw you an engagement party. In a few days. At my place. This is not a question, just information.”
Sam closed his eyes and rested his forehead against the kitchen cabinet.
“Shit,” he muttered.
“…Sam?” Sarah’s tone shifted instantly. “What’s wrong?”
He was silent for a moment, listening to the low hum of the fridge. To his own breathing.
“We’re going to have to cancel it, Sarah,” he said finally, quietly.
Silence on the other end. Short, but heavy. “What happened?” she asked carefully. “And don’t even try to tell me you broke up. I know you wouldn’t.”
She hesitated.
“Did Bucky chicken out? Or did you?”
“No. It’s not that,” Sam said quickly. “It’s… more complicated.”
“Sam,” she warned.
He took a deep breath. Too deep. Like he was trying to stockpile oxygen.
“Bucky had some kind of… accident,” he began slowly, choosing his words with care. “Medical. It’s not—” He cut himself off, irritated by his own hesitation. “It’s not minor.”
“An accident?” Sarah latched onto the word immediately. “What kind of accident? Sam, what are you saying? Is he—?”
“He’s alive,” Sam cut in sharply. “He’s whole. Breathing. Walking. But it’s bad.”
Silence.
“What do you mean, ‘bad’?” she asked at last, more cautiously now, like she was afraid of the answer.
Sam tightened his grip on the phone until it hurt.
“Physically, there’s nothing wrong with him,” he said, irritation creeping into his voice. “His heart’s fine, bones intact, blood flowing. But… but he, um… lost his memory.”
The silence returned. Thicker this time. Sticky.
“…Excuse me?” Sarah finally said. “What did you just say?”
“He lost his memory,” Sam repeated, slower, firmer. “All of it. He doesn’t remember me. He doesn’t remember us. He doesn’t remember you. He doesn’t even remember himself.”
“Sam, this isn’t funny,” she snapped. “If this is some stupid joke—”
“This is not a joke!” he exploded. “Do you think I’d joke about something like this?!”
On the other end, there was only Sarah’s uneven breathing.
“But… that’s impossible,” she said finally. “That’s Bucky. He’s been through hell. He survived things that would’ve killed normal people. You can’t tell me he just… forgot everything.”
“And yet,” Sam hissed, “that’s exactly what happened.”
“How?” she pressed. “A blow to the head? Surgery? There has to be a logical explanation.”
“Hydra,” Sam said shortly, venom in the word. “More of their crap left in his head. We were supposed to get rid of it, but instead it wiped everything.”
“No…” Sarah shook her head, though Sam couldn’t see it. “That doesn’t make sense. He’s a super soldier. His brain is enhanced. He heals. He—”
“SARAH, FOR GOD’S SAKE!” Sam cut her off, his voice shaking with anger. “Do you think I don’t know that?! Do you think I didn’t try to understand it?!”
He clenched his jaw.
“I saw him, okay?” he went on, faster now. “He was sitting there, looking at me like I was a stranger. Like I was some guy off the street. He asked me who I was. What my fucking name was. He wants me to call him Jim because he doesn’t remember his own damn name!”
There was complete silence on the other end. Sam took a deep breath, but his anger didn’t fade—it only deepened.
“Shuri says she’ll try to fix it,” he added more quietly, though still sharp. “She says there’s a chance. Told me to take him home while she looks for a solution. I’m supposed to take care of him. Wait. Like it’s that simple.”
He dragged a hand over his face, frustration building.
“Maybe she’ll manage it. Maybe she won’t. We don’t know how long it’ll take. A week. A month. A year. Or never.”
“No,” Sarah said suddenly, firmly. “I don’t accept that. This… this is impossible.”
“I know,” Sam shot back bitterly. “I thought so too.”
“He couldn’t have forgotten everything,” she insisted. “Not you. Not you two. It doesn’t just happen like that.”
“And yet it did,” Sam snapped. “It doesn’t matter what should have happened. It already happened.”
“But he—”
“Sarah.”
“He’s strong, he...”
“Sarah.”
“He loves us all so much...”
“Sarah!”
“…something must’ve stayed and...”
“SARAH!” Sam shouted, boiling over.
“WHAT?!” his sister yelled back.
Sam opened his mouth, ready to say something he might regret.
Then he heard soft footsteps behind him.
He turned.
Bucky stood in the kitchen doorway. Barefoot, wearing an oversized T-shirt that reached almost to his knees. His shoulders were slumped, his hands loosely clenched, like he wasn’t sure he was even allowed to be there.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. I just…” He trailed off, glancing uncertainly at the phone in Sam’s hand. “I heard shouting and… um… is everything okay?”
Sam’s heart clenched painfully. Not because Bucky looked lost, but because Bucky was genuinely worried about him.
Sam slowed his breathing, letting the tension ease just a little. Just for a moment. He gave a brief smile, more instinctive muscle memory at the sight of Bucky than intentional.
“It’s okay,” he said before he could think better of it.
“Is that Bucky?” Sarah’s voice came through the phone, tight and alert. “Sam, put him on speaker. Now.”
Sam’s smile vanished almost instantly. The anger surged back, like it had never left, only waited beneath the surface. He clenched his jaw.
“Of course,” he muttered irritably. “Sure. Why not.”
He turned on the speaker harder than necessary. “Bucky… hey,” Sarah said, her voice immediately softer, careful, measured.
Bucky looked at Sam, confused. Sam felt a stab of frustration not at him, but at the whole situation.
“That’s my sister,” he said faster and sharper than he meant to. “She wanted to say hi. She doesn’t believe me that you really don’t remember anything.”
Bucky visibly tensed. “Hey?” he said quietly toward the phone, like he wasn’t sure he should be speaking at all.
“Hi, Bucky,” Sarah said gently, though the tension was clear in her voice. “It’s good to hear your voice. How… how are you feeling?”
Bucky hesitated. “I think… okay,” he replied carefully. “A little tired.”
Sam clenched his jaw. He knew that tone. That okay that meant nothing.
“Do you know who I am?” Sarah asked softly.
“Damn it,” Sam growled, turning his back on Bucky. “I told you he doesn’t remember anything. Stop interrogating him.”
“Sam,” she said calmly but firmly. “I just wanted to talk to him. No pressure.”
Sam let out a short, hollow laugh. “Talk. Sure.” He turned back abruptly too abruptly and looked at Bucky “Hey, Buck,” he said with a forced smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “That’s my sister. Do you know her name?”
Bucky froze. For a moment he was silent, clearly searching for anything to hold onto. He ran a hand through his hair.
“Um…” he started uncertainly. “Alicia?”
Silence fell instantly. “Shit…” Sarah whispered. “That’s… that’s okay. I’m Sarah. Sarah Wilson. That asshole’s sister.”
“Sarah,” Bucky repeated quietly, like he was testing the sound of it. “Nice to meet you…”
Sam snapped.
“That’s enough,” he cut in sharply.
He hung up before anyone could say another word. The phone dropped heavily into his hand. He was breathing fast—too fast—staring at the kitchen counter like it was the only thing keeping him upright. His chest felt tight, chaotic, like it was about to collapse in on itself.
He could hear Bucky breathing behind him. He knew he was still there. He could feel it. But right now, he couldn’t turn around. There was too much anger in him. Too much helplessness.
He pulled away from the counter abruptly, almost fleeing. He crossed the living room and stepped out onto the balcony, ignoring the cold air that immediately hit his face. He didn’t stop until he reached the railing. He grabbed it hard, his knuckles turning white.
He breathed. In. Out. Again.
He tried to calm his thoughts, but they only tangled tighter. HYDRA. The Russian. Shuri. Sarah. Bucky, who remembered nothing. And him standing in the middle of it all, without instructions, without a plan, carrying a weight he couldn’t hand off to anyone.
He felt movement beside him.
He didn’t turn his head, but out of the corner of his eye he saw a metal hand curl around the railing as well. After a moment, he looked up.
Bucky was standing next to him. Silent. Calm. He was looking at Sam with those light blue eyes, there was no fear in them, no accusation. Just pure, sincere concern.
Something inside Sam cracked even further.
“I’m sorry,” Bucky said quietly at last. “I feel like ever since I got here, I’ve only been stressing everyone out.”
Sam’s eyes softened immediately. All the anger that had been boiling inside him moments earlier deflated like air from a punctured balloon.
“Oh...no. No,” he took a deep breath. “This isn’t your fault. It never was. And it never will be.”
Bucky lowered his gaze. “I’m sorry I don’t remember you,” he added after a moment. “I wish I did. I really do. I don’t like this… emptiness. That feeling that I should know something...someone and I don’t know anything.”
Sam lifted his head, staring up at the gray sky as if it might offer him some kind of answer. He tried to push the tears back, but it was too late. One slipped down his cheek. Then another.
“I know,” he said softly. “I know.” His voice broke. The tears were flowing freely now, and he didn’t even try to hide them. “Fuck…” he whispered, wiping his face with his hand, not looking at Bucky. “This shouldn’t have happened. Not to you. Not after everything. I—I don’t even know how to—”
He cut himself off. There were no words that could fix this. Everything was wrong. Unfair. And he was standing here, helpless, unable to do anything that would truly help.
Then he felt a hand on his shoulder. Warm. Steady.
“Hey,” Bucky said quietly. “We’ll fix this.”
Sam looked at him in disbelief. “What?”
“That… little lady” Bucky frowned, searching for the word. “The scientist from yesterday,”
"Shuri"Sam supplied almost in a whisper.
“Yeah. Shuri,” Bucky nodded. “She seems smart. Really smart. I believe she’ll find a solution. That she’ll make it work.”
Despite the tears, Sam let out a quiet huff of a laugh. “Since when are you such an optimist?”
Bucky smiled faintly uncertain, but genuine. “Natural disposition?” he offered with a half-smile. “Or maybe I just… believe things will be okay.”
Sam wiped his eyes with his sleeve. “You don’t even really know what happened.”
Bucky studied him for a moment, as if weighing every word.
“I know it was an accident,” he said finally. “And I believe we’ll fix it. Together.”
Sam nodded, more out of hope than certainty. Inside, he prayed that Bucky was right.
“Okay,” he said quietly. “Okay… come on, Jim. I made breakfast.”
They turned toward the door, shoulder to shoulder. And even though nothing was fixed yet, for the first time that morning Sam felt like he wasn’t completely alone in this.
Breakfast passed quietly.
There were no awkward questions and no forced attempts at jokes. Sam set eggs, toast, and coffee on the table, and Bucky ate slowly, carefully, as if every simple action was something he was only just learning how to do. From time to time he glanced at Sam, but he didn’t say anything. Sam was grateful for that.
The silence between them wasn’t heavy. More… cautious. The kind that hadn’t yet decided whether it was allowed to settle in.
When they were done, Sam stood up first and began collecting the plates.
“Leave it,” Bucky said suddenly. “I can help.”
Sam looked at him automatically.
“You don’t have to.”
“I know,” Bucky replied calmly. “But I want to.”
For a brief moment, Sam hesitated. Then he nodded. “Okay.”
They stood side by side at the sink. Sam washed, Bucky dried and put the dishes away—just a little too carefully, as if he were afraid of breaking something. Sam noticed how he lined up the cutlery neatly, perfectly parallel.
“You’re doing this like you’re going to be graded,” Sam said quietly.
Bucky glanced at him and smiled shyly. “A little stressed?”
Sam let out a short laugh. It was… good. Normal. For a moment, he almost forgot.
When the kitchen was clean again, silence settled in. A different kind than before. Bucky set down the last plate and leaned lightly against the counter.
“Sam?” he asked quietly.
“Mm?”
“Could we… talk?”
Sam froze for a fraction of a second. The hand he still had near the sink tightened slightly, but he didn’t turn around right away.
“Sure,” he said finally, evenly. “About what?”
Bucky was quiet for a moment, as if organizing his thoughts. “About… everything. Or at least something,” he said at last. He rubbed his hands against the fabric of his shirt, clearly nervous. “I don’t want to overwhelm you. Really. I just… I’d like to know something. About myself. About us. About what I did. What I liked.”
He hesitated, then added more softly,
“I mean… I want to get back to normal. But I don’t remember what normal was.” He looked down at the floor. “And I know this might be hard for you. That I might ask the wrong questions, or… too many of them.”
Sam finally turned around. There was no anger on his face. There was exhaustion, concern and something else, too: determination.
“No,” he interrupted gently but firmly. “It’s not too much.”
Bucky looked up, surprised.
“You have the right to know,” Sam added more quietly. “You have the right to ask. And if there’s something I won’t want to...or won’t be able to...tell you, I’ll say that. But not because you’re overwhelming me. It’s just that some things are too big. A lot happened. Crazy stories and I don’t know if I could describe everything at once. But we can try. Slowly.”
Bucky nodded, slowly. “Okay.”
A short silence followed. This time, it wasn’t awkward.
“Let’s sit down,” Sam suggested after a moment. “And we’ll start with something simple.”
They sat on the couch facing each other. For a moment, they just looked at one another, as if both were afraid of speaking too soon, or saying something wrong. Finally, Sam cleared his throat quietly.
“So… what would you like to know?” he asked gently.
Bucky hesitated. “Different things. But… I guess,” he paused, “maybe first about us. About who we… specifically are to each other.”
A familiar tightness settled in Sam’s stomach, not pain, exactly, more like tension. “Okay,” he said after a moment. “So we’re… partners. In a relationship. Boyfriends, if that’s what you want to call it.”
Bucky furrowed his brow slightly, processing this. “Oh I understand.”
Sam quickly added, “And just to be clear, I’m not expecting anything from you. You don’t have to feel anything or do anything. You don’t remember me and you don't have to um...”
Bucky shook his head. “No, Sam. That’s not what I meant.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out something small. Two rings, linked together. He placed them carefully in his hand. “I just… thought maybe… we could be married. Looking at this.”
Sam froze. “Oh…”
“I didn’t mean to dig around,” Bucky added quickly, a little awkwardly. “I just couldn’t sleep last night. I thought maybe if I saw something, I’d remember. I found them in a drawer and… there they were. If that’s not okay, I’m sorry.”
“No,” Sam shook his head, feeling something squeeze at his throat. “It’s okay. This is your home too.” He took the rings into his hands and for a moment just looked at them. “They’re ours,” he said quietly. “But… for the future. We were planning a wedding.”
Bucky smiled softly, as if that one piece of truth was enough to calm something inside him.
“That’s… nice,” he said.
Sam nodded. “Yes… nice,” he repeated, though in his mind the word carried much more weight. Memories of unfinished conversations, tension, their last arguments, all came rushing back.
Bucky, however, didn’t seem to feel any of that. He sat more relaxed, more at ease, as if this fragment of truth had given him solid ground.
“See?” he said after a moment. “We’re already moving in a better direction. I have some sense of our normal now.” Bucky looked at Sam with genuine curiosity, as if he had just stumbled across something important. “How long have we been engaged?”
“Just over a week,” Sam replied. He was surprised at how flat his voice sounded. He still didn’t know where this conversation was going.
“Wow,” Bucky’s smile lit up his face almost instantly. “That’s… fresh.” He leaned slightly forward. “Who proposed?”
“I did.”
“Really?” Bucky raised his eyebrows, genuinely surprised but clearly pleased. “How did it happen? Was it romantic? A restaurant? Or more spontaneous? Had you planned it for a long time?”
Sam hesitated. The questions came at him one after another, faster than he could arrange his own thoughts.
“Uh…” he sighed quietly. “At my family’s place. We were at my sister’s.”
“Perfect,” Bucky said without hesitation, as if it was the best answer he could have heard. “That sounds really good.”
For a moment, he just looked at him, then added, now with clear excitement: “So the past week must have been full of planning, huh?”
“Excuse me?” Sam frowned, completely thrown off.
“You know,” Bucky continued, as if talking about something obvious. “Wedding. Guest list. Gifts. And honeymoon.” He paused for a moment, then smiled even wider. “Do I prefer warm or cold climates? Hawaii sounds nice… but the Northern Lights in Finland too. Where do we usually go? What do I like? And you?”
Sam blinked several times. His chest tightened strangely, not with pain, not entirely. Rather from something that was a mixture of tenderness and fear.
It was… new.
This Bucky wasn’t afraid of the future. He didn’t pause mid-sentence. He didn’t weigh every word as if it could destroy something. The old Bucky, with memory, with trauma could plan missions, strategies, threats. But happiness? Never. Happiness was always fragile, temporary.
This one sitting next to him spoke about them as if it were natural. As if it were certain.
“We’ve been a little busy lately,” Sam said finally, quieter now. “We talked about it, but…” He let the sentence trail off. “…There wasn’t time to really figure it all out.”
“Oh.” Bucky shrugged lightly, still smiling. “Well we’ve got our whole life ahead of us.”
The words hit Sam harder than he expected. He looked at Bucky, not knowing what to say. Bucky, however, seemed completely absorbed in the vision of the future.
“Where do you come from? And me?” he started listing with growing enthusiasm. “Do we do the wedding in D.C. or where more family lives? Who has the bigger family? Do they get along? Your sister probably likes me. Uuu and do I have any siblings?”
Sam felt his head tighten as if the room were shrinking around him.
“We’ll need to figure it all out,” Bucky continued, completely unaware of the chaos in Sam’s mind. “Friends, best man… any kids in the family? They could throw petals.” He chuckled quietly, genuinely delighted. “Oh my God. That sounds like so much fun.”
The smile on his face now was different from any Sam had seen before.
Sam had known Bucky smiling. Had known him happy. But never like this.
The old Bucky even in the best moments always carried a shadow. Pain, memories, something that never fully went away. Part of a past that kept him grounded.
This Bucky… Jim… looked simply content. Free. Excited about planning a wedding with a man he didn’t even remember.
“I…” Sam drew in a breath. “Maybe we should come back to this later. I need to umm handle a few things. Sign some documents.” He knew the work of Captain America could wait. But it was easier to escape into duties than to face that feeling head-on. “You can come with me,” he added quickly, rising from the couch. “I’ll show you around. And then I’ll take you to a cool spot in the city.”
Bucky nodded and smiled.
“Great. I’ll just get dressed…” he hesitated for a moment.
“Your things are on the right side of the closet,” Sam said automatically.
Bucky gave him one more warm smile and disappeared into the bedroom.
Sam was left alone. He exhaled deeply, closing his eyes and pressing his hands to his hips.
“It’ll be okay,” he said to the empty room. Quieter, he added: “It has to be.”
Sam drove on, focused on the road. One hand rested firmly on the steering wheel, while the other clenched intermittently, as if trying to hold onto more than just the car.
Bucky sat beside him, clearly in a good mood, scrolling through Sam’s phone that he had been lent. “Those two little ones…” he murmured, swiping across the screen. “Your family?”
Sam glanced briefly at him, then returned his eyes to the road. “Yeah. My nephews. AJ and Cass.”
“They’re adorable,” Bucky said without a trace of irony. “Looks like they’ve got the energy of three adults.” He swiped to the next photo, smiling faintly. “I see you smile a lot when you’re with them.”
Sam didn’t respond right away. He only gripped the wheel a little tighter. “They… remind me why all this matters,” he said quietly.
The rest of the drive passed calmly. The city gradually gave way to more orderly, quieter areas, until finally a massive, modern building emerged before them, seamlessly integrated into a structure with a storied past.
Bucky lifted his eyes from the phone. “Wow…” he said genuinely. “You work here?”
“Yeah,” Sam replied, parking the car.
Bucky got out and looked around with evident admiration. “No wonder we’re loaded,” he said half-jokingly, watching Sam place his finger on the fingerprint scanner at the doors. “Does this work on me too?”
Sam smiled shortly. “Of course.”
The doors opened almost silently. Inside, movement and activity buzzed with more people than usual. Military personnel, agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. "No" Sam corrected himself quickly. S.H.I.E.L.D no longer existed; now it was S.W.O.R.D. But Bucky didn’t need to know the difference to sense the tension in the air.
“Captain,” one of the agents greeted, nodding with clear respect. His eyes shifted to Bucky. “Sergeant Barnes.”
Bucky blinked, clearly confused. He leaned slightly toward Sam. “Sergeant?” he whispered. “You said I was in the army, but this doesn’t look like a normal army.”
“Because it’s not,” Sam replied quietly, leading him further inside.
“Seriously,” Bucky frowned. “What exactly do you do? Who are you?”
They stopped in front of Sam’s office doors. He turned to Bucky and smiled wider than before a smile halfway pride, halfway deeply personal.
“Captain America,” he said simply.
He opened the doors.
The office was large, bright, and unmistakably his. One wall displayed various versions of wings and suits, marks of missions completed and missions yet to come. The shield rested on a dedicated stand, perfectly showcased. The desk was cluttered with reports, tablets, and a few weapons. Nearby, a couch, bookshelves, and several photographs: Sam with family, Sam with the team… Sam with Bucky.
Bucky entered slowly, as if afraid to touch anything. He paused in the middle of the room. For a moment, he visibly caught his breath.
Before he could speak, the office doors burst open.
“Sam, good thing you’re—”
Torres practically ran in. His hair was tousled, his breathing uneven, and a stack of documents clutched in his hands so tightly it looked painful. He froze instantly when he saw Bucky.
“Um… Bucky—” he hesitated, glancing at Sam. “Has he… you know ” He raised a hand, circling a finger near his temple.
Sam rolled his eyes. “Really, Torres?”
“I’m here. You can ask me!” Bucky said, a little sharper than he intended. “And no… I don’t remember.” Then, softer: “Go ahead.”
Torres stiffened. “Oh. Uh. Sorry,” he muttered quickly, clearly flustered. “I didn’t mean—”
“Relax,” Sam cut him off. “I’m just showing him where we work.” He nodded toward the documents in Torres’ hands. “Now tell me what happened.”
Torres blinked, as if suddenly recalling why he was there. “What? Oh. Right.” He swallowed. “Sam… we need to go back there.” He pulled one of the reports and threw it onto the desk.
“We’re seriously fucked”