Work Text:
It was 5:13 when Bucky got the call, two weeks and three days after they'd finished up with the flagsmashers. It hit Bucky hard, wasn't expecting it and— he'd gone to visit Steve only two days prior, on his tri-weekly basis. But it still hurt and came as a surprise when Bucky got the call saying Steve had passed away in his sleep.
He was staying in his apartment in New York, alone.
His mind instantly flooded with all the things he needed to do. All the preparations he needed to make. All the things he needed to organize. The speeches he'd have to write as Steve Rogers' best friend— and god he was horrible at speeches, they'd never been his thing, those were Steve's forte. Then the money. Where the hell was he going to get the money for all of it? Maybe the government would help pay. Steve had served the country more than anyone else, he deserved that much, didn't he? Or was that just Bucky being cheap and not wanting to pay for his own friends funeral?
It didn't take much for Bucky to spiral, and this was far more than enough.
Bucky was on the floor, back pressed against the wall and head in his hands, vision blurred with tears. Before he knew it, though, he was scrolling through his phone and clicking on a contact and bringing the phone up to his ear.
It rang.
Then again.
Again.
A fourth time, before going to voicemail.
He tried again.
And again.
And again.
Finally, on the fifth call and third ring, it picked up.
"Buck? What the hell man?" The voice was tired, obviously woken by the constant ringing of the phone, but Bucky couldn't bring himself to care if he'd woken the other man or not. His own breath was caught in his throat and the world was dizzy. "It's freaking… what? Five in the morning?" His voice wasn't annoyed, though it seemed like that was what Sam was going for right now.
*He's gone." The words came out broken, choking them out, as his body was wrecked with a sob.
"What? Bucky, who's gone? What happened? Talk to me, man." And suddenly Sam sounded a lot more awake, a lot more attentive and focused.
"Steve, he…" Bucky couldn't even finish the sentence before shoving his face into his hand, rubbing his eyes in hopes that if he pushed hard enough it would keep the tears from coming out— it didn't. It made it worse, because the tears still came but now his eyes burnt and had pressure dots showing in his vision when he pulled the hand away.
"I'll fly out. Sit tight, man. I just gotta get my wings. I'll stay on call, it'll be windy but I'll be there. You're not alone in this, Bucky, okay?" Sam paused, and Bucky could hear shuffling around. "Okay? Bucky, do you understand? You don't have to do this on your own."
Somehow hearing that made Bucky's heart lighter and hurt more at the same time, sniffling as another sob worked its way through him. He gave a nod, before realizing Sam couldn't see him, so he gave a quiet thank you, Sam.
Sam had stayed on call the entire time he flew over as promised, and the wind was howling into Bucky's ear through it as Sam had said as well. But Bucky didn't care, because someone was there. Someone cared enough to make sure Bucky was okay and to keep him grounded so he didn't go do something stupid.
It was nice. And it was familiar . Although he was used to the roles being reversed with Steve. Bucky always taking care of him, always being there, being the rock that never faltered and stayed steady to make sure Steve was okay.
Those thoughts sent Bucky into another fit of crying, which Sam heard and talked him through.
A few hours later, the front door opened. Normally Bucky would be on his feet, gun pointed and ready to shoot before the person even had time to reach the door. But Bucky didn't care right now. Instead he was on the couch, knees brought up to his chest, face red and puffy from crying. Then Sam's voice came through the apartment. In person. Bucky finally raised his head out of his arms, looking up to Sam and seeing the look on the man's face just reminded Bucky that this was all real. That this was all happening. That Steve was gone and this time he wasn't going to show up again.
Tears poured down his cheeks once again, a lump building in his throat. It was hard to swallow around, like it was cutting off his air. Soon enough, he was gasping and sobbing. Then Sam was at his side, wrapping Bucky in a blanket, arms wrapped around his shoulders and drawing him onto Sam's lap, running his fingers through the short hair to help calm him down— something he'd noticed Bucky did whenever he was nervous or upset, so Sam figured it was a calming coping mechanism.
It helped, some, though it still took over a good ten minutes to calm Bucky down to the point where he stopped crying— he had little hiccups from all the crying he had done, and under different circumstances Sam would have found them adorable— then another good ten minutes to get Bucky to a point where he could talk. They avoided the pending questions and conversations, the ones about Steve, instead opting to catch up on Sam's family then picking a movie to watch. Bucky wasn't going to complain.
After the third movie, it was nearly noon, and the fact that Steve had died earlier that morning wasn't as pressing as it had been.
Because Sam was there. Sam was helping. Sam was distracting without brushing it aside like it was nothing. Sam knew when Bucky was ready to finally talk about it, that day.
"So, what needs to be done?" He gave a small smile, arm still wrapped around Bucky, looking into his eyes.
And for the first time that day he didn't cry when his mind moved to Steve. The urge was still there, the gut reaction to shut down and not deal with it, but with Sam here it was different and he was able to handle it.
"Everything." Bucky sighed. "Everything needs to be done, and more, and I don't even know where to start because everything is different now and I'm still not used to it and—" He was rambling, getting carried away in the thoughts.
But Sam grounded him, giving a tight squeeze to Bucky's shoulder, cutting him off. Making Bucky breathe because it didn't seem like he was while he was talking.
"Okay. And it's like the list. Start with one." Sam stated, pulling Bucky close and keeping him there. "And I'm here to help. All the way through. Not going to make you do this on your own, okay?"
Bucky gave a nod in response.
"Good. So, where do you wanna start?"
They worked through all the planning and organizing together, Sam didn't leave Bucky's side the entire time. Bucky had suspected Sam had been getting called on missions, from the conversations he was able to overhear, but Sam kept turning them down. I got more important shit going on right now. No, I don't care. I don't care if I'm Captain America, you got others who can do the damn job.
It was nice.
Having someone taking care of Bucky like this. Keeping him grounded. He was so used to having to be the strong one it was nice to be able to let go and be a broken mess. Because that's all he'd felt like after Hydra, but he hadn't had a chance to let it out. Steve dying had been the last straw.
"You ready Buck?" Sam asked, hand laced with Bucky's flesh one as they stood a ways away, waiting to walk up to the burial. There were media people flocked around, and veterans from world war two— people probably from Bucky's old platoon that Steve had saved, the damn stupid hero— along with government officials. Then there was Bucky and Sam. And they seemed like… Bucky felt like a nobody compared to everyone else there. "We don't gotta go, I can make up an excuse, if you aren't ready."
"No." Bucky gave a nod to himself, solidifying the decision. Giving Sam's hand a squeeze. It was just a comforting device. "No, I can do this." He breathed, looking over to Sam and smiling, before taking hesitant steps forwards. Once they were within view everyone turned to them. Started snapping pictures and videos and— did they realize this was a funeral and not a damn photoshoot?
Bucky shook his head, clearing his mind, keeping calm and focusing on the body next to him. Focusing on Sam, before letting go of the hand.
"Just believe in yourself, Buck." Sam whispered.
He made his way up to the head of the casket, Sam not far away in case Bucky needed help, and gave his speech. It ended up going on longer than planned, and he did break down sobbing at one point but Sam was immediately at his side with a comforting hand on his back. And it helped. Everyone waited for Bucky to gain his composure again and continue.
It felt good. To say goodbye, officially, to Steve. To see him one last time in the casket— even if Bucky had wanted to remember him young and not old and wrinkled, it was still good for him to say goodbye.