A/N: words: 1761. yall idk why im like this. but anyways. also a tswift obsession is forming. send prayers. anywayyyy enjoy!

Sam woke up in Bucky's sweater. And he doesn't tear it off. He isn't disgusted. For an instant, he thought he was back in New York. Or Bucharest. Or just back in Bucky's arm. But, he was immediately brought back to the real world by the memory of last night. The nightmare, the voicemail. He didn't know if he regretted the voicemail or not. Bucky hadn't responded, and Sam didn't expect him to. Sam didn't send any text about it, and he would probably ignore it for the rest of the day. And so would Bucky, if he even heard it. He probably didn't.

God, Sam needed to stop worrying so much about Bucky. He was fine, he can take care of himself, Sam's sure of that. He thinks. And if he can't, then he should've thought of that before. God knows Sam can't take care of himself, but that's his own issue.

Sam pulled the blankets up and over his head, followed by a sigh. He's had a long month. Well, some long couple months. He probably just needs a distraction. "Sam! You eatin' or no?" Sarah called from downstairs, and Sam smiled to himself, feeling somewhat nostalgia. He pulled the blankets off and called back "Yeah, yeah, I'm coming."

~~~~~~~~~~~

"I was thinking of working for the USAF again, Sar." Sam said over breakfast, after the boys left. "Oh?" Sarah said, her eyebrows furrowing together. "You sure you're ready? Getting back into the fight, again?" Sarah questioned, her eyes soft in concern. Sam nodded, giving her a reassuring smile. "I'm ready, Sar. Ready as I'll ever be. It'll be nice, a good distraction."

Sarah gave her a questioning look. "You sure?" Sam tilted his head. "I'm positive. Stop fussing over me- I can take care of myself you know." Sam said dismissively, getting up from the table to put his bowl in the sink. When he looked back at Sarah, she had the same questioning expression. "If you say so." she said with a sigh.

If Sam was thinking straight, he'd probably tell Sarah the truth. That he was hurting. That he felt numb most days, and that the only thing to get rid of that were distractions. He figured she knew enough of it, from the conversation that took place the first week he came home. The multiple conversations, that took place that week, mind you. He didn't need to get into it all again, so he left it alone.

~ 1 week later ~

"Hi, I'm Joaquin. Torres. Joaquin Torres." the kid had a bright smile, and he was really jittery. Sam smiled at him, amused by the nervousness or peppiness the kid brought with him. "Hey man, good to meet you." Sam stuck his hand out for Joaquin to shake, which Joaquin shook, calming down from the previous state quite a bit. "Well, let's get started, yeah?" Sam said, a bit expectantly, because truthfully, he was dying to get back into action. Joaquin nodded, that same smile still on his face. "Right, let's go."

Being back in the air felt right. It felt freeing. He didn't have the shield on his mind. Not Bucky. None of it. Just him and the clouds, and Joaquin's voice coming in through the comms sometimes. Joaquin was a good kid, he was happy to be here, and he was friendly. A bit excitable, but at one point, so was Sam. A long, long time ago.

~~~~~~~~~

It was cold in Bucky's apartment, which wasn't uncommon, being, you know, winter in New York, but Bucky couldn't be bothered to do anything about it. He had just gotten back from Raynor, which was thrilling as always. After discussing nightmares, amending (ugh) and the godforsaken texts from Sam, he was finally allowed to leave the hellhole. She was a pretty easy person to lie to "No, I didn't have any nightmares." and "Yes, I followed all your rules."

But Bucky couldn't lie about the texts. They had a whole one-sided conversation about the texts. "James, if he's trying to reach out, maybe you should too." Silence. "He clearly cares about you, if you don't act fast, that could stop." Silence, and rightfully so because what the hell? Thanks doc, super helpful. Eventually she dropped it, and he could leave. It was a big relief, really.

As he walked back to his apartment, he passed Izzys again. Maybe Bucky just needed a distraction. A friend who doesn't know about, well, everything. He adjusted the gloves for a few seconds before take a deep breath and walking through the doors. There weren't too many people here, so Bucky figured it'd be fine. He walked over to the counter, farthest from everything, and sat there, brooding.

~~~~~~~~~

Some time between him brooding and leaving, Bucky was asked if he wanted anything. He did, but as he sits in his apartment, he can't remember what he got. The day was starting to blur, and Bucky didn't know if that was a good thing or not. He vaguely remembers an older man sitting beside him, he didn't speak to Bucky, he just sat there, ordered his food, created general conversation with the waitresses, and then he left. Bucky thought that maybe if he made this work, he could have a semblance of a normal life. He can fall apart in this apartment, without a doubt, but at least everywhere else he could- he could look normal. Or at least try to be.

~~~~~~~~~~

Sam lied in his bed, staring up at the ceiling. He just finished the first mission he's done since... well since 2016, technically. It was fairly exhausting, and his muscles ached. All he wanted was to sleep. But he couldn't his body wouldn't physically let him. He's had this problem in the past. When they were in the run, when he was looking for Bucky. Sometimes he just wouldn't fall asleep. It had nothing to do with nightmares, he didn't think so.

He eyed the sweater on the dresser across from him, and immediately shook the thought from his head. No, that was- no, why would Bucky's old and torn sweater help him fall asleep? It's ridiculous.

~~~~~~~~~

Sam tossed and turned, his body refusing to sleep. Normally, he would just accept that he couldn't sleep and do... anything. But, frankly, he was absolutely exhausted, and would kill just to rest his eyes. But, he couldn't.

His eyes travelled back to the sweater on his dresser. This was ridiculous. What was even more ridiculous is that he was getting up to get. He slipped the hoodie on with a sigh and felt a warmth flood his body. He hated it. Sam crashed back on his bed and closed his eyes.

Bucky shouldn't be comforting him even after he broke him down. But here he was, feeling his eyes get heavy, back to the false reality of comfort Bucky brought with him, even if Bucky was miles and miles away.

~~~~~~~~~

"Bucky? I'm Yori."

Bucky didn't expect to engage in conversation with the elderly man that sat beside him, but a short-lived round of small talk led to them introducing themselves. "Good to meet you." Bucky said with a smile and a friendly tone. "You as well. Now, were you going to order some food, or just sit here and watch as they kept bringing you water?" Yori said, and Bucky could tell they'd get along. "I didn't know what to get." Bucky said genuinely, putting one of his hands up in defence. "Alright, alright." Yori said dismissively, and decided to order for Bucky.

A distraction. Friends. Apparently. A routine. Ish. Therapy. Which he hates. But it was normalcy, and Bucky didn't think about his nightmares, or Sam, for the entire day. Which was step up, Bucky considered. He might've even considered telling Raynor, but just the thought of that couch and her intense eyes of disappointed made his good mood dwindle a bit.

The slight good mood went away as soon as he opened the door of his apartment. It was dark, it might've been a bit eerie to someone who hasn't lived here for about 4 months. The cold was becoming unbearable now, causing Bucky to shiver repeatedly. He really should invest in heat, or something, literally anything. He collapses into the pile of blankets that he has in front of the TV and shivers again.

Bucky brings up a few of the blankets and cover wrap them around him, praying that this will over him some semblance of warmth. It does not. He shivers yet again, and with a huff, throws the blankets back to the ground.

His TV is off, so it's just Bucky, and the cold, and the pitch black of his room. The only faint light is coming from the kitchen, the new home of the radio.

Bucky realized he wasn't dressed for the weather. A leather jacket wasn't really January in New York, so maybe this was not the best idea on his part, but he knew he needed to start digging for warmer clothes. He trudged into his old room, and pointedly ignores everything else in the room, eyes pinned on the hoodie that rested on the bed. It looked thick, warm, a bit stretched out. He slipped off the cold leather jacket and slipped on the hoodie, instantly feeling a bit warmer; even if it wasn't very logical.

Bucky went back to his nest of blankets and practically curled up like a cat, turning on the TV. He rarely had it off, he needed noise, he couldn't sit with himself and his thoughts for too long. He never actually paid attention to whatever was on, he just knew that there was sound and a bright light. It kept him up at night- and that means no nightmares.

Bucky would only realize this was Sam's hoodie when he woke up from the inevitable nightmare. He would recognize the way it didn't fit him just right, but it was warm, and comforting, and safe.

And he wouldn't know that across the country, Sam did the same thing. He wouldn't know that Sam was throwing himself into danger to distract himself from Bucky.

And Sam wouldn't know that Bucky went to therapy, that he talked about him there. He wouldn't know about Yori, or how goddamn freezing he was right now. Maybe it wasn't so cold. Maybe he just missed the warmth that used to be here, but left one night, and hasn't come back since.

Distractions didn't seem to work as well as they thought they would.