square filled: Domestic Avengers

warnings: light swearing from narrator; angst; suicidal implications; hurt/comfort

words: 2, 730

summary:

"Where are you, Sam?" Bucky whispered, dragging his hand on Sam's back, rubbing careful circles to ease the tension in his man's muscles.

Sam shuddered at the touch, murmuring, "I don't know,"

or

Bucky tries to keep Sam grounded for the night.

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We'd all like to know what's it like living in the Avengers Mansion secluded in the vast forest, the same mansion that you could only reach with a rocky dirt path, the same one where it stretches with its landing strips and pools, the same one where it looked more like a castle lost in the 16th century than one in the 21st century, and the same one where the sunrises were almost as perfect as the ones in Wakanda. Despite this description, Sam Wilson would tell you it was a noisy place, always full of fights and silent conversations—other times it's a game of cat and mouse on who can eat the last platter of brownies before the super-soldiers can get to them. 

Everyone wanted to know what it felt like to live at the top of the world, unbothered and untethered. Not even touched by the weather, god gifted and forever immaculate: What does heaven feel like? They'll say it tastes like copper blood, everlasting and stained. Others would say that heaven does not exist, and it's hell on earth in the Avengers Compound; constant tension in the hallways, there's always a reason for thunder to break through the walls and shatter the mirrors. It doesn't sound like heaven, and maybe it shouldn't be called as such.

Most nights it did feel like heaven on earth, when the room was just the right cold, the water pressure was just right, and the hallways were peaceful as it can be on a Thursday, it's almost as if you were on top of the world. Damned those who think not, it was better when it was empty and vast as it should always be. 

It was always so full of life, and other times it was full of sorrow, resentfulness, and even, death.

This was one of those nights, the nights when Sam feels decayed and broken to the bone , almost numb at the overriding sensation throughout his body. It should've been illegal to feel this way, empty and vulnerable to even air, feeling as if you may crumble at the very touch of kindness. It shouldn't be like this, but it always has to be; c'est la vie. What can anyone do?

Sam sat on the rounded couch in the vast living area. It had high ceilings, two chandeliers hanging precariously with its heavy diamonds and crystals; the couch was in an unlevel flooring, shaped for the large rounded velvet couch; the moonlight was streaming in the drawn open French windows that reached the arches of the walls; the rose bushes were in full bloom in view of the windows, full and lovely; the TV screen was sat atop a long desk, decorated with picture frames of the members of the Avengers all smiling and serious; the room was dim lit except for the moonlight, and there's an uneasiness in the room. It was nearing midnight, and Sam didn't make any plans to go back to bed.

Everything seemed to swallow him whole, and the vastness was only eating at his sides, bringing him down just to build him back up again with hope; it's a sickening plot to take him down but his mind was almost peeling at the seams, and there's a need to kill his overwhelmed senses before dawn, because there's a ticking in his head that he had interpreted as a ticking bomb that would implode him and his thoughts when the sun would rise.

It's saddening, how the world could beat him down into a pulp, taking his mentality and sensibility. The world has stripped him down to the bone and left his soul to burst into flames, an open-to-all show for the world to see. This is your Captain America! and you've let him burn to ashes! The world has left him to drown like an Icarus, burnt to a crisp and broken like glass. Nothing could ever piece him back together except for death, and even then it wouldn't be the same. There'll be an aftertaste in his mouth that would taste like gunfire and carcasses, and he wouldn't be able to wash that foul taste without burying himself six-feet-under.

In the silence of the mansion and the dimness of the night, it's here that he let himself daze into nothingness, feeling the void wrap itself into his bones, etching his fate with a pen-knife and salt, embracing his wounds as if the Mona Lisa to its Louvre. Sam lets himself decay with the stars, and if his fate leads him into his bed, then so be it; he's lived long enough, won't that mean he'd die short enough?

The silence seemed to ring in his ears, and there's an ache in his chest he couldn't cater to; it seemed too far away for him to reach, and if it was close enough for his fingers to grasp, it would turn futile. He would let it be; who's going to tell him otherwise? There's not a person in the world who decided to let Sam thrive, and even if they did, it was obviously not enough. Sam knew his worth, but did he know this could save him? Months of spiraling into the void, Sam has finally recollected and called himself "extinct." Reminiscing would lead him nowhere, and the happy thoughts he had clutched onto had become stone; Sam did know his worth, but it only became his enemy.

Sam knew what it meant to know things and had felt things to conflict it, in the end burying himself in his own grave from the pressure of the world. Life has offered him endless tragedies and he has offered nothing but service, ruthlessly nice and angelic to the halo and wings, and it'd be a shame to have him drown in Atlas and the world's burdens, but that's what people make him do; stripped down to "support" and "partner" all in one, the world will forever see him in this facade.

As the ache in his chest began to sear him, Sam suppressed his cries to beg mercy at the world; he's been abused to the bone that he'd let himself get down on his knees to beg for a sliver of mercy from the world. There's tears rolling down his cheeks as he gritted his teeth, clenching his jaw at every sensation he felt. There was the need to numb himself, and he'd do that even if he has to physically hurt himself, to ache at the skin— yes, maybe that would work...

Footsteps approach Sam, breaking his soliloquies. Sam was left with ragged breaths, wiping his tears away with his bare hands when Bucky Barnes had plopped down right beside him, invading his personal space. Bucky was panting, wiping his forehead with a face towel before facing Sam with a splitting grin; it disappeared when Bucky saw the red in Sam's eyes, and so Bucky immediately gave the man some space.

"Hey," Bucky gently spoke, his hands wringing in between his thighs, "You— You don't have to say anything," he put on a small smile for Sam, but the man only sniffled, turning into convulsive sobs, "Do you want me to leave? I can give you more space. Do you want me to stay? I have some, uh, few ideas to get your mind off things..."

Sam turned to the rough fabric of the couch for comfort, crying into it as he choked on his sobs. Bucky sat beside the man, resting his chin on his crossed arms on the backrest of the couch; he had fear glinting in his eyes as he watched one of the strongest men he knew break down in pieces. There's an unmistakable anguish in the air, one that brittles the strong with crashing waves, and Bucky feared for it.

"What do you need right now, Sam," Bucky whispered into the darkness, and there's a softness in his tone that just breaks Sam even more.

Sam looked up from his arms, a glare burying Bucky to the ground as he says, "Don't treat me like I'm fragile,"

Bucky took a double-take, but nonetheless nodded carefully, afraid he'd hurt Sam even more. There's an unspoken rule about comforting someone: Don't hurt them even more . Bucky stood up, arms in awkward positions as Sam went back sniffling into his arms. Bucky's heartstrings chimed to the tune of a love song, one that sings just for Sam; there's now the only goal he had in mind: make Sam happy .

"Everyone's fragile, Sam," Bucky whispered, his voice barely above a murmur, but Sam must've heard it, because he stopped his whimpers and stayed robotically still, "Their brokenness only depends on how people handle them,"
Sam looked up, his lips twisted as his eyes searched for something in Bucky. "Stay," he whimpered.

Bucky warily comes back in his seat, Sam inching towards the warmth of Bucky. Bucky wrapped his arms around Sam's waist as the man leaned into Bucky's body, nestling his head on Bucky's chest. They lied down like this for minutes long, feeling each other's breathing blend into each other. Bucky tries to even his breathing, already fearing the way his own heart beats deafeningly into the night; does Sam hear the fear and anxiety Bucky feels for him revibrate in his chest, or was Sam too deep into his thoughts to feel anything outside of him?

Bucky planted a soft and gentle kiss on the top of Sam's head, and Sam instinctively groaned at the action; Sam's body reacted by burying himself deeper into Bucky, as if it was still possible. If anything, they were practically connected into each other, atoms sharing and merging with one another they wouldn't be surprised if they had melted into each other's souls by dawn.

Dawn .

Sam lifted his head, and Bucky whimpered at the loss of heat. Sam set his hands on Bucky's knees as he blinked at the darkness, trying to figure out the murky shapes in the living area; he almost jumped when he saw something move in the darkness, only to realize it was Natasha Romanoff's cat, Liho, moving around by the carpet. Bucky watched the back of Sam's head, his eyebrows knitted together as he tried to decipher Sam. It seemed like everyday that Sam was jumpy and spaced out, almost like an astronaut from the many times he's been into the void — Bucky just wanted to bring him back down with him on Earth.

"Where are you, Sam?" Bucky whispered, dragging his hand on Sam's back, rubbing careful circles to ease the tension in his man's muscles.

Sam shuddered at the touch, murmuring, "I don't know,"

Liho is now on the other end of the couch joined by the other cats, Alpine, Goose, and Figaro; so that's what those menaces do at night.

Bucky sighed, bringing back his grip on Sam's shoulder, easing out the ache of the world out of him; if it was only possible. Bucky wished it was that easy, because Sam didn't deserve an inch of this bullcrap, however the world seemed fit, angels just don't need the burden of Atlas as if it wasn't from different religions in the first place. If there was just a magic word Bucky could say to bring Sam back down on base, he'd make a song out of it— Anything. Anything that would give back Sam his control, Bucky would pick it out from hell itself if it could bring Sam peace and comfort.

"Why do I bother," Sam murmured, his voice raspy and ragged.

Bucky hesitantly set his forehead on Sam's back, breathing in the scent of him; he exhaled, saying, "We bother because we care," he breathed in once more, his eyes shut closed, "Sometimes we care too much to feel anything. Which is why we rest... Feel... Breathe in..."

"I know," Sam's eyebrows furrowed, staring into the void of darkness as his idle hands grew sweatier and colder, "I... I can't seem to do anything right now..."

"Then let's just exist, Sam. Come back down for you."

Bucky rested his head right on Sam's back, eyes upwards as he heard the mewling of the four cats approaching them. They both chuckled at that, and for a moment, the world stopped spinning and had rested just for the two of them. Sam lied back down, bringing Bucky down with him; Sam curled himself deeper into Bucky's chest as the other rested his feet on top of the mahogany coffee table before them. Liho finds a spot between Bucky's legs and Alpine is soon behind him; the other two cats, Bucky thinks, should scram before the two of them do anything more.

They sat down for a moment, overwhelmed by the silence to move, and it feels nice to have the weight be lifted from one's chest; there's a pang of pain to breathe but there's also the love that revibrates within the heart, and it blares so loudly between these two it shouldn't be hard enough to stay oblivious to this. 

"You don't have to talk," Bucky whispered in Sam's ear; Sam hummed in acknowledgement, "I know. I know it's hard, and it's fine to be fragile," he rubbed circles on Sam's back with his palm, then his fingers, feeling Sam sigh deeply into his chest, "One thing I've learned is that... You should just exist. Alone or together, any is fine; just breathe and feel, Sam. The pain leaves like a bandaid,"

It's probably near two in the morning when Natasha emerges from her bedroom on the other side of the mansion to retrieve Liho, scooping up the noir feline from Bucky's legs. In exchange, Natasha had brought the two a blanket, and apparently Bucky had requested to bring his laptop and secret stash of champagne. No sooner had she left with her cat, Goose had followed as well, meowing all the way down the hallway.

"What are you doing?" Sam drawled out, suppressing a grin as Bucky laid out the blanket around them.

Bucky had set down his laptop on his lap, opening up a browser and going incognito; Sam watched Bucky enter a website that had too many ads for one's liking, entering a movie title that had only disappeared from the cinemas just yesterday. The movie began to play and Bucky raised the volume, Alpine setting her paws on his arm as he did this. Chuckling, Sam popped open the champagne with surprising ease, laughing fully as some of it spilled; Figaro crawled on top of his legs, and Sam had run a hand across his cat's fur as Bucky snuggled deeper into the duvet.

They took turns drinking the alcohol straight from the bottle, and no sooner had Bucky seen a smile form on Sam's face, all gap-tooth and wide, it was too beautiful to miss, even in the darkness. Everything fell back into place, but there's a new atmosphere surrounding them as explosions and guns blared from the speakers, their two cats purring in the background making everything harder to move, and their breathing was too close to each other to ignore.

They didn't know who was the first one to lean into the kiss, but they both knew they wanted this. Long and languid  kisses ensued between them, and Bucky's advice ringed in their heads: Just feel , and they did; they felt each other's skin against each other as their hands found their way to cup the other man's cheek and bring them closer with a hand on the neck. They rested against each other's foreheads as they breathed heavily, eyes still closed as they let the taste of the other be ingrained into their heads, never wanting to forget what love finally tasted like: it tasted like champagne turned into wine and the living room into an abandoned movie theatre, and it felt ten times colder but they were too warm in their hearts to complain.

They stayed like this for another movie, just existing together and alone, and if the world has decided that enough was enough and that they should break apart, just know this: though they were both fragile, in each other's presence they felt too strong to even believe they were weak in the first place. Dawn had just arrived, and they could say they've stayed for another day.

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You can now go support my fics (even this one) on AO3 under honestlyfrance! I also have this FATWS sambucky fic I have going on over 32k words, 2 chapters as I post this, and yeah :D you guys can go check it! the title is Death To The Ending and can be accessed even without an account (there's a link on my message board)! It's like my best sambucky yet- I swear, it even surpasses the ones here! 

so guys, what do y'all think? what other squares are you guys excited to see next?

thanks for the love!

- france