Bucky shook his head, blinking a few times to make sure that he was following the situation right. Sam had gone from confused, to angry, to apparently despondent in almost the blink of an eye. Bucky had just had time to realize that Sam was ready for a fight when the moment passed, and now Sam was sitting disconsolate on the ground, and Bucky had no idea why he was so upset.

But the why behind what was happening didn't really matter so much, not right now. Sam was upset, and he was drunk enough that it was Bucky's job to fix it. Bucky eased himself to the ground. Normally, he would wrap an arm around Sam, but he thought there was a chance Sam was still a little pissed at him and so he wasn't sure that that would help. Instead, he bumped his shoulder gently against Sam's, just reminding him that he was still there.

They sat in silence like that for a moment.

"What's up?" Bucky finally asked.

"Nothing," Sam said petulantly.

"Sam-"

But Sam seemed to be protesting mostly just for show - it was clear he really did want to talk about whatever was bothering him. He sighed heavily, looking down at his feet. "It's just...a lot of pressure. Everything, you know. Even now, when I'm Sam Wilson, I'm still...Captain America. And the media is always on my back, and everyone is always expecting things from me, and I have to be ready to go at a moment's notice…."

"More than when you were Falcon?"

"Yeah. When I was Falcon...I was recognized sometimes, but it was fun. It was like a choice. This...everywhere I go, everyone I see knows who I am. And they usually have something to say about it. And there's no escaping it. There's no breaks."

Sam hesitated for a second. Bucky was silent, waiting for him to finish.

"I'm safe here," Sam said finally. "And I just thought I could...turn it off for a day."

"I think we need to talk about this tomorrow," Bucky said. "Really talk about it, and try to figure out how to fix it. Obviously we can't make you less recognizable, but you...shouldn't need to be feeling this way. And that's something we can only figure out when you're not drunk off your ass."

Sam sighed sadly.

"What?"

"I won't talk about it tomorrow," Sam said. "My...you know, I'm down to talk about things right now. 'M drunk. But I'm not going to wanna talk about this."

"I'll make you," Bucky said.

Sam looked at Bucky like Bucky had just offered to die for him. "Really? You would do that for me?"

"Yes?" Bucky said hesitantly. "I can bring up this conversation, and make you talk about your feelings when you're sober?"

"Do you promise?" Sam asked fervently. "I will not bring it up when I'm sober."

Bucky smiled a little. "Yes, Sam. I promise."

Bucky realized, to his horror, that Sam was tearing up a little. He seemed too drunk to be embarrassed. Possibly, he was too drunk to even notice.

"Hey, none of that," Bucky said. This time, he did wrap an arm around Sam, squeezing him gently.

"It's just-"

"We'll figure it out tomorrow, okay? Right now, I'm going to distract you."

Bucky stood, and then scooped up Sam in almost the same motion. Sam got tired of the fact that he could be carried by Bucky without Bucky even needing to strain, but Bucky never did. It could be hit or miss to pick Sam up when he wasn't badly injured, but in this case, Sam seemed to need the support. He rested his head against Bucky's chest.

"Are you distracted?" Bucky asked.

"I guess yeah," Sam said softly.

"Good." Bucky readjusted Sam slightly, then leaned down for a kiss. Sam relaxed into him, looping an arm around Bucky's neck and reaching up to meet him. Bucky could feel Sam's smile against his lips, and when he pulled back, Sam was looking much happier.

"Are you distracted now?" Bucky asked innocently.

"Definitely," Sam answered, leaning his forehead against Bucky's neck.

Bucky started walking the short distance back to Sarah's house, slightly surprised when Sam didn't demand to be let down. It was probably for the best, considering that when Sam had been walking under his own power it had been more of a stumbling weave, but still - it meant that Sam had either recognized how drunk he was (unlikely), or he was just much more willing to be taken care of than usual. Whichever it was, Bucky was happy to get the chance to baby Sam a little.

They were a few minutes away from Sarah's house when Bucky felt Sam stiffen slightly in his arms, and his breath started coming faster against Bucky's neck.

"Something wrong?" Bucky asked.

"Think I'm gonna throw up," Sam mumbled. He did not move away from Bucky's neck.

"I'm not surprised," Bucky said sadly. "You're trashed, baby."

Sam groaned. "Not having fun," he whispered.

"We're almost home," Bucky told him, and began walking faster. He loved Sam, and he'd somewhat expected this to happen, but that didn't mean he was ready for his fiance to throw up all over him. Luckily, Sam still seemed to be in the quiet gulping pre-puking stage, and they really were almost home. "Just...hang on, huh?"

Sam had been having fun, he thought, up until very recently. Then, he remembered the beginnings of a fight with Bucky, a vague and embarrassed blur of tears, and now being carried. At first, that had been fun too, in a different way. But now he felt like he was going to puke, he was already starting to regret the day he'd had, and any sort of fun he'd been having was far behind him.

Bucky reached the door and did something complicated and impressive with juggling Sam and opening the door at the same time. Sam wondered if he should maybe have Bucky stop carrying him and start walking, but he honestly thought that at this point, Bucky had a better chance of getting him to the bathroom before he puked than he did.

Bucky carried him directly into the bathroom and deposited him on the floor. Sam closed his eyes, the bright lights suddenly agonizing after the dusk light outside.

"Ouch," he said mildly. Then he coughed a little, wincing when that made his mouth taste sour.

"Alright, come on, get up," Bucky said, grabbing his shoulders and lifting him over the toilet. "This isn't your bathroom, you can't make a mess-"

Sam nodded unhappily, reaching out blindly for something stable to hold onto as the world tilted violently around him.

Bucky started rubbing the space between Sam's shoulder blades as Sam threw up a mouthful of beer. He groaned weakly at the taste.

"You're okay," Bucky said gently. "Do you feel a little better?"

Sam shook his head. "Not yet," he muttered. "May...we may have to move into the bathroom."

"In that case, it could probably use a little remodeling," Bucky said, his hand not leaving Sam's back. "Maybe a bed...I feel like that's an important part of any home. Maybe a-"

Bucky was interrupted by the sound of the door opening. Sam's stomach chose that moment to give an unpleasant twist, and he hiccuped into the toilet. "We expecting someone?" he managed when he was done.

"Sam?" a voice said from outside the bathroom. It was Sarah. "Bucky? Is that you?"

"Don't let her come in," Sam said weakly. It was bad enough to make Bucky deal with him when he was like this. The last thing he wanted to do was inflict himself on Sarah.

"Alright," Bucky said gently. "I'm just gonna go talk to her. Stay...stay here."

"Couldn't move if I tried."

Sam didn't quite feel comfortable looking away from the toilet just yet, but he heard Bucly get up from behind him, and then the soft sound of the door opening.

"Are you done with the party?" Bucky asked. It sounded like he was just outside the bathroom.

"No. Just grabbing jackets for AJ and Cass. They didn't realize how cold it would get before the fireworks. Is he-"

"He'll be fine," Bucly said firmly.

"Just drank too much?"

"Just drank too much."

"Do you need any help?"

"I think I've got it taken care of. He mostly just needs sleep, I think."

Sam thought what he really mostly needed was a time machine, but that didn't exactly seem to be in the cards.

"Well...there's gatorade in the fridge, if you need any."

"Thank you."

There was a moment of silence, which Sam spent mostly trying very hard not to puke again, and then Bucky spoke.

"This might...if you could just never mention this, pretend it didn't happen, that...might be for the best."

Sam heard Sarah laugh. "You got it, Bucky." A little louder, "Feel better, Sam!"

Sam missed the sound of her retreating footsteps. He had started vomiting again. The door opened, and then Bucky was behind him, rubbing his back again.

"'M sorry," Sam mumbled, around another mouthful of bile. He spat into the toilet, then rested his head on his arm. He didn't sit up, not yet.

"It's okay," Bucky said lightly, switching to rubbing his shoulders in gentle, circular motions. "Don't sweat it."

"Made you miss the fireworks," Sam said into the toilet. "...and the party. You had t'leave."

Bucky laughed at that, and Sam was halfway to being offended when Bucky spoke. "Sounds like you're forgetting all the times I made you leave a party. Don't you know who you're talking to? I hate parties."

Sam relaxed into Bucky's hand. Even as drunk as he was, he was pretty sure that Bucky was just trying to make him feel better. Bucky might hate most parties, but Sam knew that Delacroix was the exception.

"Are you done?" Bucky asked. Sam shrugged.

"Feel any better?" Bucky tried. Sam reflected, then gave a small nod.

"But you don't want to leave yet."

Sam shook his head. Bucky made a soft, slightly amused sound, and gently pulled him upright, away from the toilet. Sam allowed Bucky to nestle him into his side, and Sam put his head on Bucky's chest.

"What 'f I throw up on you?" Sam asked quietly.

He could hear and feel Bucky's laugh as it traveled through his chest, the feeling making Sam smile.

"You're not gonna throw up on me," Bucky said.

"What if I do?"

"I'm too quick," Bucky insisted. "Super Soldier, remember? I'll just put you back over the toilet."

"Your funeral," Sam mumbled, but he didn't move. He closed his eyes, feeling Bucky's heart beat beneath his cheek.

Bucky thought there was a good chance that Sam had fallen asleep, meaning that he was done throwing up. He shifted gently, intending to just carry Sam up the stairs and put him in bed, but at the movement Sam sat bolt upright, blinking fuzzily.

"I'm awake," he announced.

"You sure?" Bucky asked lightly. Sam didn't sound very awake.

"Yeah, but 'm ready for bed," Sam said.

He started trying to push himself upright, using the toilet for leverage. Bucky scrambled to his feet, and put his arm around Sam's shoulders until Sam was steady and upright. Sam fumbled with the bathroom door and made his way into the hallway, and Bucky followed anxiously behind. He was impressed that Sam was able to walk on his own, and it made him a little less worried that Sam would die in his sleep or something. He seemed to be coming out the worst of it. But it also made Bucky anxious - Sam didn't seem very steady, and Bucky wouldn't want him to take a fall. Bucky held a hand a few inches from the small of Sam's back, ready to catch him if things seemed to be heading that direction.

Bucky helped Sam up the stairs. He assisted as best he could as Sam struggled out of his t-shirt and jeans and into pajamas. He made Sam drink a few sips of water, despite the face he pulled, and then settled him into bed and crawled in next to him.

"How do you feel?" Buck asked, slinging a gentle arm over Sam's shoulders.

Sam made a somewhat unhappy, sleepy-sounding hum - Bucky supposed that was as much as he could hope for. Bucky intended to stay awake for a little while, and make sure Sam was alright and didn't need anything, but Bucky's day had been longer than he'd given himself credit for - talking to all those people, taking care of Sam, the works. He was asleep in minutes.

He woke up an unknown amount of time later. Sun was streaming in through the window, so Bucky knew he must have slept through the night - surprising given the circumstances. He wasn't sure if it was still early, or later in the day. They'd been fast asleep by the time the fireworks had started, so Bucky figured they must have gone to bed pretty early - it was probably before 8am.

At first, Bucky wasn't sure what had woken him. Then, he realized that Sam, who seemed to have spent the whole night dead to the world in Bucky's arms, was squirming uncomfortably.

"Hey," Bucky said, giving Sam a little pat in case he was still mostly asleep. "You good?"

"Feel sick," Sam breathed.

"That's not exactly surprising, considering the night you had."

Sam shifted unhappily, and Bucky realized he was trying to sit up

"You gonna puke?"

"Probably," Sam whispered. "And talk quieter."

Bucky sighed. It seemed very unlikely that Sam was moving from the bed any time soon, so Bucky got up to get him a trash can. He held it out to Sam, who grabbed it with trembling fingers and immediately threw up into it.

Bucky made a sympathetic sort of sound and reached over to rub Sam's shoulders. When Sam was done, Bucky took back the trash can and set it on the floor next to the bed. Sam groaned and flopped backwards, looking ill.

"Not feeling so good?" Bucky asked, petting Sam's shoulder again. Sam looked up at him, his face the perfect portrait of misery.

"Terrible," Sam said, or more accurately, whined. "Thought I asked you to talk quieter."

"Sorry," Bucky whispered, then couldn't help but laugh softly as Sam winced. "Is that still too loud?"

"Everything's too loud," Sam whispered despondently. "And too bright. Think I'm dying."

"I'm not surprised," Bucky said, just a tinge of amusement creeping into his voice. "You drank a beer with the entire town. You're too old for that kind of thing."

Sam moaned again, turning his face into the mattress. "Any age is too old for that kind of thing. I seriously might die."

"Well, that would put a damper on the wedding," Bucky pointed out. "What can I do to keep you alive?"

"Make the room stop spinning," Sam mumbled, splaying his fingers across the mattress. Bucky swallowed a laugh and climbed into bed again, wrapping an arm across Sam's stomach and pulling him close to his chest. Sam curled one hand around Bucky's wrist, leaving the other clutching at the bedsheets.

"Better?" Bucky asked softly. Sam mumbled an affirmative, and Bucky waited until he felt Sam's breathing grow more even and less shallow.

"Do you feel less shitty now?" Bucky asked, after about twenty minutes or so had gone by without Sam either throwing up or complaining too much.

"A little," Sam said softly. "I guess."

"Good. So, remember last night? When you made me promise to force you to talk about being stressed, and drinking a ton of beer in front of your entire town?"

Sam groaned, and Bucky felt his breathing speed up a little. "I don't wanna talk about that."

"That's what you said you'd say," Bucky pointed out. "You made me promise to force you, though."

Sam shrugged against Bucky's chest. "We don't need to. I was drunk."

"Sam," Bucky said warningly. Sam sighed, turning his face into the mattress again.

"Fine," he said, slightly muffled by bedsheets. "Talk."

Bucky's preference would have been to have this conversation face to face, but he knew Sam very well, enough to know that it would be easier to get Sam to talk if Sam didn't have to look at Bucky.

Sam was silent for a long moment. "It's a lot of pressure, okay?" he finally mumbled. "I've been a superhero for so long, I thought I...knew what to expect. But being Captain America is different."

No further information seemed to be forthcoming. Being a superhero himself, and having known a good variety of Captain Americas, Bucky was pretty sure he intuitively understood the difference. But he wanted Sam to say it. "What do you mean?"

"I can't normally...relax," Sam said sadly. "There's always eyes on me...hell, there's always cameras on me. As Captain America, I represent something entirely different than I did before, and unless I'm alone with you, I feel like I'm always having to be careful. I can't let my guard down now, ever, because the whole world is watching. And if I ever did want to turn my back on that, that would be a statement in and of itself."

"Unless you're here."

"Unless I'm here. I don't have to be a symbol for a second when I'm here. All these guys knew me when I was just a kid, when I graduated high school, when my parents died. Here, I'm just Sam Wilson."

Bucky cradled Sam a little closer, his cheek resting on the back of Sam's head. "I didn't know you were feeling this way."

"It's not usually bad. It doesn't usually hit me like it did yesterday. And I...didn't want to talk about it before. I kind of still don't."

"Why?" Bucky wouldn't necessarily say he and Sam told each other everything - they both had too much baggage for that. But it wasn't like Sam to have something big like this weighing on him without speaking up.

"Didn't want you to think it was your fault."

"Oh."

That thought hadn't exactly crossed Bucky's mind yet, but he had known it was coming. After all the years they'd spent together, Bucky could feel confident that Sam loved him. But at the same time, Bucky had no illusions - he was the most difficult thing in Sam's life. If what Sam was worried about was the pressure of the media, Bucky knew he made that worse.

"It isn't, though. Promise."

"Even if it was, you could still talk to me about it. I would want you to. How are you supposed to fix things all by yourself?"

Sam snuggled a little deeper into Bucky's arms. "There's nothing to fix."

That really was the problem. As much as Bucky wanted to make this all go away for Sam, he wasn't sure how to. The pressure Sam was feeling was so inextricably linked to being Captain America that it couldn't be turned off, and it wasn't like Sam could step away. Sam could complain to Bucky all he wanted, and have the very occasional meltdown, but that was it.

"I know," Bucky said sadly. "But you can talk to me about it. And I can listen, and...and we can try to get out of the city a little more, and if there are too many people asking you too many things I can do that thing that Steve used to do and just look confused until they leave…."

Sam gave a very soft laugh, which Bucky considered a win, given the circumstances.

"But it's easier if you talk to me," Bucky continued, as softly as he could. "If I have to guess, I'm just going to have to keep asking you."

Sam sighed, his inhale pushing him closer to Bucky's chest. "I know. I will."

Bucky knew he didn't need to push any further. It might be difficult to get Sam to talk in the first place, but if Sam made him a promise, Bucky knew that he was going to keep it.

"Okay. Good," Bucky said, bestowing a light kiss on Sam's neck.

"Thanks, Buck," Sam whispered, and his hand moved down Bucky's wrist to close over his fingers.

"You're welcome for forcing you to talk about your feelings," Bucky answered with a smile that he knew Sam could hear in his tone. "Are you feeling better?"

"Yeah," Sam said, sounding fairly convincing.

"You're not gonna throw up again?"

Sam made a displeased sound, but shook his head.

"Good. Are you ready for me to make fun of you for how drunk you were yesterday?"

Sam moaned, wriggling further into the bed, as though blankets would somehow protect him from the inevitable mocking. Bucky laughed and reached over to the bedside table without letting go of Sam, snagging Sam's phone with his free hand and opening his messages.

"Guess what you texted Jim. Do you remember? It's a picture of you...trying to fight a fish?"

Sam moaned again, grabbing a pillow and putting it over his head.

"Ooh. I think you and your high school lab partner invented a secret language, 'cause these texts are indecipherable. You're so talented, baby."

Silence from Sam. Bucky poked him with the phone, resulting in an indignant yelp. "You done?" Sam muttered.

"Noooo," Bucky replied. "In fact, I hope you're comfortable, because there's a ton of these and I'm just getting started."

Sam sighed heavily into the pillow. "Get on with it."

Bucky snuggled Sam a little bit closer and opened the phone again. "So...do you wanna see what you texted Sarah?"