★this means goodbye★
summary: Bucky has to go, and Sam lets him, which cause them both to question whether their love deserves to be fought for.
★★★
The house was silent as day turned into night. Not a single breeze stirred through the trees, leaving the air heavy with stillness. The only interruption to the silence was the occasional hum of a passing car on the distant road. Sam, weary from a long weekend spent wrangling his nephews, relished this rare moment of quiet. The peaceful ambiance of the night wrapped around him like a comforting shroud. Nestled in the cocoon of his thoughts, he drifted into sleep, unaware of the impending storm that loomed on the horizon, not just in the skies above, but within the walls of his own home.
As the night advanced, a palpable tension brewed in the atmosphere, mirroring the darkening clouds that loomed ominously overhead. The distant growl of thunder echoed through the stillness, waiting to unleash its fury. Suddenly, a deafening crack shattered the silence, jolting Sam from his sleep with a start. The room was bathed in an ethereal glow as lightning streaked across the sky, casting stark shadows that danced wildly across the walls before fading.
Sam Wilson was not afraid of lightning or a little thunder, but he still shuddered under the quiet loneliness in the house. His eyes searched the room for a clock before it landed on his phone. It was only 2:34 A.M. Sam sank into the couch a little more.
Bucky wasn't due to arrive until tomorrow. Recently, he has found motivation to right his wrongs from when he was the Winter Soldier. He wanted to prove himself worthy to be Bucky Barnes again, someone to anyone. Sam let him go. He watched him walk away from the house almost every week with a backpack full of notebooks and a heart heavy, and there was nothing he could do. How could he stop him? This was Bucky's decision regardless of how much Sam was getting tired of watching him go and come back more and less like himself.
Raindrops began hitting the roof now with an increasing speed. Sam's gaze drifted from his phone to the ceiling, his heart sinking in tandem with the darkness that seemed to swallow him whole. The darkness seemed to stretch forever. It took all of his willpower to keep his eyes trained on the ceiling above him, thinking to himself, "One more night alone. Just one more." His mantra offered little comfort against the crushing silence.
Normally, something would always be there to distract Sam. Assignments had once been his salvation, a distraction from the emptiness that gnawed at his soul. But they'd grown scarce, and Sarah... well, Sarah prohibited him from working on the boat anymore this year. Now, he had nothing but the silence.
Thunder growled above, a fitting soundtrack for the storm brewing within him.
With a sigh, Sam pushed to his feet. His joints protested a painful reminder that he wasn't as spry as he used to be. All those years of letting AJ and Cass climb all over him were catching up. But how could he deny them? They adored their "Superhero Uncle," their giggles still ringing in his ears. He smiled to himself at the memory of them running through the house with the shield - their little hands slipping off the edges as they giggled excitedly about whatever new game they created with it. Their joy-filled voices carried throughout the house and into Sam's ear as he worked in the kitchen. Though sometimes, their tiny voices would quiver as they asked for Buck... and Sam's lies would feel like ash in his mouth.
He checked the locked doors twice and made sure the lights were off. Afterward, he climbed the stairs and stopped short of the top when he heard a thump. His eyebrows furrowed and his muscles tensed at the idea of someone breaking in. But there was no sound following the thud, so he relaxed for a second before walking back downstairs. The shield shined in the corner of his eye, but he didn't move toward it. Instead, he proceeded to walk around the house again until he stopped at the kitchen.
A figure lingered by the backdoor, their back turned to Sam. Yet in an instant, Sam knew. It was the set of those shoulders. Only one person carried himself with that quiet confidence... that quiet arrogance. Bucky. He was shuffling with something, muttering under his breath a frustration. His usual grace deserting him.
It had been a month since Sam had last seen him, and he had missed him truly, but something else was building in him now. It was hot with anger and cool with acceptance. He couldn't call this emotion, and he didn't want to. It was simply too big and too confusing for him to fully comprehend. But it was there nevertheless, simmering beneath the surface. It made Sam feel strange, and yet at peace.
Sam stepped towards Bucky quietly. He cleared his throat, causing Bucky to turn quickly. Sam took all of him in.
A month had passed. Bucky's hair was longer than Sam remembered. More wild and unruly. His eyes had lost the soft, warm gaze they once held, replaced instead by a hard, blue stare. The bags beneath his eyes grew darker, his skin paler than it had ever been. He wore a plain grey t-shirt tucked into a pair of jeans, the cuffs rolled up halfway down his forearms. He stared at Sam with an intensity that made his blood boil. The tension between them was thick enough that the two men felt it pressing in on them as they stood face to face, glaring at each other. Bucky broke the eye contact first. Sam spoke first.
"I didn't hear you come in." Sam wanted to say more, but these days he knew one wrong word would set them off on another argument. That's not what he wanted, and looking at Bucky, that's not what he needed.
"You were asleep. Didn't want to wake you." Bucky's voice was hoarse. A flash of concern shot through Sam. Something isn't right, he thought. Sam said nothing and continued staring at him. His mind wandered, remembering when he and Bucky had been inseparable, how Bucky always looked out for him, even if he didn't have to. Even now, Sam couldn't quite believe how far they'd gotten. How different they are now.
"That hasn't stopped you before," He chuckled, but it came across like he was masking a sharp pain cutting through him, "Hasn't it?"
Bucky finally turned around to Sam, and he could see what he was doing. In his right hand, he held a duffle bag and his truck keys. Sam watched as Bucky sat the back on the floor and stuffed the keys in his pocket. Lightening flashed through the house, illuminating his profile. It left his features harsh and angular. As Sam stared at him, he tried not to notice how Bucky's lips were thinned, his expression tense. He tried not to notice how Bucky's jaw clenched, how he balled his fist tightly.
"Things change, Sam," Bucky murmured, the words barely audible over the pounding of the rain. He let out a heavy sigh, his chest deflating as if he'd surrendered a part of himself. Slowly, he turned to face Sam, his gaze no longer a vacant stare. This time, there was finally an emotion behind those eyes. Sadness. It swirled in their depths, a stormy blue that mirrored the tempest raging outside. It was a grief so profound it seemed to pull Sam in, leaving him a shadow of the man he once knew.
For a moment, they stared at each other, the air crackling with unspoken words, with all the questions Sam had been too afraid to ask. Then Bucky's face shut down, his mask slipping back into place like a slap in the face.
"What else has changed, Buck?" Sam's tone was soft but forceful.
Bucky blinked twice and turned away, shaking his head. The movement was sharp, a silent admission of all that had been lost. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a folded sheet of paper, and laid it on the counter. The action was weighted, a tangible representation of the chasm that now divided them. The storm was closing in on them, the air thick with anticipation.
"I got offered to do something, and I'm taking it." The words were flat, devoid of the excitement that usually accompanied new opportunities. They hung in the air, a stark reminder that Bucky was truly moving on, leaving Sam behind. He wasn't going to run away or yell at him. Silence followed in its wake, but it wasn't long before a small nod escaped Sam, "That's it? Just something?"
"I was asked to join a team. Something the President is doing," Bucky admitted, "You know, protecting our freedom and all that." His answer sounded forced to Sam, and his face darkened.
"Right..." There was so much more to it, Sam knew that. "But, we're a team too. Why not just work with me? You know, like how we used to and all that?" Sam mocked Bucky's tone at the end. He wanted Bucky to smile and shrug like usual, but there was nothing. Nothing but a blank look and a distant, tired expression as his hand gripped the edge of the counter tighter.
“I can do some real good, save lives, fix my reputation as the Winter Soldier.” Bucky replied coldly, “If people see that I do good, then I will be good."
His words echoed in Sam's mind, reminding him that this was something he couldn't stop. Years and years ago, he feared this every moment. He pushed the feeling down and convinced himself that what he and Bucky had was more than just a temporary situation. That this "team" was more like love. Sam closed his eyes briefly, forcing himself to breathe deeply. When he opened them again, Bucky was staring down at his feet.
For once, Sam did nothing. He waited patiently, allowing the silence to stretch on for far too long, each second a tiny knife twisting in his heart. Then, like all emotion he felt in this moment had left his body, he mumbled, "Fine," and turned to leave.
"Fine? What? No speech on how I don't have to" Bucky followed after Sam. His heavy footsteps mimic the thunder as they end up in the living room.
"James," The name felt foreign on Sam's tongue, "I've told you countless times that you need to do what's best for you. You need to heal in the ways you think will be best. If you feel like this is something you have to do, why would I try to stop it?"
“It’s not something I have to do, it’s something I want to do.” Bucky's voice was firm, but Sam could hear the faintest tremble beneath the surface.
Sam shook his head slowly, "There's a difference between wanting something and doing something to get it, Bucky. You should know that." His eyes locked with Bucky's, hoping that Bucky understood the point. That Bucky understood what he meant. He waited, watching as Bucky searched his eyes for any sign of hesitance. For any sign of doubt. There wasn't.
Bucky cocked his head, "Is there something you want to say to me?"
"When do you leave?" The question hung in the air. The room fell still again, save for the sound of rain pouring down onto the roof. Sam took a deep breath and laughed, "Tonight, huh? That's what you were doing when I walked up to you. Leaving?"
Bucky replied with a tone so soft it was almost comforting, "I thought it would be better if I didn't tell you."
The anger was boiling within Sam, threatening to erupt at any moment, and the only thing stopping him from letting loose was the knowledge that if he did, he would never forgive himself. Not for this.
So instead, he swallowed the burning desire inside him and said, "Yeah because thinking you were dead in a ditch somewhere would be a lot better." He smiled, widenly, "Awesome, well, I just explained to our nephews that their Uncle Bucky won't be around as much anymore. He just left in the middle of the night without saying goodbye." Sam let out a mocking laugh. He felt sick to his stomach.
"Can you at least try to fight for me to stay? It would be nice to know the love of my life car-"
"Stop."
It was quick, and it was harsh, but it needed to be down. Buck's mouth froze open as his sentence died away. He looked at Sam and saw nothing but pure anger, directed straight at him. He could barely make out the outline of his form through the dim light streaming in from the window.
"Don't say that," He whispered, his voice cracking. "You came to me with your mind already made up. Hell, you were planning on just leaving without me knowing. Realistically, is there anything I could've said that would make you change your mind?"
Bucky opened his mouth, ready to give his response, but nothing came out. He had thought about it a million times since the day he left, but nothing ever seemed to come out right. Sam had a point; there was nothing he could say to make Buck want to put down the bag and crawl into bed with him, let his bones get familiar with him again. And truthfully, it was tempting. To lay next to Sam one more time, to listen to him talk until dawn breaks. But Sam wouldn't understand what he was going through. He'd say that they should just go back to being friends, that he would check up on him and the boys now and then, but it didn't seem right. Nothing did anymore.
The storm was above them now, pouring down on the house. It made anything else have an eerie hum and glow to it, but neither of them was caring about it now. The thunder was just a whisper to them as their hearts pounded against the frames of their chests.
“It doesn’t matter what I say at this point because, at the end of the day, it’s your choice," Sam's voice was laced with weary resignation as he stepped back from Bucky, trying to distance himself not just physically but emotionally from the hurt that this moment inflicted. "Even though this sounds less like a choice and more like a job because you keep saying it’s something you have to do.”
He paused, his gaze wandering through the dimly lit house. The shadows seemed deeper, each corner a repository for whispered memories and a shared past that now felt as if it were slipping through his fingers like grains of sand. The walls, once vibrant with laughter and warmth, now seemed to echo with a poignant silence, and everything was muted by a heavy veil of gloom.
Rain tapped insistently at the windows, a rhythm that seemed to synchronize with Sam’s growing sense of isolation. He looked back at Bucky, searching his face for the friend he once knew, for any sign of the man who had stood by his side through countless battles. But all he saw now was a stranger masked in familiar features, someone whose soul was packed away in that duffle bag, ready to walk out the door.
"Sammy, I'm sorry..."
Sam swallowed hard, his throat tight with emotion. The silence that settled between them was thick, charged with the unsaid words and unshed tears. Finally, he spoke, his voice barely a whisper against the howl of the wind outside.
"You know where I stand, Buck. You always have and will. I'm not going to force you to stay when you don't want to," He turned to open the front door. Bucky followed suit with his eyes straight ahead. "Maybe you need to figure this out on your own, and maybe I need to learn how to let go." A part of Sam was afraid that he'd start crying in front of him, but he pushed the feeling away. He had no right to cry over him. This was the price of loving someone.
Bucky flinched as if the words were physical blows. He looked like he wanted to argue, to fight for something that perhaps neither of them fully understood anymore. But instead, he just nodded, his jaw clenched against the sorrow that threatened to overwhelm him.
"Yeah. Maybe," he whispered back, the weight of those words sinking like stones into the growing distance between them. "I'm doing what's right, you know."
"Who are you trying to convince: me or you?" Sam asked,
"See you around, Sam."
Sam watched Bucky turn away, his silhouette framed against the flickering light of the storm outside. The door closed.
Sam's knees felt weak, and he sank onto the couch, his eyes never leaving the door. His chest ached, a physical manifestation of the raw, tearing grief at having let go, not just of Bucky, but of a part of himself.
The storm outside raged on, uncaring and relentless, mirroring the storm within him. At this moment, Sam realized the depth of his isolation. The man he had trusted with his life, the friend he had shared his soul with, his love was gone—perhaps forever. And in his wake, he left a silence so profound that Sam wondered if he would ever find the sound something else enjoyable again.
The house, once a sanctuary of brotherhood and shared secrets, now felt like an empty stage after the lights had gone out, the audience long gone. Sam sat alone, the weight of finality settling around him like a shroud. In the deafening quiet that followed, all he could hear was the echo of a door closing, sealing away the past, leaving him adrift in a sea of unshed tears and unspoken regrets.
★★★
