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Chapter Text

There is no clock in Dr. Raynor's office. 

It was one of the first things he’d noticed upon entering the room that very first time, and one of the things that still stands out to him most blatantly as a manipulation. 

Or, maybe not manipulation, exactly. It’s more of a coercion tactic. “Don’t pay attention to the time, pay attention to what we’re telling you,” the gesture says. “Listen closely.” 

Dr. Raynor had addressed it once and only once, in an early session when they’d been getting nowhere and Bucky had asked how much longer he had to be there. 

“As long as you need to be,” Raynor had replied, both stern and aloof. 

“How long have I been here?” Bucky tried. 

Raynor had heaved a sigh and sat back in her chair. Bucky couldn’t do the same; the seat of the white sofa was too narrow, and the arms were far apart and stiff. There was really only one way to possibly sit semi-comfortably on the couch, and that position allowed Raynor to view and analyze his body language with minimal effort. 

“James,” Raynor exhaled, “Do you know why I don’t have a clock in this room?” 

He knew, of course he did. He’d known the minute he’d stepped foot into the office. But he looks down at his hands, gloved and clasped in his lap, and says nothing. 

“There’s no clock because when people worry about the time, they don’t put any effort into working through their problems. I will let you know when our time is up. Until then, tell me about your latest difficulty.” 

That had been that; it hadn’t come up again. 

Today, he really wished there were a clock in the room, if only to break the heavy silence with the steady tics of the second hand. 

“James,” Raynor says, notebook open on her lap. “I can’t help you if you don’t talk.” 

He shifts. His leg is falling asleep. 

Raynor writes, hands scribbling with a vigorous flourish. It’s unnecessary; he’d even go so far as to call it petty. When she’s done, she looks up from her notes. 

“How about this,’ she says, as if negotiating. It’s a funny notion. There’s no negotiation in anything she has to say. “You tell me about something you did this week. It can be anything, doesn’t have to be related to your nightmares or the Winter Soldier or the Flagsmashers at all. Can be anything. Go.” 

He sighs and contemplates continuing to sit in silence. She can’t keep him there forever. But if he says nothing, she’ll take her little pen and jot down patient is noncompliant in his records, and then he’ll be in trouble with the government. He doesn’t want to risk prison. 

He knows by now that noncompliance is never really an option, no matter how gilded the prison might be. 

He speaks. “I went to Izzy’s last Thursday.” Not Wednesday, never again. “Got some sushi and miso.” 

Raynor writes. Her threat is pointless; You don’t talk, I write. She always writes, no matter what he does. She’s a regular author. Maybe she spends what little free time she has writing novellas under a pen name based on the things her clients tell her. He can see the title: The Assassin and the Japanese Cuisine. Riveting, probably. 

“That’s good. Being out in public, even if you aren’t talking with anyone, is a great step to take. Humans are social creatures, James. We need interaction to survive.” 

She sets her notebook on her lap and caps the pen. A peace offering. 

“Have you spoken with Sam at all recently?” 

“A little,” he lies. Since the Flagsmashers, the most they’ve corresponded is a few texts back and forth discussing logistical matters.

Raynor hums. “How about your mood? Any anxiety, irritation, depression, things like that?” 

He shrugs. 

“Use your words, James.” 

Fine. 

“Maybe.” 

“I get the impression that you don’t trust me.” 

“I don’t,” he says. It’s the most honest thing he’s probably ever told her. 

She sighs, like he’s somehow disappointed her, and her entire wellbeing is now at jeopardy because of it. He knows that sound very well. An old handler used to do it all the time. 

“Can you tell me why?” she asks. 

Well, he could. Doesn’t mean he will, though. Really, it should be self explanatory. He’s not sure why she has to ask.

“Why would I?” 

She does the sigh thing again. He refrains from rolling his eyes and refuses to feel guilty for being difficult. 

“I only want to help you get better, James.”

“The government wants to surveil me, you mean.” 

Oops. Shouldn’t have said that. Goddamn it. 

“Do you feel like you’re under observation, James?” The notebook is perched on her lap, and the pen is poised to write. 

Does he feel like he’s being watched. Well. 

“I am, aren’t I?” 

She can’t deny it. She knows it, he knows it. He’s pretty much cornered her into admitting it, and she needs to save whatever rapport she thinks she has with him. The three long beats of silence that follow are spent with her hands clasped and her lips pressed together. She’s uncomfortable, he can tell. He’s a little glad she knows how it feels, with everything riding on whatever she says next. 

“To a certain extent,” she pauses, “You could say that, yes. The government does receive progress reports from me concerning your situation. However.” 

The sun reflects off of something in the building across the street. He looks over without thinking; no sniper, his stupid brain assures him. 

Raynor notices and writes again, then continues speaking. “I only give them the information necessary to assure them that you are not a threat to yourself or to others.” 

His lips twitch. “Right.” Disbelieving. Untrusting. Justifiably so, because-

“You don’t believe me?” she asks, playing at being offended. 

“The undercover agents watching me every time I leave my apartment would suggest otherwise.” 

He’ll keep his mouth shut after this; he doesn’t want to tell her too much. 

Dr. Raynor purses her lips, troubled. Her hands are clasped around her notebook, as if she’s planning on using it as a shield if he opts to rush at her. It’s not a very sensible notion; he could tear the thing to shreds in a matter of seconds. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, James.” Another lie. 

He says nothing. 

Raynor sighs, more defeated than disappointed. “I think you’ve been spending too much time alone in your apartment.” 

“Thanks for your concern,” he deadpans. 

She stares him down as if he’s being ridiculous. He resents the expression. Then, something that actually surprises him: “When’s the last time you’ve been on vacation?”

He can’t help it. He laughs. 

“1942, Doc,” he grins caustically. “Got an all-expenses paid trip to Europe.” 

She purses her lips and taps the pen against the notebook as if irritated. She sets the pen down, makes a visible effort to relax. “James,” she says, her voice a little softer than usual, “I think you’re overdue for one.”

“A vacation.” 

“Anywhere you like. You got a generous sum in backpay, right? Use it.” 

He shakes his head. Right. He can just see it now: the Winter Soldier, tanning on the beaches of Tahiti, getting sand between the plates of his metal arm. 

“At least seriously consider it, James.” There’s a slight begging note to her voice that’s uncharacteristic. He wonders on it for a second. Grins in understanding. 

“Wouldn’t you miss me, though?” 

She faux-glares at him. “We would have virtual sessions while you’re away.” 

Oh. There goes the one enticing thing about this suggestion. 

She must see it on his face. “At the very least, go for a road trip or something. Get away for a while. That’s your homework.”

He wonders if a trip to the grocery store would count. Based on the look she’s leveling him with, she can see what he’s thinking. Before she can call him out on it, he raises a hand, palm forward. A surrender. 

“I’ll think about it.” 

Dr. Raynor relaxes back into her chair, pleased. “That’s all I ask.” Her phone chimes. She picks it up and looks at it. “It looks like our time for today is up.” 

He nods and stands swiftly. “Seeya, Doc.” 

“Goodbye, James.” 

The door clicks shut behind him with a note of finality. 

***

In the time before… everything, he’d worked every day to make enough money to pay rent and buy food and help his ma out with her own rent and food. There had always been something comforting about returning home exhausted at the end of the day. He doesn’t quite remember the actual act of doing those things, but he remembers the feeling. It lingers in the corners of his mind with the millions of other shattered shards of faded emotions. 

He doesn’t get that feeling anymore, returning to his apartment exhausted after a therapy session. He feels empty, if anything. Tired. Just done with everything. Maybe the feelings only come with the presence of people that care about him. 

He won’t be finding any of those any time soon.

He locks the door behind him and drops his keys on the counter. His fridge is empty and he doesn’t want to deal with ordering food, so he grabs a glass of water and sits on the floor with his back to the wall near an outlet where he can plug his phone in to charge, 

There are no new messages, which is somewhat of a relief. He feels his eyes drooping, and turns up the brightness on the screen. He isn’t ready to fall asleep yet. 

He opens Google and searches ‘benefits of vacationing.’ 

“People who take vacations have lower stress, less risk of heart disease, a better outlook on life, and more motivation to achieve goals,” it says. 

Health benefits of taking a vacation: 

• Improved physical health. ...

• Improved mental health. ...

• Greater well-being. ...

• Increased mental motivation. ...

• Improved family relationships…

He stops reading after the last one, not sure why it makes an uneasy sensation unfurl in his gut. Maybe he should suck it up and go get something to eat. 

He sighs and pockets his phone. It’s a Friday, so it should be safe to go to Izzy’s. He’d never taken his shoes off, so he grabs his keys and goes back out into the world. 

The streets are quiet and shadowy. He finds his eyes following the dark shapes on the ground. He absently wonders if Steve ever had sushi. He must have; he’d dedicated a lot of time to actually experiencing the new century. If he had, he’d never told Bucky about it. Something about that stings a little bit. He isn’t sure why; it’s inconsequential. 

Izzy’s is busy tonight, which is good because it means that Leah will be too busy to try to talk to him and bad because it means he’ll have to wait longer for his food to be ready to leave with. The bell on the door rings cheerily as he enters. 

“I’ll be with you in a minute, feel free to take a seat,” Leah says. There’s a little bit of forced professionalism in her voice, which. Fair. 

He goes over to the bench and sits in the corner, regretting coming in the first place. Patrons are chattering all around him, and the sound grates on his senses. 

He closes his eyes, resting his head against the wall. It’s too loud, too bright, too everything. He doesn’t want to be here. He wants to be…

Well, he isn’t sure exactly where he wants to be. In cryo, maybe, after the bite of the freezing temperature stops hurting and he sinks into the frosty hibernation. Or maybe in Wakanda, surrounded by probably the best people in the world. (He doesn’t deserve that one, though.) A safehouse might be acceptable, like his place in Bucharest. He’d been trying then, trying with his entire being to be a person. 

Maybe it wasn’t possible, for someone like him.

“Hey,” a voice says, soft and terribly familiar.

He lifts his head and finds Yori’s eyes staring back into his own. 

“Oh my God,” Bucky says, something like horror spiking through him like a shot of vodka on a cold day. He stands abruptly. “I- I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-” 

Yori opens his mouth like he’s about to say something, but Bucky cuts him off. 

“I’ll go. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to- I’ll go. Sorry.” 

He wraps his coat further around himself and hurries toward the door, looking back just long enough to meet Leah’s accusing gaze before the bell on the door rings merrily, signaling his departure. 

He ends up in his apartment somehow, though he doesn’t remember walking there. He sheds his shoes and coat and settles onto the floor to go to sleep. The floorboards have a chill to them that settles into his bones and makes his shoulder ache. His stomach burns subtly with its emptiness; he ignores it. 

His ghosts seem particularly insistent on haunting him recently, it seems. Something about being in Brooklyn, walking through the shadows of a past life he barely remembers, makes him freeze from the very core of his self on out. Maybe Dr. Raynor was right. Maybe he does need to get away from here. 

He pins the thought in his mind, thinking he’ll look into it tomorrow. Until then, he settles into the blanket and closes his eyes, imploring whatever entities that might exist to spare him the nightmares for tonight. 

Chances are, he thinks before drifting away into sleep, they won’t listen. 

Chapter Text

When AJ was a baby, Sam had come by to help out his sister and brother-in-law. When he’d arrived, they had both been dead on their feet and exhausted to the point where they fell asleep on the couch as soon as Sam had taken AJ in his arms and given him his bottle. After about a week there, he sympathized with their fatigue. 

He’d been deployed in Afghanistan, slept through the sounds of gunfire and other noises indigenous to a military base. He’d dealt with the nightmares and insomnia that came after he was discharged. 

He wasn’t sure if that was as intense as his week watching AJ had been. 

Which is not to say that his time deployed was a walk in the park. It was devastating in a lot of ways, and chiseled out the fine details of his character through the triumphs and traumas he’s experienced. But there’s a certain feeling of accountability that comes with being responsible for children, especially babies, that really pushes a person to their limits. 

That week had been one of the most tiring weeks of his entire life. 

This week might be a close contender. 

“You okay, Sam?” Rhodey asks, walking up next to him. 

“If I have to recite my credentials to one more senator or official I might just cry, man,” Sam says. He wipes some nonexistent sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. 

Rhodey laughs good-humoredly. “You’ve been at this non-stop, Sam, it’s understandable.” 

It is, he supposes, but there’s a little niggling voice in the back of his mind whispering do better and it isn’t enough and you have to give more than your 100% if you want them to give you anything close to the time of day. 

He’s doing his best, he really is. And it shows; the progress he’s made so far is phenomenal. But at the same time, he can feel himself slipping as he becomes more and more burnt out. 

So he smiles tight-lipped to Rhodey, nods his head in acquiescence. “I know,” he says, voice smooth and true. 

Rhodey sees right through him. Shakes his head. “You need to take a break.” 

Ha. That’s laughable. 

“Right, that’s gonna happen,” he grins. “I got a lot to do, Rhodey, I don’t have time-” 

“Good afternoon, gentlemen!” 

Point in fact. 

They’re being approached by a well-groomed man in a three-piece suit. His pale skin is clear, but there are clear signs of botox use on his face. His hair is dark and slicked back. He wears a three-piece suit. 

He smiles like a shark, straight, white teeth gleaming. A hand flashes forward, an expensive watch reflecting the lights. “Mason Robinson, CEO and owner of Robinson Pharmaceuticals,” he continues. Sam schools his expression, masking his displeasure with what he hopes comes across as a polite and attentive expression. 

“Colonel James Rhodes,” Rhodey says, shaking his hand. He smiles, but it’s tighter around the edges than usual. 

Robinson’s handshake is much firmer than is necessary, jerking Rhodey forward a little. Sam grimaces as the attention is then shifted to him.

“And the new Captain America,” Robinson says warmly, voice booming and full. “Good work you did there, with the rebel terrorists. Fabulous work.” Sam’s shoulder aches by the time Robinson releases his hand. 

“We did our best,” Sam says steadily, “I wish things could have been resolved with less violence.” 

Robinson nods dismissively. “Yes, yes, but in the end, the right side won. That’s what really matters. Speaking of.” He reaches into his coat. 

Sam puts effort into keeping his expression neutral. This guy is probably thrilled with the way things turned out, if he’s in the pharmaceutical business. After the whole thing with the Flagsmashers had come to a close, Sam had been working with the GRC to put in more effort and to get supplies to the people who needed them. That meant the organization was purchasing a lot more vaccines and medicines. Business was probably great for Mr. Robinson. 

“Ah,” Robinson says, reclaiming his hand from his coat with a flourish, “Here we are.” He holds an envelope out to Sam. “I’d like to be involved- it’s a sort of favor for my wife- she’s followed the Avengers very closely and wants us to be involved. Anyhow. We thought, if the Avengers want to,” he makes a hand gesture, “Assemble as a team again, you’ll need sponsors. Consider Robinson Pharmaceuticals interested.” 

He flashes a smile. Sam examines the envelope. 

“That’s very generous of you,” Sam says. “We don’t have any concrete plans for anything as of now, but I’ll take a look at your proposal and get back to you if it’ll work out.” 

The thing is, they do need sponsors. Sam had done some talking with Maria Hill and Pepper Potts and Rhodey, and they’d all thrown the idea of reforming the Avengers out there at one point or another. There were a lot of logistical problems, though, starting with the fact that most of the original Avengers were either dead or unavailable. And, of course, funding. After the mess with the Accords, there was no way Sam wanted to be involved in something too tied up in sketchy bureaucracy. 

So, sponsors are a must. But Sam isn’t sure if he likes the look of Robinson. 

Robinson flashes a thousand-watt smile. “Excellent. I look forward to hearing from you.” Rhodey shifts to hide a scoff. 

“Thanks,” Sam says as he leaves. 

“Huh,” Rhodey says once Robinson is gone. “That was… something.” 

“He’s in it for the money,” Sam says, because he is.

Rhodey snorts. “Obviously. What’s in the envelope?” 

“Let’s see,” Sam says, leading him to his office, because he has an office now. 

His office isn’t that great, but it’s decent. Better than a lot of the other offices in the building. He shuts the door behind Rhodey and goes to sit at his desk. His chair is comfortable, at least. 

The envelope is large. It predictably has a lot of legal papers in it with logistical proposals for funding and stuff, but there’s also another envelope with Sam’s name on it tucked in the back. Sam opens it and pulls out the contents. 

“Ho-ly shit,” Rhodey says, staring at the check. 

There’s a letter, too, folded into perfect thirds. Sam opens it and reads it aloud. 

Captain Wilson, 

 

We would like to congratulate you on your new position as well as the recent victory over 

the terrorists known as the Flag Smashers. It is truly comforting to know that there are 

people like yourself stepping up to defend the common population. 

 

We know that you have been working tirelessly as of late, and so as a thank-you we 

would like to cover an all-expenses paid vacation for you and your family to the location 

of your choosing. We very much appreciate your service, and, God-willing, our future 

partnership. 

 

Sincerely, 

 

Mason and Catherine Robinson

“It’s blatant bribery,” Sam says once he’s finished reading. He shakes his head. He can’t believe the nerve of some people. 

“Uh, yeah,” Rhodey deadpans. 

“ We very much appreciate your service, and, God-willing, our future partnership. Christ. Can you believe this?” 

“It’s a classic rich person move,” Rhodey says. “At least it’s a vacation and not, like, expensive wine that tastes like shit or something.” He seems to be speaking from experience.

“I’m not going,” Sam says. 

“Why the hell not?” 

Sam stares in disbelief. “Seriously? He’s trying to bribe me so he can sponsor us and look good and make money! Why would I want to encourage that?” 

“Turning it down might offend him,” Rhodey says. Before Sam can interject and say that he doesn’t give a fuck if Mr.Richie Rich is offended, Rhodey unfortunately speaks reason. “Rich people are very social with one another. You should send his proposal to Maria and have her look it over, send him a nice letter saying that we’re considering his papers, and take Sarah and the kids on a nice trip to Hawaii or something.” 

Rhodey’s right. It makes his gut twist uncomfortably, thinking of humoring this guy, but really, they should stay on his good side, at least for the time being. At least until they get their feet up from under them. 

“Besides,” Rhodey says, a little softer and imploring, “You need a break, Sam. You’re gonna work yourself to death. Tony never took breaks, and it was terrible for his health. It just- it would do you some good.” 

Great. Now Sam feels obligated. 

He sighs. “I’ll talk to Sarah.” 

Rhodey smiles, genuine. “Good.”

***

Sarah, predictably, immediately shuts him down. 

“I can’t just drop everything to help you entertain some rich white guy, Sam,” she says, chopping onions so fast it’s a little scary. 

“You could use a break,” he says, trying to channel Rhodey’s persuasive reason. “And the rich white guy wouldn’t even be there.” 

Sarah glares at him. He assumes he’d failed. 

“The boys would love it,” he attempts. 

“The boys,” Sarah says, grabbing another onion, “Have plenty of sun and warm weather here in Delacroix.” 

Sam decides that it might not be in his best interest to mention the humidity or the mosquitoes or the gators. 

“Yeah, well,” he flounders, “We don’t have to go somewhere tropical! We could go to,” he searches his memory for moderate vacation destinations. The best thing he comes up with is a nice little town in France he’d stayed in for awhile while chasing Bucky all over Europe. “Uh, Italy? France? You know?”

Sarah rolls her eyes, which somehow never seem to water around chopped onions. Sam’s own eyes are teary as hell. 

“Yes, Samuel,” Sarah says, “I know where France and Italy are. Just ‘cause I don’t go parading all over the world in a bird costume doesn’t mean I don’t know my geography.” 

“You know what I mean.” 

Sarah sighs and sets down the knife. “Look, Sam. I can’t just drop everything and leave. I have a business to run here. AJ has plans with his friends.” 

“I get that, I do,” Sam says, because he does. “But you deserve a break. It doesn’t have to be tomorrow, we can take some time to plan. Carlos and Tommy could probably take care of the business for a couple weeks. Come on.” 

Sarah sighs and grasps a red bell pepper. “I’ll think about it.” 

Sam’s entire being lights up as he grins. “ Thank you.” 

He turns to go to his room. 

“Hey!” Sarah calls after him, “No promises!” 

“I know!” he calls back. 

It’s as good as a promise, in his book.

***

AJ and Cass are thrilled once Sarah’s on board with the vacation thing. 

“Where are we going?” Cass asks excitedly. 

“That’s what we’re going to figure out,” Sam says, powering up his laptop. 

“Mexico?” AJ suggests.

“No,” Sarah says, “We get enough hot weather and ocean here. Somewhere else.” 

“Ooo! I know! How about Antarctica!” Cass grins from ear to ear. “We could see the penguins!” 

“Not that cold,” Sam laughs. 

“We were thinking somewhere in Europe,” Sarah says, stealing the laptop from Sam and pulling up a map to show them.

“Germany?” AJ says, fiddling with a pencil. 

Sam’s mind immediately conjures images of flashing lights, Zemo, and an unstoppable force with a gleaming silver arm. 

“No,” he says. Sarah gives him a look, and he waves a hand dismissively. “We could do, uh, Italy?”

“How about Switzerland?” Sarah says, and oh. That’s not a bad idea. Sam’s never actually been there.

“Yes!” Cass exclaims. “It has more than seven-thousand lakes, Uncle Sam, seven-thousand. ” 

“Sounds good to me,” Sam says, finding himself to be surprisingly excited. “AJ?” 

AJ shrugs, trying to fight a smile because he’s cool. “Sure.” 

Sarah claps her hands together. “Glad we’ve got that settled. Sam, you figure out logistics. I need to put dinner in the oven.” 

***

Sam spends that night researching places in Switzerland to visit. 

He finds a nice hotel in a town near a cool lake and calls to book their rooms, then googles things to do in that area. It seems to be fun and kid-friendly, 

He hopes that this vacation will give Sarah a chance to let loose a little. She’s been on her feet non-stop since her husband died, and she deserves it. It’ll be good for AJ and Cass, too; give them a chance to experience the world a little. 

He finishes booking their trip, then pulls out his phone. 

Rhodey

Just booked our trip to Switzerland.

Delivered

Five minutes later he receives a response: 

Good, man. I’m glad. This’ll be good. 

Sam can’t help but agree. 

Chapter Text

A grating beeping noise assaults his ears.

“Sir, please step to the side,” the TSA officer says, droll and bored. 

He sighs, glaring at the metal detector. It has no right to disrupt his peace like this.

“Look,” he says, pulling off the glove of his left hand. “It’s a prosthetic. I don’t have anything on me.” 

“Hmm,” the TSA officer says. “Arms to the side.” 

He growls a curse under his breath and complies. The officer pats him down with much more force than is strictly necessary and, wonder of wonders, finds nothing. 

“You can go through,” he says. “Next.” 

Bucky collects his things and walks through. 

***

He’s never been on a commercial flight before, and he wouldn’t mind never repeating the experience. 

He’d been unfortunate enough to be seated in the middle of a row of three seats. An old man who insisted on getting up about every half hour to use the restroom sat in the window seat to his left, and a kid who seemed to be about six or seven sat to his right. 

“Why are you wearing gloves?” she asks. 

“Because.” 

“Because why?”

“I, uh,” he pauses, “I get cold easy.” 

“Okay.” 

There is about three seconds of blessed silence. Then: 

“Do you like mermaids?” 

“Um.” 

“I don’t like mermaids. I think they’re scary.” She’s staring into his eyes very intently. He shifts uncomfortably. 

“Yeah, mermaids- I guess they’re, uh,” he searches his brain for something to say. “Very… different.” 

“My brother Jesse says that mermaids drag you down into the ocean and eat you.” 

That image is. Admittedly disturbing. 

“I see why you don’t like mermaids much,” he says. 

“ Eliza May!” a woman in the seat behind them whisper-shouts. “ Please stop harassing the nice man.” To Bucky she says, “I am so sorry.”

He attempts a smile. In truth, the girl reminds him of his sisters a little, with her braids and her bold energy. 

“It’s okay.” 

The woman seems embarrassed. “Thank you.” 

He wonders if she’d think he’s nice if she knew who he really was. 

The man to his left taps his shoulder. “Can I get through? Need to use the restroom.” 

Bucky sighs. Thirty seven minutes. A new record. 

***

Eventually, they land at an airport in Madrid. From here, he’ll take another short flight to Interlaken. The plane is much smaller, so the chances of having offeat seatmates are lower. 

When he lands in Interlaken, he grabs his bag from the cargo hold and walks down the road. The airport is small, surrounded by bright green grass. He can see the snow-capped peaks of the Swiss Alps underneath a clear blue sky. The colors are so vibrant it’s a little jarring. 

The air is clean and  fresh in a way that New York could never hope to be. There’s a faint smell of pine and grass in the soft, cool breeze. He can hear birds singing. It reminds him of the time he’d stayed at Sam’s place in Louisiana, with the absence of city noises; no cars honking, no loud music, no people yelling. 

It’s nice. 

Little white and yellow wildflowers dot the sides of the road. The landscape is hilly. Interlaken is a city by a lake surrounded by mountains. He can see the lake from here; it’s a beautiful blue color. The whole area seems pure and clean. 

The town itself is full of picturesque brown and white houses and buildings. He sees a church with a octogonal steeple sitting up on a hill. 

The place reminds him of the fairy tales he used to read to his sisters when they were young. The atmosphere is welcoming and bright. 

After walking about two miles, he sees his hotel ahead of him. It’s on the edge of town, just below a bright green hill dotted with pine trees and flowers. A brown cow wanders, tail swishing as it chews its grass. 

There’s a huge Saint Bernard lying with its belly up to the sun near the front door. It opens its eyes and pants lazily when Bucky approaches. He finds himself smiling a little despite himself. 

The hotel is clearly an old building, but it’s well kept. It’s very charming. The whole front lawn is landscaped with rose bushes and trimmed hedges. There are flower boxes outside all of the windows filled with bright red and pink flowers. The hotel itself is made mostly of dark wood planks, but some of it is stone painted white. The window shutters are a dark green color, matching the pine trees in the distance.

The inside is just as quaint as the outside. It’s enveloped in warm orange and brown tones. There are comfortable lounging chairs in the lobby with homemade pillows in the seats and colorful quilts draped over the backs. It seems very cozy.. He walks up to the front desk and rings the bell. 

“Just a minute, dear!” a voice with a slight German accent calls from the other room. A broad woman with graying hair approaches the front counter with kind blue eyes and a bright, crooked smile. “Alright, then. Guten tag. Checking in?” 

“Yeah,” he says, fiddling with his glove. “Uh, James Barnes.”

She hums and puts on a pair of glasses, then grabs a book and flips through it. It’s been awhile since he’s seen anyone use books as opposed to computerized systems. 

“I have you down for room 118,” she says. “Does that seem correct?” The ‘s’ sounds like a ‘z.’ 

“Yes,” he says, shouldering his bag a little. 

She smiles even wider if that’s possible. “Excellent. Here is your key,” she hands him a brass key on a string, “And here is a map of the area as well as some extra information.” She sets several brochures on the counter. “Now, keep in mind that not everyone in Switzerland speaks English. Are you familiar with German? Italian? Or do you have some sort of way to translate?” 

“I know German. And Italian.” 

She smiles, warm and conspiratorial. “Ah, good. You’d be surprised how many people come here and are disappointed when they learn that the entire world does not in fact speak English. You are a breath of fresh air, my dear.” 

He tries to smile. She seems to like to talk. A lot. 

“Right, then,” she continues, tidying up her desk. “Your room is down that hallway to the left. The Wi-Fi password is on a card on the table in there. My name is Sofia, and my husband Finn is also around if you need anything.” 

Bucky nods. “Thanks.” 

Sofia smiles. “Not a problem, dear.” 

He walks down the hallway. 

Room 118 is easy to find, as all of the numbers are painted in a  bright, floral font on the front of each door. He unlocks it and steps inside. 

The room is clean and homey, with a single bed, a table with two chairs, a sitting area, and a small kitchenette. The lighting is a little dull, casting an orange glow over the butter yellow walls. 

He sets his bag down on the bed and sits down. The digital clock on his phone says it’s 1607, so he still has about an hour before his scheduled check-in with Dr. Raynor. He pulls the clothes he brought with out of his bag and puts them into the provided dresser, then puts his toothbrush and other hygiene products in the small bathroom. 

He’s not really sure why he chose Interlaken. Switzerland in general was an obvious choice because he hadn’t been here on any missions (to his knowledge, at least). Interlaken had good reviews on Trivago.com. It had been a sort of impulse. 

He wasn’t sure how to feel about seeing the Alps again, considering what had happened the last time he’d gone for a hike in the mountains. But the lake was beautiful and timeless in a way that reminded him a little bit of Wakanda, so that was enough of a plus for him. 

Eventually, at exactly 1645, his phone rings. He accepts the call. 

“Good morning, James,” Dr. Raynor says. He silently bemoans the fact that he has to hear her voice while supposedly on vacation. It isn’t very relaxing. 

“Afternoon, Doc.” 

“Ah, time zones. Are you at your vacation spot yet?” 

His lip twitches. She’s trying to get him to say where he is. “Yep.” 

“And where did you decide to go?” 

“On vacation.” 

She sighs, the one that makes it clear that he’s disappointed her, his mother, his grandmother, and probably God, if he exists. ”I see. Well, how are you doing?” 

“Fine.”

“Well. We don’t have much to go over today, considering the circumstances. I’d just like to reiterate that you’re expected to have one more phone session with me this week, then another two a week for as long as you’re away. Does that make sense?”

She’s not asking if it makes sense. She’s trying to get him to verbally consent to the sessions. He sighs. 

“I get it.” 

“Great. Well, you get yourself settled and try to relax. I’ll talk to you on Thursday? 10:00 a.m. here, like today?” 

It’s Monday today. “Fine.” 

“I have you marked in my schedule. Alright. Have fun, James.” 

“Bye.” 

He hangs up before she can respond and drops the phone on the bed next to him. There are twelve text messages from Sam that he hasn’t answered. 

He feels a little bad about it, but has no idea what he’d say. What he could talk about. He doesn’t know how to have a conversation about anything other than what’s going on in the present, and as of late, there hasn’t been much. So, he says nothing.

He pulls his gloves back onto his hands and leaves the hotel room. There’s a small restaurant down the road that he saw on his way in. He’ll go there to get something to eat. 

The walk to the restaurant, though short, seems to cleanse him of the uneasiness that had settled into his being during his conversation with Raynor. The restaurant itself is small, with a similar look to the rest of the buildings in the town. Dark planks, brown and white paint. Flowers outside. 

The menu is written in German. He orders Zürcher geschnetzeltes, and sits at a corner table to wait. The restaurant reminds him a little of his mom’s home, with the white cloth tablecloths and soft music playing in the background. 

When the food comes, it smells delicious and tastes even better. He eats quickly, a habit he’d always had since childhood. 

When he’s finished, the waitress brings the bill. He pays and smiles as kindly as he can manage, putting effort in for once. “Danke,” he says. 

She smiles and takes the money. “Gerne geschehen.” 

***

When he gets back to his hotel room, he’s surprisingly tired. The sun is low in the sky, but not quite setting. It’s about 1900 hours, so he grabs one of his books out of his bag and settles into the quilt on the bed. There’s a comforter as well, but he prefers the quilt. It’s clearly handmade, and feels like home. 

He’s reading Out of the Silent Planet . The idea of alien abductions is slightly more disturbing than it would have been had he not fought both and against some a few years back. He ignores the discomfort and lets the story carry him away. 

He’s always turned to reading as a way to escape and get away, in a sense. He’d read a lot as a child, to his sister, to Steve, on his own. Books had always had a way of dragging him away from reality. 

A couple of hours later, the lighting in the room becomes too dim to read by. He marks his place in the book and sets it onto the handcrafted wood table. 

He brushes his teeth in silence. He doesn’t really know what he’s doing here. Humoring the Doc, maybe. It seems pointless to him. He’s been almost everywhere, all over the world, never in good circumstances. There’s not much that could be new to him. 

When he settles into the bed, he sinks down into the mattress. It’s a little annoying, but he’s surprisingly exhausted, and begins to drift away almost immediately. 

As the darkness settles into the night, he falls asleep to the sounds of insects buzzing and grasses rustling in the breeze.

Chapter Text

AJ and Cass have never traveled before, so they are predictably enthralled by the entire process. Their constant, giddy, excited chatter is somehow both exhausting and energizing. It reminds Sam fondly of himself and Sarah when they were kids, going with their parents on their first road trip. 

Their family road trips were one of the staples of Sam’s childhood, one of the traditions that he looks back on with the most fondness. He treasures the feelings of adventure and exploration to this day, and he has a feeling that Sarah has similar sentiments. He’s really happy that AJ and Cass will be getting this experience, even if the means by which they’re going are less than ideal, in Sam’s mind. 

The thought sours his mood considerably. He understands why Rhodey pushed him to take advantage of the circumstances; hell, he’d even agreed, eventually. But it doesn’t sit right with him, playing into some rich guy’s whims. Robinson hadn’t seemed particularly sensitive or caring to him; it wasn’t likely that his intentions were as straightforward as he’d presented them to be. 

Sarah nudges his arm. 

“You good?” Her voice has that worrying note in it, the same one she used when Cass had come in crying after wiping out on his bike outside. He isn’t sure how he feels about being mothered by his sister. 

“Yeah.” He paints a grin onto his face. “Almost done here, then we can start packing the car.” 

Sarah’s steady voice says, “Alright,” but her eyes say I know there’s more to this than what you’re saying.  

Sam’s smile widens affectionately. “You ready for Switzerland? Think you’ll be able to leave your precious boat for a couple weeks?”

The worry in her eyes is replaced with annoyance. “You worry about you, Samuel. Now get these things in the car. We’re on a tight schedule, here. AJ! Get off your phone and help your uncle!” 

***

Sarah drives them to the airport because she thinks that Sam drives like a maniac. He doesn’t. He’s probably the safest-driving Avenger, actually, barring that one incident with the metal-armed psycho assassin stealing his steering wheel (which was completely not his fault, by the way). Even then, he’d handled the situation pretty well. 

He spends the drive on his phone, replying to emails. He can feel disapproval radiating off of Sarah - she wants AJ and Cass to spend less time on their screens, and he’s setting a pretty terrible example right now - but he wants to get as much as possible done now so he can focus on relaxing when they get to Switzerland. You have to make time for yourself, he used to tell his vets at the VA. It’s probably about time he took his own advice. 

He’s really looking forward to it, actually. No emergencies, no surprises. He and Sarah have both been really busy lately. They could all use some family time; a break from everything chaotic in their lives. 

Sarah, being the genius that she is, had booked them a 7:00 p.m. flight. The flight was going to take about twelve hours, and the longer the boys could sleep through it, the better. AJ especially got rambunctious when he was bored. It was better for everyone this way. 

Predictably, once AJ and Cass get over the initial of being on an airplane - Oh my God, Uncle Sam, this is so cool, Mom, look at that - they pass out in their seats. Sarah stealthily removes the earbuds from AJ’s ears. “Not good to have those in all the time,” she says. Sam pretends that he doesn’t spend the entirety of his missions with a comm in. 

Sarah settles into her seat with a book, and Sam plays Angry Birds on his phone. The other people on the plane do their own thing, but Sam doesn’t pay them much mind. He finds the game surprisingly addicting. 

When he’s finally beat level 23, Sarah taps his shoulder. 

“This was a good idea,” she says, using the tone she used in church when she didn’t want Molly From The Farmer’s Market to overhear what she was saying. (Sam never found out who Molly even was. He’s sure there’s a story there somewhere). 

“I think it is,” Sam says in a similar tone. 

Sarah smiles her little smile that says more than words ever could, and goes back to her book. 

Sam starts level 24. 

***

They get into Switzerland at 3:00 in the afternoon. 

“It’s eight o’clock in the morning back home,” Cass says excitedly. “Can you believe that?” 

“Oh, I can believe it,” says Sarah, who is very much not immune to the effects of jet lag. “Ugh.” 

“I packed some cereal,” Sam says. “We can eat when we get to the hotel, then figure out what we’re going to do with the rest of the day.” 

“Okay,” AJ says, grabbing his bags as well as one of Sarah’s. Sam suppresses a proud smile. 

The rental car is already at the airport. The guy renting it to them had been quite nice, and reasonable, too. Sam had almost tipped him double until he realized that tipping wasn’t a thing they did here.  

Sarah lets Sam drive to the hotel. It’s only a couple of miles. Cass points out pretty much everything they see on the way there while AJ takes pictures. He seems to have a knack for photography and art in general. Sarah’s been trying to encourage him in it, and he has a sketchbook and some pencils in his bag. 

There isn’t much parking space at the hotel, but Sam makes do. 

“Just grab your necessary bags, boys,” Sarah says. “We can get the rest later.” 

The building is very charming, all brown planks and green shutters and roses everywhere. They walk inside, where a lady is sitting at the front desk in the lobby. She looks up when they enter with bright blue eyes. 

“Hello,” she says with a German accent. 

“Hi,” Sam says. “We’re checking in. It’s under Sam Wilson.”

She pulls out a large leatherbound book, licks her finger, and pages through it. “Ah,” she says, “Here we are. It’s already paid for, it says, so here is your key…” She hands them a key on a string. Sam starts a little. It’s been a long time since he’s stayed at a hotel that used actual keys instead of key cards. “You have room 117.” 

“Thanks,” Sam says, taking the key. 

“Oh! Also, some brochures. We have a wonderful city here, lots to see and do.” 

Sarah takes them with a tired smile. “Thank you…”

“Sofia, dear,” Sofia supplies, brushing her grey hair behind her shoulder. 

“Thank you, Sofia,” Sarah says warmly. 

Sofia smiles. “No problem. You all have fun, now. Call for me or my husband Finn if you need anything, we’ll be around.”

Sam shifts on his feet. Sofia seems really nice, but she reminds him of his Gramma Wilson in that she seemed to like to make conversations last as long as is humanly possible. 

“Thanks, Sofia,” he says, “We better go get settled in.” 

Sarah glares at him like he’s being rude, but doesn’t comment, “Say ‘thank you’ to Sofia, boys,” she says instead. 

“Thank you, Sofia,” the boys recite dutifully. 

Sofia beams as if charmed. “Oh, the pleasure is all mine.” 

Sam grins and turns to the hallway of rooms labeled “110-120.” Sarah and the boys follow him. 

“ Haben sie einen guten tag, ” Sofia calls after them. “Have a good day.” 

They reach room 117 and Sam sets his bags down to unlock the door. They step inside. 

Sam had booked one of the bigger rooms in the hotel. There was a kitchenette, a bathroom, and a sitting area, as well as two bedrooms. One had a bunk bed and the other had two queens. 

“I call the top bunk!” Cass yells, running in to throw his bags up onto the bed. AJ follows him at a more reasonable pace, typing something on his phone. Which. 

“Hey,” Sam asks, curious. “You have reception here?” 

AJ looks up and shrugs. “Wi-Fi password’s on the table.” 

Sam walks over to the table and finds the aforementioned slip of paper, laminated neatly with rounded corners. “Huh.”  

***

They spend some time unpacking, then get some food. Sam offers to take AJ and Cass on a walk around the area so that Sarah can get some rest. She agrees readily. 

He hadn’t really taken the time to stop and appreciate the surroundings on the way in. Now that he had the chance to stop and look around, he was taken aback by the beauty of it. Louisiana would always hold a special place in his heart with the ocean and the marshes and the docks and boats, but here, everything seemed salubrious and immaculate. They were surrounded by mountains, which he knew AJ and Cass had never seen before, and there was a large field going uphill behind the hotel. It was dotted with yellow and white wildflowers and cows. Most of them were a fawn brown color, but there was one white one with black spots. 

Sam found himself inexplicably drawn towards the hill, and AJ and Cass followed him readily. AJ was taking pictures on his cell phone, and Cass was staring at the top of the highest mountain. 

“Look at the cows!” Cass said once he’d averted his gaze from the mountain. 

“Yeah,” Sam said, “They’re pretty cool.” 

There was a wooden fence up at the bottom of the hill. Cas climbed up on the first of the two horizontal posts and held out his hand, apparently attempting to call the cows towards him via telepathy. 

“Careful, buddy,” Sam said, watching carefully to make sure he didn’t fall. 

“Look at the white one,” Cass says, completely ignoring him. “It’s smaller than all the other ones.”

“‘S probably a different breed,” AJ says, snapping a picture. 

“Agh, it is,” a man says, approaching them. He’s wearing jeans and a red flannel shirt, and his hair is graying. “That’s Wilma,” he pronounces the ‘w’ like a ‘v,’ “She’s a gift from my brother. He moved to Sweden years ago and has quite the sense of humor.” 

“What, she’s not a good cow?” Sam asks. 

“She’s a troublemaker, is what she is. Always getting out of the fence.” The man shakes his head. “I don’t know why I put up with her.” Despite his words, he’s clearly fond. 

“She seems nice to me,” Cass says, unconvinced. 

“Maybe you’re special,” the man says. “I don't know if it’s all fjäll cows or just Wilma, but I’ve never had as much trouble with a cow as I’ve had with her. All the others, they’re Braunvieh. Brown Swiss, you might call them in America. No problems. But Wilma.” He sighs mournfully. Cass giggles. 

“You staying at the hotel, then?” the man asks.

“Yeah,” Sam says. He holds out a hand. “I’m Sam, and these are my nephews, AJ and Cass.” 

“Finn,” Finn says, shaking his head. “My wife and I own the place.” 

“Oh, she mentioned you,” Sam says. 

Finn grins. “Yeah, I’m always around. If you need anything, just let me know.” 

Sam smiles. “Alright.” 

Finn nods, letting go of his hand. “You enjoy your stay, now.” He walks away. 

“We better get going too,” Sam says to the boys. “Lots to see.” 

“Can we come back later?” Cass asks, staring longingly at the cattle. 

“I don’t see why not.” 

Cas smiles so wide Sam’s afraid he’ll tear his face in half. 

***

They walk around the town for another two hours. There’s a lot to take in; they see the lake, which is so blue Sam could have mistaken it for tropical water, they see some cool buildings, and they meet a goat named Percival. 

Most of the people they meet speak English, but German seems to be the most used language in this area. Sam does not know German. He feels almost a little humiliated by it, even though he’s fluent in both Spanish and Arabic, but the people are really nice and accommodating about it. 

They see a really cool church that AJ stops them to take pictures of, and they stop for some freshly churned ice cream. 

“Your mom’s gonna kill me,” Sam says. 

The boys just laugh at him as if agreeing. Wow. No sympathy there, apparently. 

Eventually, they make their way back to the hotel. Sarah is up by then with dinner plans, which they readily put into motion. They head to a little restaurant down the road. 

“I can’t read this,” Cass says, staring at the menu. 

“You’re looking at the German side,” Sarah says. “Flip it over and you can read English.” 

The food is delicious, and the restaurant has a welcoming atmosphere. When they’re done eating, they go back to the hotel with full stomachs. 

“I’m tired,” AJ says, which is pretty surprising because he’s the one who’s always insisting that he never gets tired. 

“It’s bedtime, that’s why,” Sarah says, and ushers them off to the bathroom to brush their teeth. 

It’s 9:00, not really that late, especially considering the time difference, but Sarah’s probably smart with sending them to bed now. 

About ten minutes later, she comes out of their room with a wry grin on her face. “Out like a light,” she says. 

“It’s been an exciting day,” Sam laughs. “I don’t really blame them.”

She nods, opening the fridge. “Well, we need an extra towel. There were only three in the bathroom, and if we all want showers tomorrow morning, we should get that now.” 

“I can get it,” Sam offers. 

Sarah stands and looks at him like he’s stupid. “I was going to send you.” 

Sam rolls his eyes, but, like, maturely. Because he’s a grown-up. 

Sarah laughs. “Just go now, should be able to just ask the front desk.” 

Sam grabs the room key. “Yeah, yeah, shut up.” 

He walks to the door, momentarily admires the wood stain that resembles the boat's deck back home, opens it, and steps out. 

At that moment, the door on the other side of the hall is opening as well. The person steps into the hall, and-

“Oh, hell no,” Sam says. 

Bucky blinks at him. “What are you doing here?” 

Chapter Text

He’d had one more session with Raynor before he’d left for Switzerland. 

“I’m really glad you decided to go through with this, James,” she’d said, and then went on about how isolation is bad for you and a change in scenery can do something or other with serotonin or dopamine or some shit. 

“Plus,” she’d said when he finally was allowed to get up to leave, “Some peaceful time to yourself will let you get your head in order.” 

“Sure, Doc,” he’d said, rushing out the door before she could say anything else to make him stay longer. 

She had been right, in a way. He’ll only admit this to himself, and even then only at the discretion of his own thoughts. Being on his own, surrounded by beautiful scenery and normal people who didn’t give a shit about who he was -  it gave him a sense of calm he hadn’t felt since Wakanda. It was refreshing. He’d even managed a whole six hours of sleep last night. 

But of course, nothing good ever lasts. 

Sam is staring at him like he’s committed some sort of felony, which is slightly concerning given his history. He almost goes to defend himself before Sam’s even accused him of anything, but stops himself in the last second. He hasn’t done anything wrong. He even brought his laptop with him for the virtual sessions with Raynor instead of “accidentally forgetting it” as he’d originally planned to do. 

He expects Sam to accuse him of some crime, recruit him for some mission, or tell him that aliens are trying to take over Utah or something. What he does not expect is for Sam to close his gaping mouth (seriously, he looked stupid with it hanging open like that), cross his arms, and snap, “You can’t be here.” 

Which: ouch. 

“Uh,” Bucky says intelligently. 

Sam- Sam seems kind of pissed, actually. He’s glaring and standing tall and doing that one thing with his face. “Seriously, man,” yep, definitely pissed, “What am I doing here? The fuck are you doing here?” 

“Vacation,” he says. It falls off of his tongue heavily, the word foreign and clumsy in his voice. Sam looks like he doesn’t believe him. 

“You.” It’s spoken incredulously. He definitely doesn’t believe him. “ You are here on vacation.” 

“Yes,” Bucky says, a tad defensive. 

“You can’t be!” 

Bucky’s kind of been operating under the assumption here that he’s done something wrong. That’s usually the case after all; and with all that he has done in his life, all the pain and suffering he’s caused, he usually goes along with it either way. But Sam is making no sense here. And he’s tired of people telling him what he can and can’t do. And also, he was here first. So. 

“I can be here if I damn well want to be, Samuel,” he says. 

Sam blinks at him, apparently surprised. Ha. 

“It’s Sam,” Sam hisses. 

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Whatever.” 

“You can’t be here on vacation,” Sam continues, slow and controlled, “Because I’m here on vacation.” 

Oh.

Oh. 

Well, still. 

“I was here first,” Bucky says, because he was.

Sam blows all of the air out through his nose and throws his arms up in the air. “You are such a-” 

“Samuel! Who the hell are you talking to?” 

Sam’s face contorts into an amusing expression of absolute panic. Bucky is confused. The voice was muffled but sounded female. Is Sam here with a girlfriend? He wasn’t dating when they fought the Flagsmashers, not that Bucky was aware of, at least. It might explain why Sam seemed so upset. He points at Sam’s room door questioningly. 

“Don’t you dare,” Sam growls, regaining his composure. 

“Don’t I dare what?” 

The door opens, and Sarah steps out.  

“Oh,” Bucky says. 

“Yeah, oh, ” Sam grumbles. 

“Oh,” Sarah says, surprise morphing into one of amusement. “Hi, Bucky.” 

Partially because he likes Sarah and partially because he wants to piss Sam off, Bucky smiles. “Hey, Sarah.”

She grins at him. 

“No. No no no. Nope,” Sam says. “This is not happening. We came here to get away from chaos. And you,” he points at Bucky, “Are, like, the ultimate delegate of mayhem.” 

Bucky raises his eyebrows. “Wow.” 

“Sam,” Sarah chides. 

“Am I wrong?” Sam has this tendency to just… not stand still at all. Ever. Bucky can barely keep track of his hands. 

“I don’t see that towel you were going to get,” Sarah says with a raised eyebrow. 

Sam makes a noise reminiscent of the old jeeps they’d used during WWII and stomps down the hallway towards the reception desk. 

“This is why he’s a terrible spy,” Bucky says idly. “Very dramatic. Causes scenes.” 

“Always has, always will,” Sarah says with a shake of her head. 

“So,” Bucky continues, suddenly self-conscious. “How’s your vacation going?” 

Sarah laughs, light and merry. “We just got in today. Hasn’t been too eventful until now.” 

Bucky winces. “Sorry.” 

She waves a hand in dismissal. “Nah, you’re good. Sam’s just being dramatic. And he doesn’t mean it.” 

Bucky makes a noise of inquisition. 

“The things he says about you,” she says, giving him a look. “He doesn’t mean it.” 

“I know,” Bucky says. Sarah wouldn’t understand the truth behind some of those words, probably. He knows that Sam doesn’t mean any harm, but that doesn’t make anything he says any less true. 

“Alright,” Sarah says. “Well, I’m going to bed. You have a good night, Bucky.” 

He nods. “You too.” 

She closes the door gently behind her as she goes back into their room. 

He’s still standing awkwardly in the hallway when Sam comes back from the reception desk, a white, fluffy towel clutched in his fingers. Bucky nods at him. Sam stares. Bucky stares back. 

“I may have overreacted a little bit,” Sam says eventually. 

Bucky nods. “Right.” 

Sam shakes his head. “What are the chances.” 

“Very slim. I thought you’d come for me when I saw you,” Bucky says. 

Sam snorts. “Don’t flatter yourself.” 

Bucky cracks a smile. 

“So,” Sam says. 

“So.” 

“You stay away from my sister, we both continue on as if this never happened, and everyone lives happily ever after?”

Bucky shrugs. “Sure.” It’s not a promise. 

“Hmm,” Sam hums. “Well, see you around, C3PO.” 

Bucky sighs. 

Sam raises his eyebrows, grinning. “You know that one?” 

“You’re hugging a towel,” Bucky deadpans, and retreats into his room before Sam can say anything else. He hears muffled protests behind the door. He smiles. 

***

In 2002, a man by the name of Henri Dubois drove on road D76 in France towards Geneva, Switzerland. It was late at night; the sun had set two hours before. He drove an ugly green Renault Clio. The brakes needed to be replaced; they made a squeaking noise whenever he rounded a corner. 

The radio was silent. If anyone else were driving on that road that night, they might have seen his eyes constantly shifting from the front window to the mirrors. 

Dubois's GPS device was silent, for the moment. It was guiding him to a safe house where he was to meet with an Interpol agent to discuss a terrorist organization he had information on. If he provided good information, they would offer Witness Protection in America. 

The road is set into a hill, surrounded by green-brown grasses in broad daylight. Now, all that is visible is what is in the beam of the headlights and the shadows of the trees, seemingly looming over the car. 

He drives carefully around a corner. A loud bang startles him. 

His car idles and eventually comes to a stop. 

He releases a shaky breath and exists the vehicle. The front left tire is flat. 

He walks over to it and bends down to examine it. The puncture is smaller than one would expect from a rock or a nail. 

Something cold and metallic touches the back of his neck. Fear settles in, visible in the tremor of his limbs. He’s guided into a standing position, then turned around. 

He stops breathing when he sees the Winter Soldier. Small gasps eventually come every few seconds, but he remains paralyzed in terror. 

“C'est ce qui arrive à ceux qui trahissent Hydra, ” the Soldier says, voice as dead as his eyes. 

Dubois stops struggling after the second blow to his head. 

He hadn’t made much noise at all. 

His silence is what wakes Bucky in a cold sweat, gasping and struggling for air as if he were the one being asphyxiated. 

Nightmare. Go figure. 

His hand is shaking as he reaches for his phone. He tries to ignore the tremors. 

0314 hours. Fan-fucking-tastic. 

He sighs and settles back into the bed. The mattress seems to swallow him whole, trapping him in its suffocating embrace. 

He stares at the ceiling until the sun’s rays come through the paned window. 

***

The hotel has a free breakfast bar. He’s used it for the last three days that he’s been here. Today he hesitates because he doesn’t want to impose his presence upon Sam and his family. 

But he’s also hungry. 

He could go out and get something, but then he might run into them on the way out. 

He ends up pacing around his room in indecision. He doesn’t realize how long its been until Sofia is knocking at his door. 

“You’re late to breakfast, Bärchen, ” she says. “I was worried.” 

His lips twitch at the nickname. Little bear. He hopes Sam never hears this one. 

“I’m okay,” he assures her. “Just slept in.” 

It’s a blatant lie, but there is no way he would ever tell her the truth. 

“Are you sure?” she asks, brow creased in worry, keen eyes studying his face. 

He smiles. Nods. “Absolutely.” 

She seems satisfied. “Well, I brought you something. You’re still welcome to come into the lobby of course, but if not. Here you are.” She fumbles with a plate of bread with jam and eggs on the side. He takes it. 

“Also,” Sofia says, stooping to pick up a glass bottle at her feet. “Milk, for protein and strong bones.”

He takes it, hands now completely full. “ Danke, Sofia,” he says. 

She smiles cheerily and walks away. 

He brings the food inside to eat it before it gets cold.

Chapter Text

Their second day goes much better than the first. 

They all sleep in a little bit, then head down to the lobby for breakfast. AJ makes a joke about Belgian waffles in Switzerland that nobody laughs at, and Sarah holds her mug of coffee like it’s the most priceless artifact to ever grace the face of the Earth. 

The food is delicious; there are eggs, homemade bread, yellow butter, jam, and sausages. There’s even a bowl of batter next to a waffle iron, which delights the boys. 

There aren’t many people there; just them and a couple of older people huddled together around a table sipping coffee. He’s not surprised that he doesn’t see Bucky, but less relieved about it than he thought he’d be. 

“I was thinking we could go to that museum today,” Sarah says. 

Sam stirs his coffee. One sugar, and a splash of cream. “The brochure said there were several in the area. Which one were you thinking?” 

“The one-uh,” Sarah fishes her phone from her pocket. “This one. Tourismuseum? It said that there were English translations of the information things.” 

Sam nods and sips his coffee. “Sounds good. Looks like it’s about twenty minutes from here, so we should head out after breakfast.” 

“Ah, good morning!” 

Sam looks up. Sofia is refilling the egg tray with fresh scrambled eggs. 

“Morning,” Sarah says. 

“I couldn’t help but overhear,” Sofia says. “You’re going to the Tourismuseum?” 

“Yep,” Sam says. 

Sofia nods. “Nice place, nice people there. The exhibits are a bit scarcer than you might expect, but it’s got wonderful information.” 

“I guess we’ll see.” Sam finishes his coffee. 

“Hmm,” Sofia says. “Some of the exhibits have no English translations, but the staff are usually very helpful. Unless you want to bring a translator.” 

“We don’t have a translator,” Sarah supplies. She’s smiling a little, apparently amused. 

“The staff will have you covered, in that case,” Sofia says. She turns with the empty egg tray to leave, then turns back around as if she’d forgotten something. 

“Have you met the gentleman in room 118?” 

Sarah chokes on her coffee. 

“We’ve met,” Sam says dryly.

“Such a nice young man,” Sofia continues, “But he’s here all alone.” 

“Yeah, a real charmer,” Sam mutters. Sarah elbows him. 

“He knows German, and I’m sure he wouldn’t take offense to an invitation to join you as a translator.” 

“I think he might.”

“ Sam. We’ll give it some thought, thank you Sofia,” Sarah says. 

Sofia smiles. “You have a nice time, now.”

“We will,” Sam promises. 

She walks away with her tray. 

Sarah stares at Sam. He bristles. 

“ What. ”

“We could use a translator,” she teases. 

“Don’t you even,” Sam hisses. 

“But the nice young man is here all alone, Sam,” she laughs. 

“We are not bringing Bucky to the museum. He was probably there when most of the stuff was new.” 

Sarah shrugs. “Alright, if you say so.” Her eyes are twinkling like she finds Sam’s chagrin amusing. She probably does. 

“He probably has better things to do anyway.” He knows this one is definitely a lie. Knowing Bucky, the concept of ‘vacation’ is probably very far out of his comfort zone. 

“I said alright, Sam.” 

He rolls his eyes. “You wanna get the boys? I can get the car ready.” 

“Sure.”

He knows that she knows that he is just trying to escape the conversation, and appreciates that she doesn’t say anything about it. 

He leaves the lobby with a wave to AJ and Cass and walks into the parking lot. He turns the car on and settles into the driver’s seat to wait for Sarah and the boys. 

It’s nice to get a minute to just sit by himself. He loves his sister and nephews, but they can be a constant motion sometimes. The quiet seems sacred. 

Nothing is sacred with AJ and Cass, though. Eventually, they throw open the back doors and throw themselves into the car in record time. Sam hears two distinctive ‘clicks’ - Sarah’s taught them that seatbelts are incredibly important. The notion amuses him; he and Sarah were terrible about seatbelts when they were kids. 

Sarah pulls herself into the passenger seat at a much more human pace. Once she closes the door, Sam pulls out of the gravel driveway, rocks crunching crisply under the tires as he goes. 

***

The Tourismuseum is very charming. 

The interior is rustic, with polished wood on the walls and ceramic tiles on the floors. He can smell the distinctive scent of the wood oil, and it brings him a cozy feeling, like sitting in front of a fireplace at Christmas. 

Sofia had been right; the exhibits are pretty scarce. There are some old wooden sleighs that delight the boys, though, and the things that are there are interesting. 

A staff member goes around talking about the history of the area, and surprisingly, AJ and Cass pay close attention, hanging off of his every word. Sam finds himself drawn into the story from settlers to tourism, and before they know it, two hours have passed. 

Sarah draws him to the side and asks about his lunch opinions. Sam doesn’t really have any lunch opinions. He had been content reading about an old pair of wooden skis, but he figures they probably should be heading out before Cass gets bored and accidentally breaks something. 

They tell the staff of the museum goodbye and pile back into the rental car. It’s cool outside; not cold, but not hot either. Sam takes a second to appreciate the view of the mountains in the near distance, then turns the key in the ignition. 

“Alright,” Sarah says, “We need lunch ideas.” 

They end up driving around the town for about twenty minutes, taking in the sights. They end up near the lake eventually. The boys are delighted by its bright blue color. 

“It looks like the Caribbean,” AJ says. 

“Yeah,” Sam agrees, “It’s pretty neat.”

There’s a small restaurant near one of the docks, and they decide to eat there. They all get trout, and even Sarah has to admit that it’s delicious. AJ drinks the melted butter directly from its little cup, and Cass makes a face. 

“That’s gross, ” he whines. 

“It’s delicious,” AJ insists. 

Sarah shakes her head. “Alright, boys,” she says fondly, “Finish your lunch.” 

They shovel the food into their mouths, and Sam marvels at their ability not to choke.

***

After lunch, they go back to the hotel. 

Cass wants to go out to the pasture to see the cows, and Sarah lets him go with AJ. 

“Stay close. AJ, keep your phone on,” she says. 

They scurry away without responding to her. She sighs. 

“They’ll be fine,” Sam says. 

“I know,” she says with a smile. 

She sits in the armchair with a glass of wine and opens her book. 

“This has been fun so far,” Sam says, tapping his fingers on the wall. 

“Mhm.” 

“Great views.” 

“Mhm.” 

“I was thinking we could-” 

Sarah sighs and sets her book down on her lap. “ Sam ,” she says. 

Uh oh. 

“I’m trying to read.” 

“Sorry.” 

She shakes her head. “Go find something to do.” 

“Yeah.”

Sarah goes back to her book, and Sam looks around the room. Sam taps his fingers. Sarah makes a growly sound. 

“Sorry,” Sam repeats. “I’m just… bored.” 

She raises an eyebrow. “You’re bored. On vacation. ” 

He grimaces. “Yeah.” 

“Why don’t you go see if Bucky’s in his room?” 

Sam feels his face contort. “ What?”

“Just do it.” 

He shrugs. Can’t hurt anything, he supposes. 

***

Bucky is either not in his room, or intent on attaining peak unsociability. 

Sam’s surprised to find himself a little disappointed. Bucky wasn’t exactly great company, but the guy had his moments. And it was fun to annoy him. 

He hadn’t really seen Bucky since the whole thing with the Flagsmashers ended. He wonders if he’s been on any missions since then. 

Just as he’s about to go back into their room to torture Sarah some more, his phone rings. He looks at the caller ID. 

Rhodey. 

He answers. 

“Hey.” 

“Hey, Sam. You busy?” 

“No, not at all.” 

“Good. I’ve been looking into this Robinson guy a little bit like I said I would.” 

Sam perks up with interest. 

“Find anything?” 

“Yeah, get this. So, his company, Robinson Parmecuteicals, is pretty clean. No signs of anything illegal going on, right? But the company owns multiple shell companies all over the place. They’ve even got one in Madripoor. There’s almost no info on them, but they seem pretty sketchy.” 

“You think he’s up to something?”

“Don’t know. From what I found, though, we can’t rule it out. Also, his wife? Catherine Robinson? Her maiden name is Pierce. Her family has ties to Hydra.” 

Sam frowns. 

“Thought Hydra wasn’t a threat anymore. 

It’s not, as far as we can tell. Just interesting, when you take it into context with everything else.” 

Sam nods. 

“Yeah, we should probably keep an eye on them.”

“Already planning on it.” 

“Good.” 

“Yeah. Don’t worry about it though, enjoy your vacation. God knows you needed one.” 

Sam laughs. 

“I’m bored, man. This is torture.” 

“Oh, I think you can handle it.” 

“Yeah, I’ll survive.” 

“Family having a good time?” 

“You bet. The boys are loving it.” 

“Good. Good to hear. Listen, Sam, I gotta go.” 

“Okay. Have a good one, man. And stay in touch.” 

“You got it, Sam.”

“Alright. Bye.” 

He pockets his phone and goes back into the hotel room. Sarah looks up from her book and sighs. 

“Read a goddamn book and leave me alone,” she says, shoving one in his general direction. 

He shrugs and decides not to comment on how he doesn’t find romance novels particularly interesting. He picks up the book and settles into a chair. 

It’s surprisingly good, actually. 

Chapter Text

There’s a goat pen on the far side of the pasture. 

Bucky isn’t sure if he’s really supposed to be here, but what’s a bit of trespassing compared to his previous track record? 

The smell of the hay and the bleating sounds of the goats bring him back to his time in Wakanda. It’s bittersweet; it makes him miss the goats he’d taken care of. He’d gone and named them, and then the village children had laughed at his choices. 

“‘Charles Butterworth’ is no name for a goat, Ingcuka Emhlophe. It is much too long.” 

He smiles down at the little flowers hiding in the grass. A goat bleats. He picks some grass and feeds it through the space in the fence. 

He’d finally gotten tired of being stuck in his room. It had become confining and had made him antsy and nervous. He’d needed to get out of there for a while. So, he’d gone out to the pasture to take a walk, which had brought him here. 

He’s surprisingly far away from the town; he can see the hotel about a mile away across the pasture. Cows roam, eating buttercups and bright green blades of grass. Bucky lies on his back and looks at the sky. The sun is bright, so he closes his eyes. He feels calm - surprisingly so. He might even fall asleep. 

He doesn’t fall asleep. 

“Hey, Bucky! What are you doing here?” 

He sits up and opens his eyes. “AJ? What are you doing here?” 

“Taking pictures,” AJ says, squinting at him. “Um. I think you might have been lying in goat poop?” 

Bucky looks down and sees a brown stain on the side of his jeans. He pokes it. “Nah, kid, that’s just dirt. The goats are stuck in the pen.” 

“Okay,” AJ says, comically relieved. 

“Your mom know you’re this far away from the hotel?” 

AJ’s eyes shift to the side. Bucky sighs. 

“She said I could go out in the field as long as I have my phone,” AJ murmurs. 

Bucky studies him. “How about I walk you back closer to the hotel?” 

AJ groans. “Alright, I guess.” 

Bucky heaves himself to his feet. 

***

The walk back had been uneventful. He and AJ didn’t talk much. AJ stopped a couple of times to take a picture, and Bucky picked a blade of grass and tried to fold it so that it’d be more aerodynamic. The whole journey took about twenty minutes. 

When they were back, AJ went over by the fence to the cow pasture, and Bucky sat on the little patio of the hotel. The big Saint Bernard dog was there, napping in the shade. It perked up and let out a little ‘woof’ when Bucky approached, then went back to sleep. 

He takes out his phone and looks at the screen. One missed call from Dr. Raynor. Great. 

“Hi, Bucky.”

He looks up. Sarah’s expressive brown eyes peer down at him. 

“Sarah,” Bucky acknowledges. She smiles. 

“Mind if I sit?” she gestures to the wicker chair next to him. He shrugs. 

“You seem quieter than usual today,” Sarah says as she situates herself. Bucky fidgets his fingers and ruminates over whether or not he should be making eye contact. 

He doesn’t want to explain to her how nightmares, for him, don’t end when he wakes up. He doesn’t want to tell her how the guilt of killing someone weighs on the mind. He doesn’t want her to know what it’s like to question every word you say and every move you make, not knowing if it’s right. 

“Rough night,” Bucky says. 

Sarah hums like she knows what he’s doing, but isn’t going to comment on it for his sake. He appreciates it. 

“I saw you walking back here with AJ,” she says. “Thanks for that. He’s at that age where he has to test every boundary I set.” 

This, he can relate to. 

“My sisters were the same way,” he says, lips tugging upward in a rueful smile. “Becca especially. She was never one for the rules.” 

Sarah grins. “Sam was the rulebreaker, of the two of us. Only most of the time, he really didn’t mean to. Just had this habit of getting himself into situations where he was way in over his head.” 

Bucky snorts. “Nothing’s changed there, then, I guess.” 

“I guess not,” Sarah chuckles. 

On the ground, the dog rolls over. AJ’s made his way over to the gate of the cow pasture. Cass is with him now, and they’re petting the one white cow in the whole field. 

“So,” Bucky says, “Are you saying you never broke the rules as a kid? ‘Cause I find that kind of hard to believe.” 

Sarah purses her lips. “I don’t know what you’re implying-” 

Bucky laughs. “Come on, you had to have done something at least once. ” 

Sarah fixes him with a hard stare. “Now, listen here-” 

Bucky’s lips twitch as he tries not to laugh. He can see the moment when she caves with a sigh. 

“All right,” she says. “There may have been an incident when I was a Junior, and there may have been whiskey involved.” 

Bucky grins. “Yeah?” 

Sarah covers her face with a hand and mumbles into her palm. 

“Didn’t catch that,” Bucky says. 

Sarah heaves a sigh, face stern, eyes amused. “We may have stolen old Mr. Johnson’s truck and taken it for a joyride. And maybe I accidentally crashed into some boxes of shrimp.”

Bucky laughs, and she joins in. 

“Now come on,” Sarah urges. “Fess up. What did Bucky Barnes get into back in the day?” 

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “I was friends with Steve,” he says. “The question is, what didn’t I do. ” 

“Humor me,” Sarah says. 

Bucky searches his brain for a good memory. 

“Okay,” he says. “So, when we were twelve, there was this booth at the fair. You had to throw a dart and knock a cup off the stand. Me an’ Steve, we couldn’t get it, time after time, even though we could’ve sworn we hit the cup. So, we assumed it was rigged, naturally.” 

“Sure,” Sarah says. “Was it?” 

Bucky grins. “Oh, yeah. But we probably got in more trouble than they did, considering how we set the booth on fire.” 

Sarah’s face goes wide in shock. “What!’ 

“It was an accident!” Bucky insists with a laugh. He pauses. “Kind of. Mostly.” 

“Bucky Barnes,” Sarah chides with a laugh. 

“It was all Steve’s plan,” Bucky says defensively. “Nobody got hurt, anyhow. But we were both grounded for a month.” 

“I bet,” Sarah smiles. 

AJ has perched himself on top of the top rung of the fence, and Cass is trying to climb up next to him. The cows have congregated in the shadier part of the field, where they are lying in the grass, seemingly napping. White fluffy clouds drift in the sky above them, their shadows a barely visible movement on the bright green grass below. 

Sarah and Bucky settle into a friendly silence. Sarah watches AJ and Cass fondly, and Bucky watches the clouds. He used to do this sometimes with Steve atop their apartment building’s roof. Bucky would point out a cloud that looked like a knight or an elephant or a mysterious relic he’d read about in his books, and Steve would draw the character or object he described. 

“You know,” Sarah says after a while, “The boys would love it if you’d join us for dinner.” 

“I’m not sure Sam would,” Bucky says, eyes still fixed on the sky. 

Sarah makes a noise like she doesn’t believe him. “Sam won’t mind. Trust me.” 

Bucky studies her face. She seems sincere enough, though he’s not convinced Sam would be okay with him joining them. Sam liked to see people getting along together - it’s part of what makes him who he is. But he might not want Bucky there during what’s supposed to be family time. 

What surprises him is the fact that he wants to join them. Usually, he finds the idea of doing things like this daunting at worst and unappealing at best, but he likes to see AJ and Cass bicker good-naturedly. He likes to see Sarah smile. He likes to listen to Sam coax his nephews into morale-boosting revelations about everyday happenings. 

“Bucky,” Sarah probes gently. He blinks, her voice jolting him out of his head.

“Okay,” he says. 

Sarah smiles. “Good. You can come to our room at five this evening.” 

“Five,” Bucky repeats. He automatically translates it in his head. 1700 hours. “Got it.” 

Sarah’s eyes sparkle with a new brightness. “Okay, Bucky. See you then. I’ve gotta get AJ and Cass inside.” 

“Okay,” Bucky nods. “See you then.” 

She walks away from him toward the pasture, then back to the hotel with the boys. Cass waves at Bucky as they walk past him. He wiggles his metal fingers back. 

When they’re inside, Bucky settles further into his chair and feels his muscles relax. The sun has moved lower in the sky, casting a shadow over him. The large dog shuffles closer to him and sets its large head down on its paws near his feet. 

Bucky tilts his head back and closes his eyes. He has about an hour before he needs to go back inside to get ready for dinner. He should really call Dr. Raynor back, but he doesn’t want to deal with her right now. 

He lets himself drift, listening to the wind rustle through the tall grasses and flowers in the pasture. The air is cool on his skin, but there is no chill. He thinks back to watching clouds with Steve, trying to remember some of the different characters they’d created. There had been a dragon, a horse, and some kind of goblin or elf at some point. He counts them in his mind, one after the other. 

By the time he gets to the lion, he’s already succumbing to sleep.

Chapter Text

Sam is startled by Sofia yelling. Sofia really doesn’t seem like the yelling type, so it is considerably concerning. 

“Bruno! What have you done!” 

Sam jogs over to where the yelling had come from to find Bucky sprawled out on the floor of the patio, fast asleep, with a large Saint Bernard dog lying half on top of his chest. 

“Huh,” Sam says. 

“Sam!” Sofia says with a wavering smile. “I promise the dogs are not usually this misbehaved.” 

Sam shrugs, snickering internally. “Nah, the dog’s fine. I’m sure Bucky doesn’t mind.” He fixes his eyes back on Bucky and the dog. It looks like Bucky had fallen off of the chair in his sleep. 

“You’ve met, then?” Sofia asks, pleased. 

“Uh,” Sam flounders a little. “Yeah. He’s… an interesting person.” 

Sofia smiles like a proud grandmother. “He’s such a sweetheart.” 

Sam purses his lips. “If you say so.” 

“Bruno,” Sofia calls softly. “Bruno, get off of him. Come. Heel.” 

Bruno huffs at her and lets his tongue loll out of his mouth. It lands on Bucky’s cheek, drooling dog slobber down his face. 

“Oh dear,” Sofia says. “They’re Finn’s dogs, they never listen to me.” 

Sam stifles a laugh. In the pasture, one of the cows moos. Bruno lifts his head and woofs at it, his whole body jolting a little bit with the noise. The movement causes Bucky to bolt into a sitting position, seemingly still half asleep. 

“Wha…” Bucky says, voice heavy with sleep. He blinks at Sam. “Sam?”

Sam schools his expression. “Hey, man.” 

Bucky looks at where he is on the ground, then at the chair he’d presumably been sitting in before, then at Sofia. He blinks and rubs his eyes. 

“I think I fell asleep,” he says, perplexed. 

Sam gives a small laugh. “You think?” 

“I’m so sorry about the dog, Bärchen, ” Sofia sighs. 

Bucky reaches out and ruffles the fur on Bruno’s head. The dog makes a face that looks like a smile, tongue handing out, and rolls over to that he’s half in Bucky’s lap. There is dog fur all over Bucky’s black shirt and jeans, and his hair is sticking up all over the place. 

“He’s fine,” Bucky says. “I don’t mind.” 

Sofia sighs, relieved. 

“I better be getting inside,” Sam says, glancing at his watch. “Sarah’ll kill me if I’m late.” 

Bucky does a sort of double-take, as if spooked. “What time is it?”

“Seven minutes ‘till five, why?” 

“Shit,” Bucky hisses, then looks at Sofia, wide-eyed and mortified. “Sorry. Um-” 

“I don’t mind, dear,” Sofia grins. 

Bucky nods, relieved. “I gotta go,” he says, then makes no move to get up. 

“Okay…?” Sam says. 

“I don’t want to upset the dog,” Bucky mumbles. Bruno still has his giant head lying on Bucky’s thigh. 

Sam snorts. “Just get up. The dog will be fine.” 

Bucky sighs, gently coaxes the dog off of his lap, and stands up. 

“See you later, man,” Sam says, clapping him on the shoulder as he walks past him. This has probably been the least confrontational conversation he’s ever had with Bucky, he notices. 

“Uh. Mind if I walk with you?” Bucky asks. 

Sam tries to look him in the eyes, but the cowlick that the dog had gifted him is too ridiculous for him to keep a straight face. 

“I’m just going to our room for dinner, Buck,” he says. Unless Bucky’s going to his room, the walk would be pointless. 

“Yeah,” Bucky says, staring at his boots and fiddling with his fingers nervously. “Uh. Sarah invited me.” 

Of course she did. 

Sam rolls his eyes. “Whatever. Fine. Let’s go.” 

Bucky stares at his boots and follows him. 

They don’t say anything as they walk. Bucky sulks, like he’s in trouble for something. Sam finds it annoying. 

“Stop staring at your shoes.” 

“Sorry.” 

That was way too contrite. Sam stops walking. 

“Okay,” he says, grabbing Bucky’s shoulder so that he’ll turn to face him. “What’s going on.” 

“I just-” Bucky starts, then stops and stares at his boots again. 

“You just…” Sam prompts.

“I don’t want to intrude on your time with your family,” Bucky mutters. “But Sarah invited me, and I couldn’t say no, and-” 

“Woah,” Sam says, holding up his hand. “Slow down.” 

“We’re going to be late,” Bucky says, attempting to shoulder past him. 

“You’re not intruding,” Sam says, grabbing at his forearm. “You were invited. You aren’t doing anything wrong.” 

Bucky makes eye contact, which Sam counts as a win. Bucky nods, making his cowlick flop a little. “Thanks, Sam,” he says softly. 

Sam rolls his eyes. “Well. Almost.” 

Bucky tenses. 

“I can’t do this anymore,” Sam says. 

Bucky stares at the ground with his stupid goddamn puppy eyes. 

“Your hair is ridiculous, man,” Sam says. 

Bucky blinks at him. Sam sighs. 

“Here,” he says, reaching out to smooth it into something more presentable. His hair is surprisingly soft. 

“Stop petting me, Sam,” Bucky grumbles. “I’m not a dog.” 

“You’re, like, ninety percent dog, with all that fur on your clothes,” Sam says. Bucky looks down at his shirt dejectedly. 

“Fuck,” he mutters. 

“Yeah,” Sam says. “I can see why they called you-” 

“Don’t,” Bucky interrupts, frantically trying to brush the fur off of his clothes. It doesn’t work that well. 

“Better,” Sam lies. “Come on. We’re going to be late.” 

***

Sam walks into the room behind Bucky. Sarah looks their guest over and meets Sam’s eyes questioningly. Sam shakes his head and stifles a laugh. 

“Dinner is from that restaurant down the street,” Sarah says. “I got a few different things. Help yourself to whatever.” 

AJ and Cass rush to grab some plates. The adults wait for them to get their food before dishing some up for themselves. They sit in the living room area, as the table didn't have enough chairs. 

“Thanks for dinner, Sarah,” Bucky says in his most charming voice. Sam’s not sure if he realizes that he’s shedding dog hair all over the couch. Sarah grins at him anyway. 

“Anytime.” 

“Are there tigers in Switzerland?” Cass asks. 

“I don’t think so, buddy, except maybe in a zoo,” Sam says. Cass has been really into wild animals lately. 

“There’s lynx,” Bucky says. “No tigers, though.” 

“Oh,” Cass says, disappointed. Sam finds himself feeling incredibly grateful that there are no tigers in Switzerland. Knowing Cass, he’d actually manage to find one.

“There’s goats, too,” AJ says. “Me and Bucky-” 

“Bucky and I,” Sam corrects automatically. Sarah rolls her eyes at him. 

“Bucky and I saw them,” AJ finishes. 

Sam grins at Bucky. “Yeah, he really likes goats.” 

Bucky scowls at him. 

“There a story there?” Sarah asks smiling around her fork full of food. 

Bucky sighs. “I took care of some goats in Wakanda. Sam’s making it seem more dramatic than it actually was.” 

“Oh, I dunno,” Sam drawls. “I seem to remember this one instance-” 

“Sam,” Bucky groans. 

Cass giggles. 

“This goat got out of its pen while we were visiting,” Sam says. “Bucky was chasing it all over the Wakandan countryside. It took hours until King T’Challa finally came to pick us up to bring us back to the city, right, and this goat just goes running right up to him.” 

Sarah covers her mouth to stifle a laugh. 

“I only had one arm at the time,” Bucky protests. “Do you know how hard it is to run with one arm?” 

“I don’t think that was it,” Sam grins. 

Bucky sighs, but smiles. 

***

Bucky goes back to his room after helping Sarah with the dishes. She teases Sam about it. Sam ignores her. 

He wonders if he should loop Bucky in about the situation back home. About Robinson, and his sketchy business. About the deal that Robinson wants to make. About the possible ties to Hydra. About the whole New Avengers idea in general. 

Really, he’s not sure Bucky would be interested. The guy’s kind of a lone wolf - and Sam understands that. Some people just work better that way. 

He decides he’ll hold off on telling him about it for now. He can always loop him in later if he needs to. 

In the meantime, he settles down on the floor next to AJ and Cass and Sarah as AJ deals some cards for Go Fish. He laughs at the face his sister makes as she’s told yet again to draw another card from the center pile. He cheers as he makes a match, and snickers when Cass groans at AJ’s request for a Queen. 

This, he decides, is more important than any potential future problems that might arise. 

***

Catherine truly is a sight, elegant and poised where she sits across from him at this beautiful restaurant. 

“Mason,” she purrs, just barely chiding. “You’re distracted again.” 

He paints a smile onto his face. “Apologies, my dear.” 

She sips her wine. Her expensive wine. “Is Captain Wilson going to accept your offer?” 

“I don’t see why he wouldn’t,” he says, curling manicured fingers around his own drink. “They need the money.” 

Catherine hums. “And Barnes?” 

“His whereabouts are currently unknown,” he says. “But he’s tied down to an extent because of his pardon. We’ll find him.” 

She nods, every strand of styled blonde hair perfectly in place. “Good.” 

Mason Robinson lifts his glass. “To the future,” he says. 

She clinks her drink against his. “To the future,” she echoes.