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Sam missed Percy more than anything. He missed the simplicity of their weekly meetups at their favorite café, the grounding rhythm of their morning runs around DC, and the easy companionship of hanging out at Percy’s place without a care in the world. Percy had had been an anchor of normalcy in Sam’s life that he hadn’t even realized he needed so much. It was a different time, a simpler time, the days he spent with Percy.
It wasn’t just the comfort that Percy brought; it was the chaos too. Percy had practically wormed his way into the role of Sam’s little brother, an endless annoying and wildly unpredictable mess of a brother who seemed to delight in pushing Sam’s buttons in anyway he could. Whether it was the simply pleasure of sliding too close into Sam’s space, or the all too casual drop of some of the most horrifying and trauma inducing incidents in Percy’s life that left Sam reeling. Percy always found a way to keep Sam on his toes. Some of those moments had been so outrageous, Sam could swear he’d almost suffered a heart attack from pure shock.
But now, thanks to Steve and the mess they’d all gotten wrapped up in, Percy could no longer be a normal feature in Sam’s life, not easily anyway. Of all the sacrifices Sam had made to help Steve Rogers, the one that stung the most was losing the freedom to go out in public with Percy. It wasn’t worth the risk, not unless Sam wanted to get arrested.
For months now, they had been living under the Wakandan’s roof, surrounded by kindness and hospitality that Sam still found baffling. He’d seen all kinds of people in his life—heroes, politicians, soldiers—but the generosity of the Wakandan people was something else. They could’ve shoved all of them to the door without a second thought as soon as they were steady enough on their feet, but they hadn’t. And when Princess Shuri had offered to help try and free Barnes from his trigger words, Sam could’ve sworn Steve looked like he’d found a miracle.
But miracles didn’t happen overnight. Days turned into weeks, turned into months, and the words still stuck. Sure, there were fleeting moments where Bucky seemed lighter, seemed more like the man Steve had described to Sam—but the progress was maddeningly slow. Sam knew Steve was tearing himself apart over it, he could see it on the man’s face. It was a battle Steve couldn’t charge into without thinking.
Sam was dealing with is own issues though. He’d known for a while that he needed to say something, that he should say something. To tell Steve that there was someone that could help. It wasn’t much. In fact, it was a long shot, and that’s what made him hesitate. Gods worked in their own world, and they were more than unpredictable. What if he got Steve’s hopes up for nothing? What if it didn’t work for Bucky the same way it had for Percy. Percy was a demigod, he had divinity in him, it was easier to get ride of the trigger words that way.
Still, as Sam watched Bucky leave for yet another session with Shuri, he knew he couldn’t hold it back any longer. The knowledge had been gnawing at him for a while now, and he felt ready to burst. Before he could second guess himself again, he crossed the room and dropped into the chair across from Steve. The look on Steve’s face only solidifying Sam’s decision.
“Steve,” Sam began, voice steady with determination. “I think Percy may know someone who could help with Barnes’ trigger words.”
Sam could visibly see Steve’s body take a screen shot. “Really?”
Sam nodded firmly. “I can’t promise Percy will agree to it, or that he can even convince the other person to help. But you’ve got to try.”
“Are you sure?”
Sam nodded again. “Give me your phone. I’ll call Perce.”
Grabbing Steve’s offered phone, Sam dialed quickly, putting the call on speaker as he handed it back. Percy picked up almost immediately, offering no greetings, just a harsh bluntness that Sam typically associated with a more teasing edge.
“Congratulations on the airport fist fight. How’s life as a wanted war criminal?” His voice was rough, groggy, and dripping with sarcasm. Looks like they woke him up. It explained the son of Poseidon’s harshness but it was less than great for them.
Sam sighed, settling into his chair. Of course, Percy was sleep-deprived and irritable, he almost always was, though typically less irritable than this. A whole mix of emotions was probably stewing in Percy too—worry, annoyance, exhaustion. Great.
“Hey, Perce,” Steve greeted casually. “I’ll be honest, it’s not great.”
“Figured as much,” Percy grunted. His thick New York accent was harder for Sam to parse through than usual. Sam doubted Steve could understand a thing Percy was saying judging by the bewildered look on the other man’s face. “Why’d you call?”
Even half-asleep, Percy could still pull off being a bitch. Steve forged ahead anyway, Sam applauded his resolve. “Do you know why I had the ‘airport fist fight’?”
There was some rustling on the other end. Percy was shifting. “Sam told me about it when he visited.”
Steve’s expression fell, glancing between Sam and the phone. “Sam got to visit you?”
“Yes,” Percy replied mercilessly. “Back on topic.”
Steve muttered something under his breath—something suspiciously close to “Sam always gets special treatment.” The amused snort from Percy made it clear he’d heard it loud and clear.
Clearing his throat awkwardly, Steve steered the conversation back. “Well, Sam said you might know someone who could help with Bucky’s trigger words.”
The line went silent. Sam shifted uncomfortably, almost regretting bringing this up.
When Percy spoke again, there was a tremor in his voice, soft but unmistakable. “I don’t know if it would work, Steve. The situation was... different.”
“Please, Percy.” Steve’s voice cracked under the weight of his desperation. “Not for me—Bucky needs help. We’ve tried everything, but nothing’s working. Sam said someone you know might be able to help.”
Another pause. Sam wasn’t sure if Percy was contemplating or had simply fallen asleep mid-plea. Either option felt possible at that hour.
“I’ll see if it’s possible,” Percy said finally. “But don’t get your hopes up. He might say no outright, even if he could do it.”
“You could convince him,” Steve pressed, his faith unshakable.
Percy sighed, resignation creeping into his tone. “I wish I could agree, but this is a god we’re talking about, Steve. He does what he wants, when he wants. I could try calling in a favor, but even that might not work anymore.”
Steve’s resolve didn’t waver. “Just try.”
“I will,” Percy reassured. “As soon as it’s not 4 in the fucking morning. I’ll call you back once I know something.”
“Thank you, Percy,” Steve said, his gratitude pouring through. “Thank you so much.”
“Don’t thank me yet.” There was a pause before Percy adds his voice soft with something akin to understanding. “And tell Barnes, don’t force him into this. Let him decide, he’s had enough decisions taken from him already. He doesn’t need anymore.” And with that, he hangs up.
The line went dead, and for a moment, the only sound in the room was the faint hum of the air conditioner in the background. Steve stared at the phone in his hand, his expression caught somewhere between hope and doubt. He wasn’t sure if he felt better or worse after the conversation.
Sam leaned back in his chair, rubbing a hand over his face. “Well, that went about as well as I expected,” he mutters, his tone light but his shoulders visibly tense. He knew he had pushed Percy into this, and now all they could do was wait and hope.
Steve set the phone down carefully, as if afraid any sudden movement might shatter the fragile possibility of Percy coming through. He looked up at Sam, his blue eyes clouded with thought. “Do you think he’ll follow through?” he asks quietly.
Sam paused, weighing his words. “If Percy said he’ll try, then he’ll try. But you heard him, convincing a god? That’s... not exactly a walk in the park. And I’m thinking of Roman gods here. Greek gods are something else, their more primal, more chaotic.”
Steve nodded slowly, running a hand through his hair. “I just—Bucky’s running out of time, Sam. Every day those damn words are still in his head, he just feels worse.”
“I know,” Sam said, his voice steady, though the helplessness in Steve’s words hit him hard. “But Percy’s the best shot we’ve got. If anyone can handle a conversation with a god, it’s gonna be him. Have faith, he’s fought gods before and won, and he’s great with words when he wants to be.”
Steve managed a faint smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I hope you’re right.”
Sam leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He knew the stakes, knew how much Bucky’s freedom meant to Steve—and honestly, it mattered to Sam too if it meant the other man felt better. But the weight of what they were asking Percy to do was heavy, even for someone like him. Asking favors from gods was dangerous business, and Percy had already been through enough for several lifetimes.
“We’ll figure it out,” Sam says, his voice firm. “We always do.”