UNKNOWN GUEST

#128 Sam's Town

As Uncle Sam and I walked down the sunlit streets of Louisiana toward his sister's house, his nephews darted ahead, chattering and laughing, creating a trail of energy we just tried to keep up with. The place had a charm to it—peaceful yet alive, with people stopping to nod or wave at Sam, clearly seeing him as one of their own. 

I was looking around, taking in the small-town vibe, when I noticed a familiar figure strolling our way: Uncle Bucky, clad in his usual leather jacket, a casual grin breaking through his tough exterior.

The boys spotted him too, and they charged at him, no hesitation. Bucky greeted them like old friends, effortlessly lifting them both with his metal arm as if they weighed nothing at all. He shot me a knowing nod, setting the boys back down. "Hi, Roberts," he said with a smirk. "What brings you all the way out here?"

I shrugged, playing it casual. "Just... roaming around?"

He gave a slight scoff, the kind that said he wasn't buying it, but he let it go. We all fell in line behind Uncle Sam as he led the way, our steps crunching on the gravel, while the boys darted around us, still fueled by an unending stream of jokes and giggles. 

At one point, a woman stepped out from her porch, her eyes flickering over to me curiously before settling on Sam with a raised brow. She had the same easygoing warmth I'd seen in Sam, along with a hint of the no-nonsense attitude he pulled out in the field.

Uncle Sam waved. "I brought someone who might be able to help with the boat." He then motioned at her, "Jason, meet my sister, Sarah."

"Hi, Sarah," I said, giving a small wave.

She smiled warmly but turned her attention to Bucky, who raised his metal hand in greeting. "Hey, Sarah. How you doing?" he asked, with a lopsided grin that practically screamed charm.

Sarah rolled her eyes, not missing a beat. "Perfect," she said, taking her two sons by the shoulders and ushering them inside. But there was a smirk on her face, the kind that suggested she didn't mind Bucky's attention as much as she pretended.

Sam, however, was less amused. He gave Bucky a pointed look, narrowing his eyes. "Don't flirt with my sister, man."

I couldn't help but chuckle, watching them fall into the easy banter of old friends, each ribbing the other but never crossing the line. Uncle Bucky just laughed it off, shaking his head. "Maybe you won't be mad if you see what I got for you?"

Sam raised an eyebrow, suspicious. "What?"

Bucky shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "A gift."

"It's not Christmas yet." Sam replied, arms crossed but clearly intrigued.

Uncle Bucky just grinned, and with a quick shove to Sam's back, we continued down the path toward the house. I followed along, thinking how surreal it was to see them like this.

This was the stuff you didn't see on the battlefield—the lighthearted teasing, the moments that grounded them and reminded me that they were human too, not just Avengers.

The water sparkled under the warm afternoon sun, casting shimmering reflections that danced along the boat's surface, lending an almost magical quality to the peaceful scene. We'd been working on the old, worn boat for hours, patching up leaks, reworking the engine, scrubbing away years of accumulated grit. 

Now, as we finished the last adjustments, Uncle Buck, Uncle Sam, and I collapsed onto the boat's wooden floor, exhausted but satisfied. We let the gentle rocking of the water soothe our tired muscles as we leaned back, taking in the sun dipping lazily toward the distant hills.

Though it was only mid-afternoon, there was a mellow softness to the light that hinted at evening. Golden hues stretched across the horizon, giving everything a warm, almost nostalgic glow.