reunion verse drabble

[sizeofyourbaggage]

Sam carries three sets of dog tags with him.

One of them is his, worn and battered but well cared for and still in pretty good shape. The others are tangled messes of melted and charred metal - one still managed to retain its shape, and even a few numbers and letters, but the other is little more than a chunk of black and silver. The military technically doesn't know that Sam found them after the explosions that took his two best friends from him, but honestly, even now Sam doesn't really give a shit.

He doesn't wear them, and he used to keep them safely tucked away in his room at home, but it didn't feel right leaving them behind while he trekked all over the place looking for another lost soldier.

The first time Steve sees them, it's because he's rooting around in Sam's bag for the first aid kit to patch up the bullet graze on Sam's arm. Sam watches them spill out from the towel they're wrapped in, but he doesn't say anything, and neither does Steve. It's only later, when Sam picks them up to put them away again while Steve brings over two bottles of beer, that Sam sees Steve's brows furrow as he takes a closer look at them and counts how many there are.

Steve looks up at him, a silent question, and Sam takes one of the bottles of beer before he holds up the dog tags one at a time.

"Me. Riley. Clint. And I'm gonna need a few more of these if I'm gonna go there."

Steve gets him a few more. If Steve wonders why it's so much harder to talk about Riley and Clint than it is just to talk about Riley, he doesn't ask, and Sam doesn't tell him. He has practice talking about Riley. He'd had to work through Riley's death before he could even begin to function like a person again, and there isn't a day that goes by at the VA that he doesn't somehow bring him up.

He doesn't talk about Clint, not very often, not unless he's talking about the shit he and Clint and Riley used to get up to. He hasn't reached the point yet where he's willing to work through Clint's death, where he's willing to work on letting Clint go. And even though DADT isn't in effect anymore, there's a difference between knowing that and standing up in front of his groups to talk about the soldier he loves and lost. He gets enough teasing about it with Riley, and at least there he can genuinely roll his eyes and make jokes about people who've just never known a bromance that deep.

Sam can't do that with Clint, and he doesn't really want to, anyway. Clint is just for him.

But Steve is different. Steve is the closest thing he's got to a best friend these days, and Sam knows that he's the same for Steve right now. They've traded stories about Riley and Bucky, and Sam's already been able to figure enough to guess that Bucky is a lot closer to what Clint is for Sam. He's not really sure if Steve knows that, or is willing to admit it, but that doesn't matter.

What matters is that today had been a pretty tough day - they usually are when Sam gets hurt, both because they generally have to be in a pretty sticky situation for Sam to get injured and because Steve takes it personally when Sam gets hurt, like Sam isn't a big boy who knew exactly what he was getting into when he joined Steve on this wild goose chase. What matters is that Steve could use the opportunity to share a little bit, and Steve is always more comfortable opening up when Sam sets the stage for it.

What matters is that Sam hasn't talked to his therapist in too long, and he wants to talk about Clint. He misses him, and seeing the dog tags after a day like today reminded him sharply of that.

Despite that, Sam's on his third beer before he actually broaches the subject, rolling his bottle loosely between both hands. "Clint, he, uh. He was something else. It was him and me and Riley, we drove our commanding officers damn near insane with the shit we used to pull. We were kids, you know, we were all running from something and way too full of bluster and arrogance, and we found each other.

Clint was the worst. Cockiest son of a bitch I ever met, and he had this way of smiling at people that always seemed to make them want to punch him, and he knew it. Shit, the number of times he'd provoke people and Ri and I ended up in a bar fight without even knowing why, I couldn't even tell you." He shakes his head, a fond smile tugging at his lips as he takes another drink. "But he was a good man, a good soldier. A great friend. One night Riley couldn't sleep, woke up cause I heard him crying in his cot - and I guess Clint heard, too, because the next thing I know, Clint's prodding Riley up and saying that two am is the best time to learn to juggle and the two of them are laughing and throwing shit and taking bets on which one of them can hit me in the head.

Him and me, we-" Sam cuts off, jaw working, and looks away to drain the rest of the bottle.

When he looks back, Steve's watching him carefully, like he pretty much knows where Sam had been going with that, but he doesn't want to offend him if he was wrong. Sam quirks a little smile, salutes him with his empty bottle, and pops open another one.

"Don't ask don't tell was in full effect back then," Sam says, after swallowing another gulp. "Most we ever did was maybe get a little too aggressive, wrestling around. Maybe we weren't the best for each other, maybe we were too much alike - but we were good. We were what we needed. Sometimes things would get to be too much, and we'd sit like this, drink crappy beer and just not say anything, just... have a place to be quiet."

Sam's voices goes soft. "I thought he wouldn't understand, you know, this punkass white kid who probably didn't know what real shit was like, but he did know. He got it. He never wanted me to be anything else other than what I was, even if what I was was a messed up angry kid, because he was right there with me. Yeah, maybe we pushed each other, but we made each other better. I don't know where I'd be right now if it weren't for him and Riley."

He's silent after that, staring into his almost empty beer.

"What happened to him?" Steve asks after a long moment.

"He died, almost ten years ago now." Sam finishes his bottle. "Set off an IED. I didn't see it, but shit, I heard it, and I-" Sam shakes his head. "It was different after that. Ri and I pulled in together pretty hard, and you know how well that turned out." He picks up Clint's dog tags, drops the chain around his neck almost without thinking about it.

"They said he was a hero, the way he went out, but I didn't need a fucking explosion to know that."

Sam'd started this because he thought Steve needed a place to talk, but maybe - maybe Sam was the one who needed to talk. He's done now, though, and he digs the heel of his hand into his eye before he can do something stupid like start tearing up.

"Thanks," he mutters.

Steve puts his hand on Sam's knee, giving it a squeeze. "You're not always as subtle as you think," Steve comments. "I've figured out when you're giving me an opening, and when you actually need to talk."

Sam leans in, pressing his shoulder against Steve's before he shoves him lightly. "Yeah, yeah. You better cut me off, smart guy, before you have to put up with me bitching at a five am wake up call."

He's smiling, though, so Steve flashes him a grin back before he stands to start cleaning up the bottles. Before he thinks better of it, Sam reaches out, curling his fingers around Steve's wrist to hold him in place.

"I didn't realize how in love with him I am until years after I lost him," Sam says quietly, tongue loosened by alcohol and starlight and the soft look in Steve's eyes. "Don't be me, Steve."

Steve looks at him for a moment, and Sam can tell that he knows exactly what Sam's talking about, but then Steve looks away.

"I'm sorry, Sam," Steve says, soft and earnest, and it twists something aching and painful in Sam's chest that almost makes him regret talking about this.

He lets go, pressing his hand over the dog tags resting against his chest. "Yeah. Me too."