where you belong

home (a place, a person)

a few notes: you do not need to know louisiana french to read this fic! if you happen to know referential french, that's awesome, but louisiana french does have some linguistic quirks, so brace yourself for those lmao. and if you are a native louisiana french speaker, i love you, and i hope my fic doesn't disappoint!!

also—there is a point in the fic where some clifton chenier plays on the radio in the background. the song is called "I'm Coming Home (To See My Mother)," and while you obviously don't need to play the song while you read the fic, there may or may not be some slow dancing related to it, so. if you're an auditory person, maybe that will enrich your reading experience! but again—it's not a requirement lmao and any relevant lyrics are in the fic. (it's not a songfic tho, lol, if anyone was starting to get worried.)

and lastly, i couldn't find confirmation that bucky knows french in mcu canon, so he doesn't know french here! which is why you don't need to know la french to read this fic—you're in the same boat as bucky.

MOVING ON. this fic is 95% self-indulgent (the other 5% was me practicing my la french lmaoo kindly don't judge it too harshly) and as such i shoved soooo many personal headcanons into this story, lol. i hope you enjoy my unabashed pushing of the "wilson family speaks la french" and "bucky needs to Experience louisiana" agendas!

~*~

"You need help fixing the rest of the boat?" Bucky asked, absentmindedly flexing his vibranium fingers. He wondered if Louisiana's higher humidity would affect its functional capabilities—knowing Shuri's overzealous levels of preparation, probably not.

He'd avoid dunking it in the ocean all the same.

Sam stared at him for a moment, weighing the offer over with an intensity Bucky hadn't quite prepared himself for. "Yeah," he finally said, clapping Bucky on his normal shoulder. "I'd appreciate that."

The touch was familiar, and yet possessed a newness. Warmth, almost. Bucky determined Delacroix's comforting atmosphere compared to the icy tension of Latvia and Madripoor was the likely cause.

Bucky started to reply, but was interrupted by an unfamiliar voice from behind.

"Sam, Mr. LaFleur wants to know where he should put the extra cables—" The voice stopped short, and Bucky turned around to see a gorgeous woman with dark skin and deftly-woven braids that were pulled up into a ponytail. She gave him a once-over, a mixture of suspicion and mild amusement glimmering in her eyes. If Bucky was honest, it was a better reaction than he'd expected to get from the townspeople.

"Hi," he said, throwing on a charming smile like it was the 1940s again. "Bucky."

She returned his smile with a small one of her own, and Bucky immediately saw the family resemblance. "Sarah," she replied, clutching her clipboard to her chest and tilting her head ever so slightly to the side. The 'Wilson' went unspoken, but Bucky heard it all the same.

"Sarah." Bucky maintained his warm smile, ignoring the unamused side-eye Sam threw him at his repetition of her name. Maybe it would have been smarter to drop the old-fashioned charm and stay in whatever remained for him of Sam's good graces, but really. The last thing he needed was to make a poor first impression around Sam's beautiful sister.

"Tell Mr. LaFleur he can hold onto them until tomorrow," Sam instructed, crossing his arms over his chest. "I'll pick them up from his place in the morning." He shot another warning glance at Bucky, who this time relented, dropping his gaze to his feet. "I see you've met Bucky. Bucky, this is Sarah. My sister."

The thinly-veiled threat—in jest though it could have been—lacing Sam's voice was clear. Bucky probably would have laughed had he not been on such thin ice already. Since he'd, well, shown up in Louisiana out of the blue after ditching Sam in Latvia. Resentment towards him was more than warranted, for that and... other reasons.