Archive of Our Own ^beta

Sam sets his laptop aside when Bucky slides a small package across the table, that shy grin making his lips all curly.

“You got that on sale?” Sam asks, pushing his reading glasses up like he’s bracing for whatever ridiculous gadget Bucky’s decided they needed.

Bucky ignores him, flicking the boxcutter open with unnecessary precision. A scrape, a slice, and cardboard gives way. Inside: another box—smaller, plainer. He pries it open and pulls out a bracelet. Slim Milanese loop, silver catching the light, simple but sharp. On its flat plate, an engraving.

He tilts it toward Sam, expectant.

Sam leans in, squinting, fingertips brushing the cool steel. The tiny red asterisk’s visible and unmistakeable. His chest tightens as the words fall into place:

Bucky B.
Seizure Disorder
Sam — 202-310-1917

For a second, Sam forgets how to breathe. He shouldn’t be surprised—not after all the late-night admissions, the muttered “you’re all I got,” the quiet way Bucky’s clung to him like the force of gravity itself. Still, seeing his name carved into steel hits different. Feels like a vow. A vow he’s damn sure not breaking.

“Well, ain’t this the most melodramatic engagement bracelet ever?” Sam says, voice softer than he means it. He hooks an arm around Bucky’s waist and reels him in.

“I was gonna say you’re my lifeline,” Bucky replies, eyes glinting with quiet pride. “But you had me at melodramatic.”

Sam laughs, pressing their foreheads together, thumb caressing Bucky’s side. “Guess it’s official, then. You’re stuck with me—engraved and everything.”

“Yeah. I guess we both got each other. You don’t gotta carry all the worry anymore.” Bucky beams, fingers rubbing the plate. For once, there’s no storm cloud overhead. Just a steady, ordinary peace, marked by a bracelet and a promise. Sam nods, threading their fingers tighter, strong as the shield.

“So what’s next, matching medical-alert rings? We’re practically married, so…” Sam teases.

Bucky smirks. “Don’t tempt me.”