SamBucky one shots

catch me

A/N: words: 882. i barely remember writing this idek. i definitely should've been sleeping but thats fine. im girlbossing anyways. enjoy!

The door slammed shut as Sam opened it, greeted by Bucky, sitting on the couch, TV muted. The local newswoman on the screen. "He was right."

"Isaiah, he was-" Sam didn't know when he started gasping for air, his lungs hurt. His head hurt. He hurt. "He was right. I can't-" Sam gasped again, feeling the weight of the truth suffocate him. Maybe Sam should've never taken up the shield. Maybe then he wouldn't have had to see a child being murdered. And had the blame shifted onto him. Because it was always on him. And the press was "not surprised, all things considered." which made Sam want to scream and cry and fall apart every single time he heard it because some days they make him want to pretend this was all a nightmare.

And some days it feels like a nightmare. Some days it feels like ropes tying him down to a force so strong, a force that has him wrapped him around its finger. Some days he feels like he'd welcome death if it was offered, because at least then, the world wouldn't turn their backs to him, but instead recognize that they ever turned in the first place. Like somehow it was all their fault. A nice change of pace.

"Sammy, I'm gonna need you to breathe." Since Sam entered the apartment, Bucky had gotten up from the couch, taking Sam's hands and leading him to the kitchen. "Focus on me and breathe, okay?" Sam could do that. Sam could feel Bucky. See Bucky. Hear Bucky. Know Bucky. He could do that. He watched as Bucky inhaled, and inhaled. Exhale, exhale. Inhale, inhale. It seemed simple, to breathe. But if that was the case, then why did Sam feel like he was drowning? He followed Bucky, he studied him as he did it. Memorized each little feature of his face over and over, yet the weight of what was pressing against his chest made it hard to breathe in the clear skies of New York City.

"Sam, you still with me?" Bucky inquires after a minute or so. Sam just nodded absently. He watched as Bucky's face twisted with concern, but elected to ignore it, because really, all Sam could bare to think about was the way that child's face twisted with fear. When Sam wasn't fast enough. He felt Bucky's hands slip from his, and heard the tap running. A clink of glass on their counter and Sam was brought back a bit to where he was. He still felt suffocated, disoriented. Something cold, the glass of water, it must've been, was slipped into Sam's hand. Sam took a sip without thinking, staring right past Bucky.

"You wanna talk about it?"

"No." And they didn't talk about it. Bucky practically steered Sam to the couch, fussing over him, but Sam barely noticed. Making sure Sam was okay, but Sam was lost far away in a world that existed mere hours ago. A world where Sam never had the blood of a child on his face. The permanent stain of red that Sam could never wash off.

"It wasn't your fault." Bucky told him, as if Bucky could peer into Sam's mind, be a part of the missing pieces that Sam kept inside. And this time, the missing pieces fell like running water through a downward stream. Like tears that ran down cheeks when breathing was enough to manage but hard to master. When ink splattered over the pages in perfectly spaced letters telling imperfectly paced stories. Like the story of how Sam winded up here. With the splatter of bright red blood over his head, over his heart, when all he wanted to do was help. Help find a way. Paint a pathway in red and blue for dreamers. Instead, the blue bruises on his heart and mind would never heal, and the red of blood on his hands could never be washed away from the tears that were desperate to fall. Sam was sitting up straight, staring at blankly at the wall. Bucky was beside him, watching him as if he was the villain he was painted in every single day.

"Sam, they wouldn't blame you." The broken pieces came flooding. Tears falling from eyes that once shimmered and shine at the thought of the spotlight. But a calloused hand was there to wipe those tears away, and hold him tight throughout the night. As Sam felt the energy drain from him, letting himself be completely supported by Bucky, he couldn't help but find it easier to breathe. Maybe when you let yourself hide in the pain, the pain consumes you, until you have no choice but to let it all wash away. Wash away as if it was on the shore of an ocean, an ocean leading to the end of the earth. Sometimes, letting it wash away is the hardest part. But letting pain consume you, letting it take over your mind, but not yet releasing the parts that say why you're in pain. Maybe because, what reveals what causes you pain dazzles and sparkles in the spotlight.

But Bucky holds Sam tight, and Sam finally lets everything fall. Letting pain go is only made possible if you have someone willing to catch you.