Archive of Our Own ^beta

“It’s Bigfoot. You know it’s gotta be Bigfoot, right?” Bucky said as they waited for the crosswalk signal, a few people grumbling and pushing past to walk through, oncoming traffic be damned. He seemed to be in a good mood, maybe because it was unseasonably warm, bright and sunny in December.

Sam rolled his eyes. “What is your obsession with Bigfoot, man?” He was in a good mood, maybe because of the sun, maybe because of the company.

“It’s not an obsession.”

“You bring it up every time there’s a mission even remotely near the wilderness.”

“I bring it up every time several people disappear or show up dismembered,” Bucky corrected. “Which, sure, has been a few times.” He grabbed Sam’s arm to pull him out of the way of a speeding bicyclist who was looking to dismember someone himself, and Sam was suddenly acutely aware of how little room they had on the sidewalk, how pressed together they were walking. Then Bucky had to swerve him out of somebody’s speedwalking path with a “Eyes on the road, Wilson,” and Sam snapped back to reality.

“Anyway,” Bucky continued, clearly oblivious of the effect his firm grip was having on Sam’s psyche. “Why do they need Captain America if they’re in Canada?”

“Oh, and does the Winter Soldier have the summertime off?”

“Maybe he does,” Bucky said, letting go of his arm to elbow him. “Maybe I’ll finally go on vacation.”

“The long separate vacations?”

“Doesn’t have to be separate,” he said, and the sudden seriousness in his tone made Sam look over in surprise, but he was staring straight forward. “Anyway,” he added quickly, before Sam could even register the idea. “Seems like this isn’t your job.”

“Everything’s my job,” Sam said. It meant to be a joke but somehow came out flat, and Bucky gave him an unimpressed look.

“Of course it is,” Bucky muttered.

“I’ve done search and rescue a million times. This will be simple. In and out.”

“You think there will be anything left to rescue?” Bucky said a little doubtfully. Ever the optimist, he was.

“That’s the hope,” Sam said, thinking back to the images of the bodies recovered. Those people didn’t die of exposure and get picked apart by scavengers, the common fate of people dumb enough to wander off the trails or sneak into closed sections of parks. And he had met the park ranger who most recently disappeared; she was smart, capable, and knew the terrain like the back of her hand. There was no way she would just get lost.

“You leaving tomorrow?” Bucky asked, startling him. He belatedly realized the other man had been guiding him again while he was lost in thought.

“Yeah. Probably going to bring some gear to spend the night up there, try to emulate the other victims.”

Bucky was silent for a moment. Then, surprising him, he said, “Want some company?”

Sam liked the idea of camping with Bucky. He was hating the execution of it so far.

“Where the hell is it?” he muttered, taking a step back to re-examine the truck bed. There was one sleeping bag. One. And he had just bought a second one after Bucky decided to come along. He knew it existed. “I’m not crazy, right?”

“You are crazy,” Bucky said helpfully. “But unrelated to this.”

“Okay, well, clearly you should’ve packed for yourself instead of mooching off of me.”

“It’s not like we’re going to get much sleep anyway,” Bucky said, which sent Sam’s mind to places he did not want to go. There was a short pause, then he added, “Um. Because of Bigfoot.”

“It’s not Bigfoot,” Sam said automatically. He was trying his very best not to think of any other activities with his friend that would keep them up all night.

“Don’t worry about it. Let’s just set the tent up before it gets dark,” Bucky said. He paused, looking over Sam’s shoulder. “Is that a one person tent?”

“You decided to come yesterday.”

“That’s a full twenty-four hours to get a bigger tent.”

“Shut up,” Sam muttered. “Are you going to help me with this or not?”

“I’ll help, I’ll help.” Bucky reached past him to grab the instructions. “What is this, Swedish? Where the hell did you get this?”

“It had good reviews,” Sam said defensively. “There’s gotta be an English section. And don’t you know, like, a hundred languages?”

“Not how to set up a tent in one. You were in the military, you should know how to set a tent up.”

“You were too!”

An hour later, they had the tent partially standing. It sagged on one end and Sam was pretty sure Bucky lost an entire load-bearing pole somehow.

“Well,” Bucky said, tilting his head. “It’s not terrible.”

“We’re supposed to look like campers, Buck. Do we look like campers to you?”

“What, you think Bigfoot only goes after the competent campers?”

“Maybe!”

“Listen,” Bucky said, sounding like he was trying to hide his grin. “We’re supposed to be two dudes camping. Which is what we’re doing. Now can we get that fire going and have some hot dogs or something? Unless you forgot food too.”

“Of course I remembered food,” Sam snapped.

“Enough for two?”

“Yes, enough for two. And stuff for s’mores. Did s’mores exist in the 18th century, or did you just have water pie for every meal?”

“Water pie— okay, that was once, Sam. The situation was dire. And yes, we had s’mores. I remember my sister actually bringing home a book, some sort of Girl Scout thing, that had the recipe.”

“Was she a Girl Scout?” Sam asked conversationally, trying not to show how hungry he was to know more about him, about who he was before the war.

“She wanted to be,” Bucky said. He wasn’t looking at Sam, focused on arranging the wood in the fire pit. “Wanted to go camping all the time. I did take her to Central Park one night, for her birthday.” He looked up, the stars starting to appear through the impossibly tall trees. “It was nothing like this.”

“Maybe she traveled,” Sam suggested. “As an adult.”

Bucky shrugged. “Maybe.” He was intent on the pile of kindling in front of him.

Well. You’ve got to give something to get something, that’s what Sam had learned. “I never saw anything outside of Louisiana until I joined the Air Force,” he said. “We did survival training in Washington. I had never seen trees that big.”

“I think I got the short end of the stick,” Bucky said, lighting the match. “We just got sent to Jersey when I joined up.”

“Hey, but then you got to see Europe.”

“Oh, yeah, that was the stuff of dreams. Getting trenchfoot in the wet and cold of the French countryside. I think I gave you a nice tour of it, though.”

“You mean when I was chasing you around the continent? Yeah, that was fun. Great time.”

“You got to see some nice places,” Bucky said with a grin.

“Should’ve known you were stringing me along,” Sam muttered.

“Oh, you never had a chance,” Bucky agreed cheerfully. “It was fun, though. Well, as much fun as I could have, learning how to have free will again and trying to wrap my head around the crushing guilt of murdering countless innocent people.”

“You could’ve let me come close, just once,” Sam said. Then, more seriously, he added, “You didn’t have to do it alone.”

Bucky shrugged. “I thought about it.” He eyed Sam. “Not like you ask for help. Mr. Let-Me-Just-Go-To-British-Columbia-And-Lure-Out-Bigfoot-By-Myself. Again, they should have a Captain Canada for this.”

“Captain Canada is a stupid name. And don’t turn this on me.”

“Mr. Canada, then. Mr. Nice Guy?”

“You think a superhero named Mr. Nice Guy could do everything I can do?” He rolled his eyes. “Shut up and eat your hot dog.”

Bucky tilted his head as they hunched inside the tent, looking down at the sleeping bag that did not seem so small in the store when Sam bought it.

“So…” Sam said, letting his voice trail off.

“We don’t have to pretend to sleep,” Bucky said, pointing out the obvious.

“I know,” Sam said, a little defensively. “It’s just for decoration, really.”

“Seems like a bad idea. Not very maneuverable if something comes and gets us.”

“Awful idea,” Sam agreed. “Except…it’s fucking cold, man.”

Bucky looked at him like he had just grown an extra head. “Then get in the sleeping bag.”

“No!”

He threw his hands up. “Why not?”

“Because then…I don’t know. You’re all squished over there while I’m pretending to sleep. It’s weird.”

“This whole argument is weird,” Bucky said.

“Not an argument. And you’d freeze to death.”

“I don’t freeze to death. Famously, I don’t freeze to death. You could freeze to death. Especially if you bought a shitty sleeping bag.”

“It’s not a shitty sleeping bag,” Sam said, affronted. “I don’t buy shitty sleeping bags. It’s very insulated, thank you very much.”

“So get in it.”

“You get in it.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Fine,” he said, unzipping the sleeping bag. “We can both fit, anyway. That what you want? Sounds like that’s what you want.”

“Fine!”

“I think,” Bucky said as he shimmied in, “that this was your plan all along. Getting a tiny ass tent and one sleeping bag. You could’ve just asked to cuddle, you know.”

“This was not my plan all along,” Sam huffed, trying to work out the best angle to get in. “I bought enough for one person, and then you tagged along. Without contributing any supplies, I might add. So it really sounds like it was your plan all along.”

“You’re happy I’m here, though,” Bucky said, sounding pleased.

“I’m not not happy you’re here,” Sam muttered, finally deciding to just go full send and crawl in next to Bucky. It was a little roomier than it looked, but he still could feel every inch of the other man pressed up against him. Okay, chill out, Wilson. He could definitely hear your heart rate.

“I can’t believe this is part of your plan,” Bucky said. His voice was a little strained. “It’s extremely impractical.”

“You have a knife, don’t you? You can just, like, cut us out. If you need to.”

“Why would I bring a knife to a cuddling session?”

“Not a cuddling session.”

“Okay, of course I have a knife,” Bucky said. “Still doesn’t make it practical.”

“It is warm, though. You’ve gotta admit I got a good sleeping bag.”

“It’s average. Only warm because I’m here, really.”

“Fine,” Sam said, trying to force his voice to sound as normal as possible. “I’m glad you’re here. Is that what you want to hear?”

“Thank you,” Bucky said. Sam could hear the self-satisfied smile in it. “Now, will you relax?”

Sam shifted a little to look at Bucky, which was a mistake, because he was suddenly extremely aware of how close their faces were. “I am relaxed.”

“You’re all tensed up. Aren’t we supposed to be pretending to sleep?”

“Sure, by being in the tent. You think Bigfoot has x-ray vision?”

“Why not?”

“I just don’t see why it would be necessary.”

Bucky shrugged. “So he could tell when two guys in a tent together are faking it, I suppose. Now, seriously. It’s like laying next to a board.”

Sam could relax, if he could stop thinking about how blue Bucky’s eyes were, glinting in the dim light. They had set up several “night lights,” since whatever they were dealing with could probably see better in the dark than they could. Or just better than Sam could, Bucky had teased.

“There you go,” Bucky said, which did not help. A voice had no right to be that attractive.

It was comfortable, though. They fit together well, which— no, Wilson, do not go down that line of thinking.

“Maybe someplace warm for that vacation,” Bucky murmured.

“I don’t know, this is pretty nice,” Sam said before he could stop himself.

There was a pause. “Yeah. The s’mores were good, at least.”

They lapsed into a comfortable silence, Sam closing his eyes as Bucky’s steady breathing filled his ears.

The first thing Sam noticed was birds singing. That felt wrong. There was something he was supposed to do, but it wasn’t coming to him. He was on some sort of heated bed, or pillow maybe. It was rising and falling rhythmically.

Jesus Christ. It wasn’t a heated pillow. It was Bucky Barnes.

Sam sat straight up, which was a little hard in the cramped space, and awkwardly scrambled out of the sleeping bag.

“Good morning,” Bucky said cheerfully. “You drool when you sleep.”

“What?” Sam sputtered. “I fell asleep?”

“Well, I should hope so,” Bucky said. “Or else you were drooling while awake.”

Sam’s mind was racing. “Why didn’t you wake me up?”

He shrugged. “You looked comfortable,” he said. “And Bigfoot never stopped by, so why not?”

“Why not? Maybe because my subconscious was forcing you to cuddle with me, that’s why not!”

Bucky was smiling. He tilted his head. “You’re very worked up about this.”

“You’re not nearly worked up enough!”

He leaned forward. “Do you want me to be?”

Sam sputtered. “Are you flirting with me?”

“Before you’ve had your coffee? That would just be mean.”

“It’s very mean,” Sam agreed. It was too early for this shit. Maybe he should make some coffee.

“Sorry,” Bucky said. “I just had all night to freak out about it. That’s why I’m functioning now.”

Sam was still trying to catch up. “You could’ve woken me up,” he said again.

“I didn’t want to,” Bucky said, still with that infuriating teasing smile.

Sam blinked. “Why—”

“God, Sam,” Bucky interrupted. “Do I have to spell it out for you?” He sat up in one fluid motion and leaned forward, and Sam had just enough time to think I’m still dreaming before he kissed him.

Sam made an involuntary noise, his hands moving on their own to grab his face. He tasted like chocolate.

Bucky pulled away first. He looked a little worried, tilting his head. “Okay?”

Sam snorted. “Yes, Buck, I think it’s okay.” He couldn’t help but add, “For the record, you would not have needed to spell it out for me like that if you had waited until I had my coffee.”

Bucky laughed. “I promise you I would’ve. If it’s taken you this long to figure out.”

“Don’t act like I’m the oblivious one,” Sam said, feeling the need to defend his honor. “You had no idea I liked you. And I promise it was for longer.”

“Was not.”

“Was too!”

“You know you actually have to show signs, Sammy. I’m not a mind reader.”

“Shut up.”

Bucky grinned. “Make me.”

Sam was about to do just that when his radio buzzed. “Wilson, do you copy?”

“I’m here,” he said. “Not eaten yet. Over.”

There was a pause on the other end. “Um. This is a little awkward, but. You’re actually good to come back. We found the guy.”

“Ask if it was Bigfoot,” Bucky said immediately.

Sam rolled his eyes. “Copy that. What was it?”

Another pause. “Well. It appears to be…there’s no other way to put it. This guy’s a werewolf. He turned himself in.”

“Oh my God,” Bucky said. “It was a full moon! That’s so obvious now.”

Sam grinned. “Still no proof of Bigfoot. Sorry, Buck.”

“Didn’t even get to fight it,” Bucky muttered. “So unfair.”

“Tell you what,” Sam said. “We can come back when it’s a little warmer, and actually find Bigfoot this time.”

“Not too warm, though.”

He rolled his eyes. “Not too warm,” he agreed, and let Bucky pull him back down into the covers.