Amends (Sambucky)

Chapter Fifty

A/N

Ahh, I smell an ending soon.

~~~~~

"Keep up."

"Fuck off," Sam muttered, his drowsiness catching up with the rest of his body. It wasn't like he was doing it on purpose; he was hyper aware of how slow he was going.

"If we're right, you've already gotten two of the three injections," Bucky narrowed his eyes, "We can't afford another mistake. You have to keep up."

Sam suddenly threw down the case he'd made redwing bring him, "No. No, I'm tired of running away— let's just face her."

"That's stupid."

"Why?" Sam huffed, partially out of breath. They'd left their car because they knew Sharon was probably tracking it. They left the bags she packed them, their phones, their weapons. The only thing with them was Sam's suit.

"Because. We can't face someone who— are you serious? Stop it," Bucky demanded as Sam flopped on top of the briefcase, "What's gotten into you?"

"You." Sam snapped, before adding, "Both figuratively, and literally."

"Now's not the time for jokes," Bucky crossed his arms, unimpressed, but Sam didn't move.

"Please, just a minute. I'm exhausted," he bargained, trying to ignore both the layer of sweat over his body and his ever closing eyes.

Bucky stood for a few more moments quietly, before breaking down and sitting. He couldn't help but feel guilty, weak. Like he shouldn't be giving into Sam at all.

He crossed his arms and leaned against a tree, "An hour, that's it."

Sam didn't say anything else, calling redwing back from up ahead and making his way to the same tree quietly. He sat beside Bucky and pulled his briefcase onto his lap, allowing redwing to rest on top as well.

The tension didn't spare either of their comfort, but sleep deprivation could do things to Sam that lowered his ability to care, even as Bucky's eyes bore holes into his head.

"You should sleep now. I won't stop again."

Sam ignored the suggestion, opening up the briefcase so his hands would have something to do, "I already told you— I can't. I've tried."

Bucky tried to ignore Sam's fidgeting, each sound from his movements grinding a section of his brain. It was almost excruciating for him to sit and listen. To sit and not know how to keep Sharon away. He closed his eyes briefly and realized that he, too, was tired.

"You still carry this 'round? I thought you'd crossed them all off except one."

Bucky opened his eyes and immediately snatched the journal from Sam's hands, forgetting that he had slipped it in there for the trip. He supposed deep down, he knew Sam wouldn't open it.

"Who is it?" Sam muttered, "Who's closure is that hard to give?"

Bucky's tone hardened at the question, but it wasn't his intention. He couldn't help his frustration surrounding the last name, "Some people died before I could give them closure."

"Oh," Sam fell silent, deciding to go out on a hunch, "It's not one of their names though, is it?"

When Bucky didn't answer, Sam knew he'd never tell him.

"You still pray to that God of yours?" Bucky switched the subject.

Sam thought about remaining stubborn, but he caved, "Yeah, always."

"Well, what's he say about this? Why is he letting this happen?" Bucky pestered.

"I don't know," Sam breathed, leaning his head back and closing his eyes, "I just gotta trust him."

"Trust him? Half of those guests just died; you're who-knows-how-long away from giving Sharon exactly what she wants; and, we don't know what the fuck to do. How can you say that?" Bucky tried not to grow frustrated, but he did every time.

"James, I'm barely hanging on, okay? I'm tired. I want to sleep, and I'm scared that I might wake up in her arms if I do," Sam admitted, "But I trust in my God, who's never failed me before. I have hope that He will carry me through; why isn't that enough for you?"

"Because what about those who God has failed? I'm afraid you're too reliant on something that won't pull through. Especially not for those who are too stubborn to be 'saved' as you claim."

Sam paused for a moment, glancing at Bucky's face that was laced with worry, "If you don't have faith in my God, that's fine. And if you think he won't carry you through, I want you to have faith that I will. But at the end of the day, I have to stick to what I believe in even when it's questioned."

"We're fucked. This whole thing is going to shit, you included," Bucky thought aloud, "Maybe Corina can help. Get whatever it was in you that succeeded and take it out."

"Maybe," Sam agreed, "That's a good place to start."

The two went silent as they closed their eyes, tension still hanging in the air. Their relationship had grown too close. They'd been together enough to know each other inside and out— each eyebrow raise, nose scrunch, fidgety hand, and distant stare had a different meaning, and a different remedy.

"Hey James?"

"What?"

Sam shifted so that he was staring at Bucky, "Don't stress about it too much. We'll figure it out."

"Don't be naive," Bucky chastised, returning Sam's gaze out of habit.

"Well, my grandma used to always tell me that things will always work out in the end," he continued, "And if it's not working out, then it's not the end."

Again, Bucky conceded even though he didn't agree fully, "Wise woman."

"Yeah," Sam agreed quietly, finally breaking into a yawn. There was something about Bucky that settled him, grounded him. No matter what he was doing, no matter where he was, Bucky made him feel safe.

Bucky watched in conflict with himself, unable to tear his gaze away as Sam rubbed his eyes in tiredness.

Seeing Sam uncomfortable, or in distress, ate away at his soul. He tried to rationalize it in his brain, that he wasn't being soft because he was only ensuring that Sam slept enough to continue the mission.

He lifted up his arm and made room for Sam, "Come here."

Immediately, Sam obliged. He buried himself into Bucky's side, resting in the familiar touch and scent. He wasn't sure if he'd ever be able to do it again, so he soaked in everything he could.

Bucky couldn't resist placing a kiss to the top of his forehead, "Go to sleep, I'll take watch until you wake."

"Why do you do that?" Sam blurted out, before reeling himself in, "Why pretend like you don't care when you do?"

"Because we shouldn't be together," Bucky stated firmly, "In your religion, I make you sin. In your missions, I place you in danger. Hell, even when we're doing nothing, I—,"

"—am fine," Sam assured, bringing a hand up to Bucky's cheek, "You are exactly the person for me. I can't picture myself with anyone else."

"Well you should. I love you, Samuel Wilson," Bucky studied Sam closely, how he clung onto his every word. He soaked in the admiration in Sam's eyes because he knew it likely wouldn't be there in the morning.

"But we cannot be together."