A/N - This is just a quick, shippy little Fourth of July fic - it'll be two chapters. Trigger warning for some substance use and vomiting.

Bucky had one very noticeable hand, and it was not his right one. Normally, this wasn't any sort of problem, especially in Sam's hometown of Delacroix, where he felt completely comfortable showing off his metal limb. However, it was a bit of a problem right now - his brand new engagement ring was on his right hand, and no one was noticing.

Bucky didn't like attention very much. But Sam's hometown was one of the few places he felt completely safe, and also one of the places where he could get the proper amount of admiration and praise for landing Sam. So he was ready for some attention now, please. And not just from Sarah, who had oohed and aahed over the ring when she'd first seen it in person, but also had heard about the engagement pretty much as soon as it happened and so had already given them plenty of attention for it.

"Some of the kids are playing football over there, if you wanna watch," Sam said, nudging Bucky lightly. They were making an appearance at the annual Delacroix Fourth of July Block Party/Barbecue, not as Captain America and the Winter Soldier, but simply as Bucky and Sam. Bucky couldn't remember the last time he had seen Sam so relaxed. It was also about 1pm, and he had already had two beers pushed into his hand by old friends, which may have possibly had something to do with it.

"Go on ahead," Bucky said. "They always ask me to play, and that...you know, it won't work."

That was true - it constantly disappointed the children that Bucky would never play sports with them, he was just too strong. But telling Sam to go watch was also code. It meant that Bucky was feeling fine at this party, safe and calm, and Sam didn't have to spend the whole party glued to Bucky's side, looking out for exit routes.

Sam gave him a kiss on the cheek, and then left to watch the kids with some of his old high school buddies. Bucky looked around, suddenly a little nervous - everything else aside, it was hard for him to know what to do at parties, if the options included something aside from lurking awkwardly.

"Hey!" someone said from behind him. He turned - it was an older man Bucky had met before, he thought possibly one of Sam's old teachers. "Looks like Cap finally popped the question, huh? That's a wedding ring, right?"

Bucky beamed, and held out his hand to show off the ring.

"Well, damn!" the man said. "I know a few people who would be excited to hear that. Come on with me now, I'll help you show it off."

And Bucky, in a move that would have shocked Steve and impressed Sam, followed him.

Bucky could tell that Sarah was a little tipsy, which was funny. Bucky didn't think he'd ever seen her tipsy before. But everyone at this party seemed a little tipsy by this point, including, from what Bucky could tell by a few glimpses he'd gotten over the past hour, Sam himself. That meant he was enjoying himself, at least, and that made Bucky very happy.

Sarah jabbed a finger into Bucky's chest. "You know, I knew you were gonna get married. Or...or something. Right from the first second he met you. Before you even went on your "Flag-Smasher-around-the-world adventure." I knew from the first minute."

"Really." Bucky raised an eyebrow and took a sip of the beer that one of Sam's college friends had insisted he take. Everyone seemed very insistent that Bucky should get drunk as well, which was simply not going to happen. It wasn't necessarily that Bucky didn't feel comfortable, more that he thought it would be awfully rude. In order to even get a buzz going, Bucky was pretty sure he'd have to pretty much drink the party dry, and that simply didn't seem like a polite thing for a guest to do.

"I did," Sarah insisted. "You know, after the Blip, when Sam moved back here? It was all 'Bucky this' and 'Bucky that' and 'Bucky, you know, the guy who ripped the steering wheel out of my car that time?' and 'ugh, Bucky's ignoring my texts,' and then that big smile of his and 'oh, it's just Bucky being a bitch'... It was cute, how he thought he was being subtle."

Bucky grinned. He had not known that, mostly because in his opinion, Sam had been far too subtle before they began dating. Apparently, that was just him.

"He had it bad for you from day one," Sarah said, then frowned as something in the background caught her eye. Bucky turned, finding Sam a little ways off, surrounded by a group of men about his own age and laughing.

Bucky hadn't quite realized how controlled Sam usually looked in public until he saw him like, unworried and fully relaxed for the first time in what now seemed like quite a while. That...made sense, now that Bucky thought about it. Sam was careful to always present himself as collected, thoughtful, and reasonable in the public eye. This didn't seem like it should be that difficult, seeing as how he was the most collected, thoughtful, and reasonable man Bucky had ever met. Still, Bucky knew that it was something Sam thought about, but here, he didn't have to. This was his hometown, and everyone was on his side.

"Does he look...drunk...to you?" Sarah asked, voice suddenly sharp and far more sober-sounding.

Bucky shrugged, watching Sam smile and take another drink of his beer. "Maybe a little buzzed. Does it matter?"

"No," Sarah said slowly, sounding like it very much might matter. "I just don't think I've ever seen my brother drunk. Is…umm, is he...is that okay?"

Bucky shrugged again. "He never really gets to do this."

"They don't have parties in New York City?"

Bucky shifted, ever so slightly embarrassed. "Well, they do, but I...tend to dislike people. Especially loud people. Who want to talk to me. At parties. So Sam doesn't get to relax, exactly, it's more watching me to make sure that I'm not about to break something."

"But not here," Sarah said. She wasn't asking, just reaffirming what she already knew from many past visits. Even before Bucky and Sam had dated, before Sam had even picked up the shield, Bucky felt more at home in Delacroix with the Wilsons than he had anywhere else in the past 80 years.

"Not here," Bucky agreed.

"So you think he's okay?"

"I think he's okay," Bucky reaffirmed. "I think everyone and their mother is trying to get Captain America to drink a beer with them, so he'll probably have a hell of a hangover in the morning. But he's okay."

"Good."

Bucky was talking to Jim, who was Sam's cousin or something. He had arrived late to the party, and immediately been brought over to Bucky by a swarm of excited Wilsons. Bucky had shown off the ring, told the story of the proposal (it had been in a park, at sunset, and an embarrassing amount of tears had been involved), and briefly tried to locate Sam. He still seemed to be off with some of his friends from high school. He seemed to have a beer in hand every time Bucky caught a glimpse of him, and Bucky hoped vaguely that they weren't all different beers.

"So when's the big day?" Jim asked.

Bucky winced - they hadn't talked too much about when they wanted the wedding. The planning of such an important event was a little overwhelming to Bucky. And anyways, it hadn't been that long since Sam and Bucky had gone public with their relationship, and they both wanted at least another or month or two for things to settle down until they really started planning. Ever since they had gone public, the presence of the media in their daily lives had been a constant and oppressive force, even more so than when Sam was just Captain America, and Bucky did not want that for their wedding.

"We haven't talked about it too much yet, but probably some time in-"

Bucky was cut off by the feeling of an arm being slung around his shoulder. Even aside from the fact that there was only one person in the world who would dare touch Bucky in such a familiar way, Bucky knew the weight of Sam's arm, how far apart Sam's fingers were, how high up on his back the arm would come, based on Sam's height.

"Sam," Bucky said, turning slightly to face him without shaking Sam off. "How are you doing?"

Sam leaned his head into Bucky's shoulder briefly by way of greeting, his fuzzy hair tickling the side of Bucky's neck.

"How are you doing?" Sam asked. "This party...it's kind of…."

Sam was drunk - that was obvious from the loose way he was standing, the way he was stumbling over his words. He even smelled like alcohol. Bucky looked at him again, frowning slightly as he tried to determine just how drunk Sam was.

Sam frowned too, then gently poked Bucky on his forehead, in between the eyebrows. This was something Sam liked to do a lot, but he did it when they were alone, and it was usually quick and gentle, not slightly wobbly.

"There it is," Sam said. "You're frowning. You good?"

Bucky opened his mouth to tell Sam that he was frowning because he hadn't realized that Sam was actually drunk (at 4pm, in public), but Sam didn't seem to notice. He turned away from Bucky and gave Jim a loose smile.

"Sometimes Buck gets nervous at parties," Sam informed his cousin - awfully loudly, in Bucky's opinion. Bucky could feel color start to rise in his cheeks. He'd been fine talking about it with Sarah, since she knew that already, but he didn't want Sam's family to think that he was uncomfortable around them, or that Sam's future husband was an antisocial mess. At this point, he wasn't sure how he could even set the record straight, since Jim would probably just assume that Bucky was trying to save face.

As it turned out, he didn't have to. Jim just laughed, shaking his head. "Not at our parties. He's just fine, right, Bucky?"

Bucky smiled, and he figured if Jim had been able to tell that he really wasn't nervous, he'd also be able to tell that the smile was genuine.

"I really am fine, Sam," Bucky said, turning back to his fiance, who was drinking beer again. Bucky didn't even know where he'd gotten it - it seemed to have just appeared suddenly. "Are you…?"

He trailed off. Unlike Sam, he was sober, and wasn't planning on publicly embarrassing his fiance. He didn't really want to ask Sam if he was fine, especially not in front of Jim. Everyone else seemed to think that Sam was behaving perfectly normally, and if Bucky pointed out that he wasn't, it would just draw everyone's notice. Maybe they were all just pretending that Sam getting trashed at a block party was an everyday occurrence. Besides, Bucky really did want Sam to be able to relax.

"Am I what?" Sam asked. So he was at least sober enough to track a conversation, which had to be a good sign.

"Are you…having fun?" Bucky finished, a little half-heartedly.

"Yep," Sam said, beaming. "Umm, let me know if you aren't, though. I'll be-" he waved his hand vaguely at the crowd of people on the lawn- "around."

Bucky was saved from having to answer this by the arrival of Sarah.

"Stop bothering Bucky," Sarah said firmly.

"I'm not botherin' him," Sam said, sounding sulky. "And anyways, I was just about to leave him alone."

"Good. I'm taking you to get some food or something. You need it."

"Bye, Bucky," Sam said, sounding optimistic again.

"Bye, Sam."

Sam was standing in line for either a hot dog or a hamburger, he couldn't remember which. There were a lot of grills, and a lot of people grilling, but there were even more people who wanted food. The line was pretty long.

Sarah was waiting with him. She was also the one who was making him eat in the first place. Sam hadn't eaten anything since breakfast, which would normally be a nonstarter. But he wasn't particularly hungry today. Possibly because of all the beer.

"Did you have a drink with everyone in Delacroix?" Sarah asked him.

"Um, no," Sam said defensively. "Not everyone. Just...uh, a couple of my high school buddies, some of our neighbors, my coach, the guy who fixed my car that one time, my old babysitter-"

"That's probably too many drinks, Sam. You need to be careful."

"It's not like I did it on purpose," Sam said. He knew he sounded frustrated, possibly to the point of sounding mad, but he couldn't help it. "Everyone kept asking. Everyone wants to have a drink with Captain America. Take a picture with him."

"Sam-"

"Or…," Sam hesitated, his eyebrows drawing together as he tried to find the words to explain something that his drunken brain found relatively complex. "Not Captain America. Sam Wilson. Me. It's been a really long time since so many people wanted to hang out with just regular old Sam Wilson."

Sarah's face softened. "I know. I know it's nice to be back here - Bucky loves it too. But you just...you need to be careful, Sam. I know you don't want to be Captain America today, but it's...you can't just turn that part of yourself off. If it got out that you were trashed at a party-"

"I'm not," Sam snapped, and he could hear his voice rise in frustration. Even though he was, in fact, pretty drunk, he knew that yelling at his sister wasn't fair, and it wasn't what he wanted to be doing. And she was kinda, sorta, maybe right, at least about him being kinda, sorta, maybe trashed at a party.

"Or, well, I mean it's...it's okay," Sam said, a little confusedly. He wanted Sarah to stop looking at him the way she was, half-worried and half-disappointed. Like he was the younger sibling, like she had to tell him what to do. He...he wanted her to see that he wasn't being irresponsible, not exactly, and he wasn't even mad at her, he was just upset that she had a point.

"It's not going to be a problem," Sam finally finished. "Everyone here likes me. I'm from here. They're not gonna...I dunno, be filming, or...or judging me. Just...everyone in town wants to hang out. Well. Not the homophobic ones, but...they aren't here."

His laugh sounded a bit hollow, even to him. He'd known what he and Bucky were in for when they went public with their relationship, but that didn't mean that the absentees from the annual block party hadn't hurt a little. What was almost worse was not knowing - maybe his fourth grade teacher was out of town visiting family for the holiday, or maybe she was homophobic and silently seething in her house. There wasn't really a graceful way to ask things like that, even of his family.

But, that wasn't what Sam was focusing on. He was focusing on the fact that most of the town was here, most of his old friends didn't seem to care who the hell he was dating, and he was feeling relaxed for the first time in what seemed like forever.

"I just mean it's fine," Sam explained to Sarah again. "Remember Teddy? He threw up off the pier twenty minutes ago. I'm not puking anywhere."

Sarah sighed. "If you see any cameras, act sober." She reached over, plucking the beer Sam was carrying out of his hand and replacing it with a cup of water and a plate of food. Sam didn't protest. He'd been mostly done with it anyway, and water was probably a smart idea. At least a little water.

"Eat," Sarah said firmly.

"I'm eating, I'm eating," Sam grumbled, turning to wave at some sort of second or third cousin, who immediately made a beeline towards them. Sarah sighed again and waved goodbye as Sam was swept away into the crowd.

It was a lot later, both in time and beers, that he saw Bucky again. Sam was back to having a Good Time. He'd eaten Sarah's food - probably - and also drank a few of his friends' beers - definitely. Sam couldn't remember why he'd ever been worried, the sun was going down and the weather was cooler, and now, Bucky was here. Basically, things couldn't be better.

"Bucky! Hey, guess what?" Sam caught Bucky's hand in his own, after taking only one or two (or three, maybe) attempts.

Bucky's smile shifted into a frown, and Sam looked around, trying to figure out what was making Bucky unhappy.

"What?" Bucky said dubiously.

At first, Sam couldn't figure out what Bucky was talking about. Then he remembered he had asked him a question - "guess what?" Unfortunately, Sam could not remember what he had intended for Bucky to guess. And he was pretty drunk, so he wasn't sure he would be able to remember.

"Um, I forget," Sam said, leaning into Bucky slightly. Bucky wouldn't care that he'd forgotten.

Except, it seemed that Bucky did. He pulled away slightly. "You're pretty drunk," he said.

Sam considered. He was pretty drunk. But for Bucky to be calling him out on it, that...that was big.

Sam was pretty sure he wasn't being a problem. Most of the other people at the party were drunk too. It wasn't like he'd been pounding liquor alone in a corner all night, unlike someone he could mention tended to do at parties. Everyone just wanted to have a drink with him. It wasn't Sam's fault that everyone had somehow turned into half of his hometown.

"Maybe," Sam finally answered with a shrug. He hiccuped, and reeled back into Bucky.

"I think we should go home. Back to Sarah's, I mean. You need some rest, and some water. You're going to feel like shit tomorrow."

"You're going to feel like shit tomorrow," Sam mumbled. He did not want to go home.

"Sam-"

"The fireworks are going to start in…," Sam looked around, trying to judge the time by the color of the sky, "twenty minutes. I want to watch the fireworks."

Bucky sighed. "They're not starting for another hour. You have no idea what time it is."

"Doesn't matter," Sam said stubbornly.

"Just…." Bucky hesitated. "Let's go somewhere private. Just for a few minutes. Drink a little bit of water, and then we can come back here."

Sam frowned.

"Please?" Bucky asked.

Sam shrugged. "I guess." He didn't really want to be leaving the party and going somewhere private with Bucky, but he supposed he could use the water. And the sitting. The ground was starting to sway slightly underneath his feet, and actually sitting down seemed like it would be significantly more stable than just leaning on Bucky.

Bucky tugged at Sam's hand, leading Sam away from the mass of people. They passed a few picnic benches, and Sam eyed them longingly. Now that he was walking instead of just standing, he wanted to be sitting down even more.

"Where are we going?" Sam whined. It seemed like they had been walking for a pretty long time - the sounds of the party were way behind them. They had passed tons of perfectly good places to sit, and Bucky hadn't stopped at any of them.

"Home," Bucky said simply. He grinned sheepishly, just the barest outlines of the expression visible in the darkness. "Sorry, Sam, I tricked ya a little. But you'll thank me tomorrow. I-"

Bucky's words finally filtered through Sam's brain, and he stopped dead, planting his feet. "We're going home?"

"Trust me, it's for the best," Bucky said, still smiling. Didn't he understand that this was no smiling matter? Sam did not want to go home, and he'd made that perfectly clear.

"No," Sam insisted, pulling his hand away and turning back towards the people and the party, the party where he was actually having fun and getting to be himself. "I'm going back."

Bucky's hand closed on his wrist, and before Sam knew what was happening, Super Soldier strength was spinning him back towards Bucky, his momentum making him wobble and fall into Bucky's chest. Bucky caught him and laughed, and usually Bucky's arm around him felt good but Sam was not having it right now.

"Let go of me," Sam snapped, pushing ineffectually at Bucky's chest. If Bucky really wanted to keep hold of him he'd be easily able to, and there wouldn't be anything Sam could do about it.

But Bucky let him go, looking a bit hurt, and Sam felt almost bad for a second, before Bucky started talking again.

"Sam, we can't go back. And you know that, or at least-"

"I'm having fun," Sam repeated, louder this time. Had Bucky gone deaf, or had he just decided that his personal mission was to ruin Sam's night? "I'm relaxed. I'm never relaxed! I never just get to be myself. Sam Wilson."

Bucky sighed, suddenly looking very sad. "Sam, darlin'... You can't."

Sam didn't know why he chose to listen this time, rather than all the other times throughout the party Sarah and Bucky had said something similar. Maybe it was that they were alone, away from the party, or maybe it was that Bucky had sounded sad over angry, or maybe it was that out of everyone else, Bucky was the one that likely felt the public pressure just as much as Sam did.

Whatever the reasoning, the party suddenly seemed a lifetime away, and the responsibilities Sam had managed to compartmentalize for the past few hours crowded back into his mind, threatening to suffocate him.

Sam realized that he was now sitting on the ground. He thought he'd been standing, before. This was probably for the best - Sam didn't think his legs were going to work too well under the crushing weight of the overly complex thoughts and feelings now clamoring for his attention.

"Fuck," he mumbled, then put his head in his hands.