Chapter 5: On the Bayou
It occurred to Bucky as he set his backpack on the bed in the guest bedroom that he wasn't sure how many days it had been since he showered. Four maybe? If he smelled, they were all too polite to mention anything. Although he couldn't fathom why Sam wouldn't take a shot at him for that.
He took advantage of the guest bathroom to get in a quick shower. The hot spray banished some of the gloom that had settled over him like a dark cloud. The last time he was here, he slept on the couch. He hoped he wasn't kicking Sam out of his room.
By the time he made his way downstairs, the aroma of something delicious tickled his nose. What time was it, anyway? He pulled the phone out of his back pocket and looked. It was a little after noon.
He followed the smell, passing a huge Christmas tree and a living room full of holiday cheer, and found everyone gathered in the kitchen. AJ and Cass jumped out of their seats at the table and ran up to him. His smile was genuine as he hugged and playfully batted at them.
Sam was chopping peppers at the counter while Sarah stirred something on the stove. Sam gestured to the table, and Bucky took a seat.
Sarah flashed him a smile over her shoulder. "I hope you like gumbo."
Had he ever had gumbo before? He'd tried so many foods the last time he was here, sometimes he didn't even know what he was eating. The cookout had been the first time in a long time that he'd socialized in a casual environment with that many people.
"It smells great." Bucky mustered a smile and caught Sam's eye. "I hope you didn't give up a room for me."
"Nah." Sam shook his head. "We cleared out one of the rooms upstairs that was used for storage and turned into another bedroom. I'm there for now."
A few minutes later, the food was ready, and everyone took seats at the table.
"Thanks for coming." Sarah nodded at him from the other end of the table.
Sam smirked and quirked an eyebrow at him. "And thanks for showering."
Ah, there it was. The barb.
"That's what you get for trespassing. Just be thankful I was dressed."
Sam took a huge serving of gumbo and grabbed a piece of bread from the platter. "Believe me, I am. Next time just answer your damn phone or return my texts."
He learned his lesson there, for sure. He missed the days before cell phones and sorcerers when someone could hole up in their apartment—not that he ever had—and remain completely unbothered unless someone came pounding at their door.
Bucky helped himself to the gumbo and placed a piece of bread on his plate. His stomach rumbled in anticipation. He'd been living off of takeout and delivery for the past few weeks. It was nice to have a home-cooked meal.
After lunch, he got roped into helping Sam hang string lights on the outside of the house. Between the two of them, it went faster than expected. When they turned the lights on to make sure everything worked, it was quite a sight to see. The house stood alone on the property, and it seemingly glowed. At night it would be spectacular… and probably attract every insect in a 10-mile radius.
Sam patted him on the shoulder. "Thanks, man." Sam slid in front of him. "How are you doing? No flippant answers."
Bucky's chest felt like it was caving in. He settled his gaze on some birds grazing near the tree line. He didn't know how to answer that question. He sure as hell couldn't tell Sam the truth — that he wasn't sure what the hell he was supposed to do, or how he fit in this world. That Doctor Strange was right, it was coming back to him in dreams, and reliving all that shit Nightmare put him through shook him more than he would like to admit. That sometimes it was just too damn hard to get through the day, even though he had nothing to do. He was a parasite on society. He felt as out of place and unwanted as a gun in a daycare.
"Come on." Sam took a step closer. "You don't have to do everything alone. You don't have to push everything down."
If he didn't push it all down, it would explode out of him. "I'm having a rough time." He sighed with the admission. He was raised in a time and place when talking about feeling and admitting vulnerability wasn't done. Then Hydra found and manipulated every vulnerability he had until there was nothing but a hard shell. Still, he had to try. He owed Sam something after everything that had happened. "Nightmare found and pressed all the right buttons. Before, there were days when I didn't think about the people I'd killed. Not many days, but once in a while, and it made me think that if I just toughed it out, I might be able to get to a place where I could find a purpose. Now, those lives are all I think about, all I dream about…them, or my early years with Hydra, when they were trying to turn me into their Soldier. I'm so damn tired of it. I'm just existing. There's no place for me here outside of combat, and I've been fighting for 90 years. I don't want to fight anymore, but what else is there for me? It's not like there's a long list of ordinary employers wanting to hire a 107-year-old former assassins with a kill list twice as long as their metal arm. Can you see me bagging groceries or making coffee? Dealing with the public in any way? Even though a lot of people don't recognize me with the short hair and my arm covered up, some still do. I've got enough money to get by on for a while thanks to my government benefits, so that's not the issue. I just don't see any point in my being here."
The look on Sam's face said it all, like someone had just demolished Red Wing in front of his eyes. "You know what this is… Right?"
Yeah, he knew. He wasn't an idiot, and the shrink had gone over how messed up he was and probably would be for quite some time. Post-traumatic stress disorder. Depression. "Yes, but I don't know how to flip the switch. I was just getting to a point where the nightmares were a little less, and then this happens, and I feel like I've been kicked back to where I started, and I'm tired of doing it. There's nothing here for me. Steve's gone, and I know I need to get over that, but I don't even know how to mourn him. He chose to leave. He fit in a hell of a lot better than I ever will, and even he couldn't find happiness here. How the hell am I supposed to? But I'm trying. I am. I did. Even went on a date." His lips twitched upward into more of a grimace than a smile and he wondered if Sam would be able to read on his expression just how disastrous that date had gone.
"There's no timeline on how or how long you mourn someone. You and Steve grew up together. You had a bond strong enough that it broke through Hydra's conditioning. Give yourself time, man. It'll take however long it takes." Sam paused, then sighed. "When Riley died, it took me a long time before that ache started to dull, and there are still times when something reminds me of him, and it comes roaring back."
A shadow of grief rose in Sam's eyes, and something hard melted away inside Bucky. It helped—a little—to know that he wasn't the only one who had a hard time letting go of an old friend. It reminded him that he was still human. Hydra hadn't been able to take that away from him.
"As for fitting in," Sam continued. "I know this sounds trite, but that'll take time, too. Take as much of it as you need to figure out what you want to do."
Bucky nodded. Time was something he had more than enough of.
Sam gave a lopsided smile. "So, you went on a date, huh?"
"Yes. She asked me how old I am…and about my family. Then she said how nice it was that I was spending time with the man whose son I killed because no one should ever have to outlive their child."
Sam grimaced and sat down on the steps of the front porch. He patted the space next to him, and Bucky sank down. A gentle breeze snaked through the trees and brushed his cheeks, ruffling his short bangs. He'd always considered Brooklyn his home, but it was starting to feel too crowded.
Before, when he was young and running the streets with Steve, he loved the city's vibe. Now, the crowds suffocated him. Every pair of eyes that looked at him had him wondering whether they recognized him. Sometimes he could tell they did by the way they quickly averted their gazes and hurried their steps. Occasionally, his enhanced hearing even picked up snippets of conversation where people jerked their heads in his direction and said, in hushed whispers as though he were the bogeyman, 'That's the Winter Soldier.'
It was never 'That's Bucky Barnes.'
The only person who knew him first as James Buchanan Barnes was gone. Everyone else knew him first and foremost as a mass murderer.
"Just take it a day at a time." Sam leaned sideways and gently bumped his shoulder. "If one day that's too hard, will you promise to call me?"
He thought about that. "No." If he ever decided to end it, it wouldn't be a rash decision. It would be because he was truly and completely done or his refurbished brain cracked and he ended up a danger to others. Hell, he should've died a long time ago. He heard the hitch in Sam's breath and looked over at him. "Don't worry, Sam. I don't have any immediate plans to check out."
"Good because the world still needs heroes, and there are surprisingly few left."
A hero. He managed a grateful smile, even though he hadn't been a hero in a very long time.
The door flew open. AJ and Cass ran out, careening down the steps past Bucky. He smiled as he listened to them scream at one another. It was something about a video game.
"Stop arguing you two," Sam shouted, but it sounded half-hearted. He shook his head with an exasperated smile. "Hey," he slapped Bucky on the arm, "what do you say we get in a little fishing before dinner?"
Sitting on the water sounded peaceful. "Sure."
-0- -0- -0-
Their fishing boat was a small, motor-powered craft a fraction of the size of the one Bucky had helped him restore. Still, it was enough for two grown men, two boys, fishing gear, and a small cooler of beer.
The Bayou was quiet, the water flat and shallow in most parts. This was one of the best fishing spots, and Sam hoped some time on the water would lift Bucky's spirits. The man had to get out of his own head. There were too many dark thoughts in there dragging him down.
They'd only been fishing for half an hour when the first one bit. The two boys fought over who could be the one to reel in the fish.
"Let AJ do it and you can have the next one, Cass," Sam told them.
Bucky smiled at their brotherly bickering. "This reminds me of wrestling with Steve. I'd get him in a headlock, which wasn't very hard back then, and let him work on figuring out how to free himself. I talked crap to get him riled up. Steve's mom would chide us about breaking something, and we'd stop long enough to promise not to."
Sam grinned. "It really is a shame that you two grew up before everyone had a camera. I would love to see you both as children. So, did you ever break anything?"
"One time…a lamp paid the price, and she made us both clean the bathroom spotless."
"Why does he always get to go first?" Cass interrupted, battling AJ for the fishing rod as the catch struggled. Whatever was on the line finally broke free. The unexpected loss of tension knocked Cass off his feet, and he rolled over the side into the water.
"That'll teach you to fight!" Sam leaned over, hand outstretched as Cass treaded water, his life jacket doing most of the work keeping him afloat.
Even though both boys could swim, Cass was still a little on the young side, and Sam would never take chances with their safety on the water.
"Mom's gonna kill me." Cass reached for Sam's hand.
The water rippled around Cass, and he went under. A dark gray tail whipped out of the water before vanishing beneath the surface.
"Cass!" Sam was about to dive in when Bucky disappeared over the side.
"Sit down, AJ!" Sam told his nephew, who was leaning wide-eyed over the side. With a frantic nod, AJ did as he was told.
Sam was just about to dive in when Bucky surfaced. He launched Cass into the boat, sans jacket.
"Are you okay?" Sam ran his hands quickly over Cass, but there was no sign of injury. He pulled him into a rough hug. That had been too damn close.
Bucky propelled himself far enough out of the water to grab the side. Sam leaned over to help him up when, suddenly, the alligator was there. Bucky barely had enough time to get his metal arm in front of him.
The creature latched onto the vibranium arm, and Bucky disappeared under the water.
"Bucky!" Sam slipped out of his jacket and glanced at the boys. "Stay on the boat." He couldn't believe the alligator was this persistent. Usually, they were surprise predators.
He was just about to launch himself off the boat when the alligator exploded out of the water, sailing a good 20 feet in the air before it landed on the other side of the bayou in shallow water, and in a frenzy of panicked flailing, scurried onto the land and disappeared in the vegetation.
A moment later, Bucky's head broke the surface. "Is Cass okay?"
Sam sagged with relief. "He's fine, thanks to you! Not a scratch."
The water rippled around Bucky. He bobbed upward, grabbed the side of the boat, and hauled himself in. He landed on his back with a grin.
"You find this funny?" Sam shook his head, then glared at the boys and pointed a finger at them. "Either of you pull that crap again, and I'll let the alligator eat you."
"He got my life jacket, and Bucky ripped it right off!" Cass exclaimed, bouncing excitedly, eyes wide and breathing so heavily, Sam worried he might hyperventilate.
"Calm down. Steady breaths." He waited a moment for his nephew to settle down, then turned his attention to the man still laying on his back with a stupid smile. "Don't tell me you found that fun."
Bucky shook his head. "Not exactly. I don't think that alligator is going to want to have anything to do with humans for the foreseeable future."
As the adrenaline drained away and Sam thought back to the image of the alligator sailing through the air, he couldn't help but laugh. It started out as a chuckle and grew into a full belly rumble that had him dropping to his butt on a bench seat. He knew it was a release from the all-consuming terror that had gripped him the moment he saw Cass go beneath the surface, so he let it out.
Soon, the boys joined in, and the boat rocked with their laughter. It took them a couple of minutes to get themselves under control, and, breathless, Sam slapped Bucky on the leg and huffed, "We better head back before we get into any more trouble. If I don't return these boys with all their fingers and toes intact, I don't even want to think about what'll happen."
-0- -0- -0-
By the time they got back to the house, Bucky was freezing. He and Cass were still wet, though at least not dripping water all over the place anymore. Cass was wrapped in Sam's jacket, and the moment they walked through the front door, Sarah glanced at them and did a double take.
She turned and crossed her arms. "What happened?"
Bucky looked at Sam, curious to see how the man would break the news to his sister. Cass made it all a moot point when he exclaimed, "I almost got eaten by an alligator, but Bucky fought it off and punched it so hard it went sailing to the air."
He'd only punched the animal hard enough to get it to let go at the bottom of the Bayou, then gave it a solid kick that sent sailing a safe distance away.
Sarah's eyes went wide, and she swayed, gripping the edge of the kitchen island.
Sam rushed up and gave her a steadying hand. "He's all right. It didn't get anything more than his jacket."
Bucky hung back as Sarah rushed forward and pulled Cass against her, squeezing him so hard that he grunted against her. A moment later, she rushed toward him, and the tight, wide-eyed expression on her face had him taking a step back. He was the reason they were on the water in the first place, so he prepared himself for a tongue-lashing and was mentally figuring out the fastest way to get back to New York when she barreled into him and wrapped her arms around him.
"Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!" She squeezed him almost as hard as the alligator had chomped down on his arm. He came out of his stupor long enough to wrap his arms around her and catch Sam's amused grin.
When she released him, she spun around and flung an arm at Sam. "How could you let that happen?"
Sam sputtered, wide-eyed, and Bucky took the opportunity to make a fast retreat upstairs and into the safety of the guest bedroom, where he stripped out of his wet clothes and hopped into the warm shower.
-0- -0- -0-
Bucky spent the next week helping Sam and Sarah with chores around the house. The fishing boat still needed a little work, and he and Sam spent a few chilly mornings on the dock making repairs. Christmas was only a couple days away, and he hadn't gotten presents for anyone. He hadn't been holiday shopping since 1941. That had been the last Christmas before he joined the army, right after Pearl Harbor.
Sam let him borrow the truck to take into town. Chalmette was a small community, but it was nevertheless a major metropolis compared to Delacroix, with its population of 78 people. His stay with the Wilsons made the Delacroix population a whopping seventy-nine.
Despite it being a small town, the crowds in the quaint shopping district—one street of scenic shops—made it obvious that he wasn't the only person who needed to do last-minute holiday shopping. Finding the right gifts took longer than he thought. He wasn't sure what people liked these days.
He spotted a sketch pad with an artists' rendition of the Brooklyn Bridge on the cover. It was sitting next to a package of colored pencils. Steve would like it. He'd spent a few Saturdays sitting on the beach near Main Street Park sketching the bridge, the skyscrape, or the trees. Sometimes Bucky would hang out with him, lounging, chatting and occasionally flirting with a pretty girl that walked by. They'd fill up on hot dogs and, if Bucky had extra cash, sometimes clams, which Steve hated.
Bucky ran his hand over the cover. "I really miss you, buddy," he whispered. When he felt the sudden sting in his eyes, he wiped quickly at his face and spun away, pretending to inspect a wall of Christmas ornaments while he took a moment to collect himself.
Three and a half hours later, he'd successfully completed his mission and grabbed a bite to eat at an overly-decorated cafe brimming with holiday cheer. Bags in hand, he headed back to Delacroix.
-0- -0- -0-
Christmas Eve came quickly. Dinner was leg of lamb with collard greens, bread, and mashed potatoes. Bucky ate until he thought his stomach might burst. The last time he was that full was in Wakanda when Ayo, Shuri, and the villagers surprised him with a birthday feast. He hadn't even realized it was his birthday. Tending to the land and the goats on that isolated hillside, he had no real reason to keep track of time.
"Presents!" Cass yelled, and the two boys ran off into the living room and plopped themselves in front of the Christmas tree.
"After we clean up!" Sarah rose and began clearing the table. Bucky helped while Sam placed the sink full of pots and pans into the dishwasher. "This will go a lot faster if somebody helps wipe down the table and counters."
The two boys stormed the kitchen, and in less than a minute, all the counters and the table were wiped down. "Come on!" Cass and AJ hurried back to claim their spots in front of the tree.
"No, no." Bucky stifled a grin and studied the items in the bottom rack of the dishwasher. "I don't think this is the most efficient method. The water is not gonna reach everywhere it needs to." He glanced at Sam and caught the mischievous glint in the other man's eyes.
"For once, I agree with you." Sam leaned forward with deliberately slow movements and began clanking the pots in the back without actually relocating them. "What do you think?"
"Not bad." Bucky made sure his voice was loud enough to carry into the living room. "But I think it might be better if we did this." He made sure to clink a few of the pots and silverware in the strainer.
"Come on already!" AJ yelled.
Sarah swatted at Sam with the dishtowel. "You're torturing them, you realize?"
"The fun of having nephews is being able to mess with them." Sam closed the dishwasher door and straightened, stretching his back. "Okay, Buck, let's go put them out of their misery. We let them open one present on Christmas Eve."
His mom used to do the same thing. Their entire apartment could fit in half of the downstairs of this house, and the Christmas tree was barely taller than his mother, but the place had always smelled of cinnamon, chocolate, and banana over the holidays. His mother fought off the Christmas Eve New York winter with hot chocolate that simmered on the stove and filled the apartment with its warm, enticing aroma.
Back then, they wrapped presents with brown paper. His mother saved the colorful wrapping paper for presents to others, like Sarah and Steve. It was pricey stuff back then, and times were hard. The economy was just recovering from the Great Depression when he went to war. There was hardly a time he could remember when it wasn't a struggle to survive.
They made their way into the living room. Bucky took the armchair. Sarah and Sam settled on the couch.
The boys scurried forward and began inspecting presents under the tree until each one picked the gift they would open. Cass went for the largest package, a box that came up to his waist and was wrapped with bright red paper. AJ, obviously being older and wiser, picked a square present that fit in one hand.
The boys tore into them. AJ almost jumped into the Christmas tree with an ear-piercing "yes!" when he revealed a new pair of air pods. Cass unwrapped a comforter for his bed that sported a familiar red, white, and blue shield.
"Wanna open one, Buck?" Sam suggested.
He shook his head. "Nah." The adults had far fewer presents than the children, and he'd rather savor the festivities. He hadn't done Christmas morning in a long time. "I'll wait 'til tomorrow."
They watched a movie that was apparently older but nevertheless a classic. Sarah and Sam argued over whether it actually qualified as a Christmas movie. Sam insisted it was because it took place at Christmas. Sarah insisted it wasn't because it had nothing to do with the actual holiday other than the month in which it took place.
It wasn't until Bucky finished watching the movie that he understood the argument, but he wasn't stupid enough to get in the middle of sibling rivalry, so he kept his opinion to himself as he headed up to bed with a two-finger wave and a "Yipee ki ay."
-0- -0- -0-
Bucky tried to sleep, but his mind refused to shut down, drawn against his will to memories of Christmas past. Most of them were a blur of tree decorating, Christmas cookies, wrapped presents, and hot chocolate, but a few stood out. There was the year he turned ten, before the Great Depression hit, when he received the Lionel train set. He and Steve spent hours in his room playing with it.
Then there was the year he saved all summer doing odd jobs to get enough money to buy his mom perfume and Steve colored pencils for his sketchbook. He ended up using those pencils after the Depression because he couldn't afford to buy anything. Steve gave him a few art lessons, and he drew his mother a family portrait. As far as presents went, it sucked. He was nowhere near as good of an artist as Steve, but his mother acted like he had gifted her the Mona Lisa.
Then there was Christmas in 1933, at the bottom of the Great Depression. They were lucky to keep their apartment. His father just barely clung to his company job, but his hours and pay had been cut drastically. His mother's seamstress side business dried up. They had no money for a tree, but his father came home three days before Christmas with what looked like a disheveled tree branch. It was the most pathetic thing he had ever seen, but they propped it upright and decorated it. Their Christmas presents ranged from baked goods, courtesy of his mother, to IOUs, like Ruth's coupon to let him have priority access to the bathroom.
The Wilson house was quiet overnight, unlike his Brooklyn apartment. Even in the 30s and 40s, there was the hum of the city to lull him to sleep. Here, there were no sounds of tires on asphalt, car alarms, or drunken arguments. There were only the sounds of amphibians singing their songs. He was drifting toward sleep, and that twilight state, when he heard the chuffing breath that sounded like a horse.
His eyes shot open. The hair on his arms stood straight. His ears strained against the quiet, past the ruckus of the frogs and toads, to scan the room. There was nothing out of place. No sound to indicate an intruder. He lifted his head and did a quick visual sweep, his enhanced eyesight penetrating the darkness and identifying the various shadows as things that belonged.
The dresser against the wall at the front of the bed. The lamp on the table next to him. The armchair in the corner.
He knew the sound had been nothing more than the product of his half-awake brain. It wasn't the first time it happened since Doctor Strange pulled him out of that nightmare realm. The protection spell was holding, but what would happen when it failed?
The monster that haunted his dreams before was Hydra, a flesh and blood nemesis that he could tell himself no longer presented a threat. Even if there were stragglers out there, and he was sure there were, Hydra was an enemy he could fight with his fists or a gun. But a demon? That was something altogether different. Just when he thought the world was as bad as it could be, it got worse. There was always a bigger evil around the corner.
His thoughts were spiraling to a dark place. He closed his eyes and tried to ignore the crawling of his skin as he imagined the man with the chalk-white face standing at the foot of his bed, watching him. Bucky knew Nightmare wasn't there, and he refused to open his eyes and give in to that paranoia, even as it followed him to a light, fitful sleep.
-0- -0- -0-
When the morning light filtering through pale blue curtains prodded Bucky awake, he took a moment, as he usually did, to take in his surroundings. The guest bedroom of the Wilson home had a much cozier and less sinister feel under the caress of the morning light than it had last night. The sound of laughter from downstairs told him everybody else was up. Had they already started opening presents? He grabbed his phone from the nightstand and glanced at the time. It was only a few minutes past 7 AM.
He took care of his morning hygiene, threw on a long-sleeved shirt and a pair of loose sweats, and padded downstairs. The scent of coffee teased him, and he found everyone in the kitchen. Sam yawned, mug in hand, over an empty plate at the table.
"We just finished breakfast." Sarah grabbed a clean plate from the cupboard and moved to the stove where a couple of pans held the remains of bacon and eggs. "Would you like some?"
He nodded. "Thank you." He helped himself to coffee and downed it quickly, then refilled his mug.
"You sleep okay?" Sam leaned forward and took a sip from his mug.
"Passable." With a grateful smile, he took the plate from Sarah and scarfed down his breakfast as the boys bounced impatiently in their seats. "I take it presents are next on the agenda?"
The boys shot out of their seats and ran into the living room.
Sarah chuckled and waved a hand around the messy kitchen. "I guess all this can wait. Let's go do the presents."
Bucky refilled his mug and followed them into the living room, this time dropping on the couch next to Sam while Sarah lowered herself to the floor in front of the Christmas tree. She and the boys divvied out the gifts. The boys, of course, had the largest pile. Bucky had three, which felt like two too many. Sarah and Sam had a small pile, some so poorly wrapped it was obviously the handiwork of one or both of the boys.
Bucky wrapped his hands around the warm mug. Louisiana was much warmer than New York this time of year, but the morning still had quite a chill. They took turns opening presents. Bucky couldn't help but get caught up in the boys' enthusiasm. When it came time for him to open a present, he picked the one signed by the boys first. For the first time all morning, they went completely still as they watched him.
His curiosity was burning. He couldn't imagine what was in the square package on his lap as he unwrapped it to reveal a plain brown box. He glanced up. Sam was grinning, and the boys were looking at him with wide, expectant eyes. He raised the box to his ear and shook it, dragging out the suspense, but it didn't rattle.
He set it back on his lap and opened it. He pulled out a dark gray T-shirt and chuckled when he unraveled it. The boys started laughing hysterically. The front of the shirt sported an alligator with the words 'See you later, alligator.'
"Thank you." He shook his head with a smile and slipped it on over his Henley.
It was Sam's turn next. With a suspicious glare, Sam grabbed the gift bag that was a little bigger than a paperback book. "This has to be from you, right? Everyone else wraps boxes here."
Bucky shrugged. "Well now you have a bag you can reuse. It's all part of the gift." He jerked his chin at the bag. "Keep in mind I didn't have time to order anything online, so my choices were limited to what I could find in town."
Sam looked into the bag and pulled out a CD case. Bucky wasn't sure they had anything to play it on, but there was also a flash drive and four tickets in an envelope taped to the front.
"Who is this?" Sam read the back cover. "A local artist? Very cool." He opened the envelope and retrieved the tickets. "And a New Year's day concert."
Bucky hoped Sam would like the music. He heard a bit of the man's jazz music in town outside of the bookstore where the artist was performing and selling CDs. The guy was pretty good, and it sounded like just the thing Sam might enjoy.
Sarah was next, and she opened a new Kindle tablet from Sam. The next time Bucky opened a present, he went for Sarah's, opting to make Sam wait.
Sarah's gift was wrapped in elegant silver paper with a white bow. He unwrapped it carefully, in case she wanted to reuse the wrapping paper. He lifted the lid on a white box. Inside were two books — one with Cajun recipes and the other titled the Book of Emoji's — and a new toothbrush sealed in its package.
He was sure the confusion showed on his face when he looked up at her. "The books will come in handy. Thank you." He held up the toothbrush. "I hope this isn't a hint about my breath?"
"It's a hint all right. It can stay in the guest bedroom. You saved my son's life and that has earned you a bed here whenever you want. Thanksgiving. Christmas. Birthdays. Or just because." She leaned forward, her eyes glistening. "I mean it."
His face grew hot. He looked down at the books and toothbrush in his lap and cleared his throat. "Thank you." He didn't trust his voice at the moment to say much more.
He spent the next round putting a lid on his emotions and avoiding Sam's darting glances. When it came time to open Sam's gift, he tore through the wrapping paper and opened the brown shipping box. He thought he could count on Sam for a gag gift to lift some of the heaviness from the air. What he found instead was a new cell phone with a handwritten note attached to the box that said, 'Bucky, don't break this one. I preloaded all our numbers. You better respond next time I call, or I'm showing up in person again.'
Bucky took a breath, looked up into Sam's dark, assessing gaze, and gave a curt nod.
-0- -0- -0-
That evening, after they stuffed themselves with duck, bread, and pie, Bucky and Sam grabbed a couple of beers and headed outside to take in the night air.
"Are you gonna take my sister up on her offer?" Sam took a sip of his beer and glanced over.
Bucky understood the unasked question hanging in the air and wondered at what point Sam's feelings toward him changed. When had he gone from barely tolerating him for Steve's sake to actually caring about what happened to him? He figured it happened sometime during the Flag Smashers case, probably during all the time they spent together fixing up the boat.
"Maybe." Bucky tilted back a mouthful of beer. "It's nice here, but I know you gave up the room with the private bathroom for me, so next time, I'll stay in the old storage room."
"Damn straight." Sam huffed.
That drew a genuine chuckle out of him. He, craned his head to look up at the lights hanging around the porch. "This is pretty, but I don't understand why we spent all his time hanging lights. There's nobody around for miles to see it."
Sam chuckled. "I used to say the same thing. We see it, and it gives the bugs more targets than a single porch light."
Well, there was that.
They sat outside on the steps for another hour and exchanged mindless chatter, with Sam doing most of the chattering. As they headed back inside for the night, Bucky swore he heard the chuffing breath of a horse. He stopped and turned around, his eyes slowly and methodically scanning the darkness.
"Something wrong?" Sam asked.
Bucky shook his head. "No. Everything's fine." He hoped.
"Come on." Sam slapped him on the arm. "There's hot chocolate inside."
Bucky hesitated a moment, doing another visual sweep of the trees, then left the chilly night and headed into the Wilson's warm home.
— The end —
Author's Note:
As always, I appreciate reviews and love to hear what you think of the story. If you like Bucky-Halloween stories, check out my works page for last year's publication, oh-so creatively titled 'Bucky's Halloween.' It's a slightly angsty one-shot.