Couch Surfing
https://archiveofourown.org/works/30803279
“The blankets are in the same closet. Top shelf.” Sarah paused in the hallway, tossing the instruction almost carelessly over her shoulder. She leaned against the wall for a moment, hefting the hamper higher into her grip.
“Here,” Sam seized a pile of bedding, trading his little sister for it. She accepted the armful, gratefully forking over the laundry.
“You know I can handle it, right?” She smiled, unable as always to simply accept help.
“Go handle him,” Sam nodded in the direction of the living room. “Since ya’ll are making eyes at each other.”
“Sam…” Sarah’s tone held more than a hint of a warning.
“Maybe go tuck him in. He’d like that,” Sam grinned, chuckling as his sister delivered a right hook into his bicep. “Ow…” he groused.
“You’re the one who brought him home,” Sarah pointed out. “Always dragging in strays, sick cats, hungry kids…”
“Look who’s talking,” Sam muttered.
“Runs in the blood I guess,” Sarah shrugged. “He seems nice enough. Sad.”
“He’s definitely sad.”
“Not nice?”
Sam snorted. “He acts like he’s not.”
“But he stayed all day to help with mama and daddy’s boat. And he brought you something.”
The case sat on Sam’s childhood bed, beckoning him to open it. Sam swallowed thickly. “Yeah, he did. He’s learning. Getting better.”
“It’s all we can do,” Sarah mused. “What was in the box?”
“I’ve got a guess,” Sam sucked at his teeth.
“It matches that shield in the living room?”
“Maybe.”
“The boys are going to want to see it.”
“I’m sure they will.”
“ I want to see it,” Sarah clarified.
Sam paused, willing himself to smile at his sister. “I’m sure you will.”
“You know,” she began the descent back down the long narrow hallway, her jean-clad leg bumping against Sam’s. When they were kids, they used to race up and down, first Sam dragging Sarah in their wagon, then on foot, vying to be the fastest. He couldn’t remember a moment where she wasn’t right there, keeping pace as though it were easy. “He’s a least got common sense.”
“Who?” Sam startled from his memory, turning to look at Sarah.
She rolled her eyes. “That World War hottie crashing on the couch.”
“Hottie, huh?” Sam copied her, nudging her with his shoulder.
“He’s got some sense,” she repeated. “He at least knows what I know.”
She paused, clearly waiting. Sam took the bait. “What do you both know?” He asked.
“That there’s no one on this planet more worthy of whatever is in that case,” Sarah said.
Words fled him as his throat tightened, emotion seizing him all at once. Sarah was undaunted. She leaned up, hugging him around the neck, swaying like she used to when they were little. She kissed his cheek, releasing him.
“Remember to use bleach on the whites,” she instructed, looking down at the laundry basket. “The boys have grass stains from hell, I swear.”
“I remember how to do laundry,” Sam chuckled. “Go take care of that boy on the couch.”
“I will,” Sarah grinned.
“You gonna give him a kiss too?” Sam teased.
“Maybe I will,” Sarah did a ridiculous little shimmy. “Maybe he doesn’t have to sleep on the couch.”
“Sarah---” a sharp shot of panic raced through him. Her laughter erased it.
“Relax,” she said. “I’m joking. Mostly.”
She left him stammering in the hallway, calling out in lilting tones to their guest. Sam moved downstairs to the laundry room, listening to the sounds of their conversation. Bucky was talking loudly, probably more for Sam’s benefit than anything else. Sam was happy to hear him sincerely thank his sister, and happier still when she bid Bucky goodnight. He’d just managed to separate the colors from the grass-stained whites when Bucky clunked down the steps as though he knew his way around.
“Thought you were sleeping,” Sam said, dumping his nephews’ clothing into the aging machine.
“Figured I’d help you out,” Bucky offered. “You know, since I’m invading your hospitality.”
Sam turned, taking in his friend. Bucky looked rumpled, exhausted, and more at peace than Sam had seen him since they’d first met. “You’re not invading anything,” he assured him. “Hand me that bottle of bleach.”
Bucky obeyed, standing by at Sam powered up that ancient machine. It shook as soon as the wash cycle started, vibrating to a familiar rhythm.
“You know,” Bucky started. “Things have gotten a lot easier since I was a kid. Laundry at least.”
Sam chuckled. “Some things,” he confirmed.
Bucky paused, looking away from the washing machine to Sam. “Thanks for this,” he said, worrying his lower lip between his teeth. “You don’t have to--”
“Don’t thank me yet,” Sam interrupted. “Breakfast is at 6. Then it’s back to work.”
“Alright,” Bucky nodded. They walked back towards the stairs, taking them two at a time in a row.
“Get some sleep, Buck,” Sam instructed, turning back towards the hallway.
Bucky lowered himself to the couch, lifting the stack of bedding and pillows. “You too, Sam. Tell Sarah I say ‘thanks’.”
“Tell her yourself,” Sam said. “Tomorrow.”
Bucky’s laughter chased him back to his bedroom. The Wakandan case still sat at the center of his bed, gleaming at him. He lifted it, considering opening it before abandoning the idea.
“Not yet,” he murmured to himself, moving the case to his dresser.
He laid down in his childhood bed, staring at the box in his darkened room. There was work ahead, work he was eager to do. Then he would open it.
Exhausted, Sam Wilson fell into a dreamless sleep.
