Chapter Text
“No, no chocolate sauce for the Bastard,” Sam scolded lightly, pushing Riley’s cat away from his work area. The stupid thing was half the reason his baking videos had gotten so popular in the first place. He should give her more screen time, all things considered. The cat batted her head into Sam’s knuckles again and then jumped up to put her paws on the edge of his KitchenAid bowl.
“No! You know that one’s definitely off limits.” He quickly grabbed her around her ribs and set her on the ground. She meowed indignantly up at him and kept meowing until her owner groggily made it to the kitchen, cell phone pressed up against his ear. Riley scooped the cat up and she settled down as he held her under his arm. She wrapped her paws around his wrist and laid her head in his hand.
“Yeah, yeah, Sam’s here. No, this is awesome. I can’t believe you actually watched the tape,” Riley was saying into the phone. Sam glanced up at him but his heavy cream and sugar was forming peaks and he didn’t have time to figure out who Riley was talking to in the dead of night. It probably wasn’t his parents if he was talking about Sam.
“No, yeah, I’ll definitely tell him. Give him all the info. Yeah, I can drive him in. He’s gonna be so excited,” Riley said. He glanced over at Sam and Sam held up his spatula in question, brow furrowed. Riley waved him off with the hand holding the phone before panicking when he realized he couldn’t hear what was happening on the other end.
“Could you repeat that? Oh, yeah, sure, all of that info is correct and accurate. Yeah, we’ll both answer those numbers and emails. This is honestly so cool. I can’t wait to see what you do with him.”
The timer on the oven clicked behind Sam and he stopped trying to hear what the other man was talking about. He took out a tray of muffins and set them on the oven, keeping his body between the hot pan and Riley’s dumb ass. He freed one and set it aside to cool faster so that Riley could grab it without bothering the rest of the batch. Sam went back to his ganache and kept an eye on the cat and her swishing tail and big eyes.
Eventually Riley hung up the phone and then lifted the cat up to smush their faces together. “Her name is Baxter, you asshole. Stop calling her Bastard.”
Sam rolled his eyes and turned down the heat on his ganache. “Whatever. Who were you on the phone with?”
Baxter pushed her paws against Riley’s cheekbone, over one of the scars that criss-crossed his face, and pushed herself away so Sam got the full effect of Riley’s bright grin. “It was an executive from Stark Productions. They’re filming a baking competition show.”
Sam’s stomach clenched and he set the spatula aside. “Riley Micheal Wiatrek,” he warned lowly.
Riley shrugged, bright and cheery still. “It’s an intentional mix of newcomers, top chefs, celebrities, and viral internet sensations.”
“Riley, you didn’t,” Sam tried again.
“I submitted a video for you. Because I knew you’d never do it yourself.”
“I’m gonna murder you.”
“Do you know how many comments on your videos were begging you to audition?!” Riley defended as Sam looked around for cake smoother to beat Riley over the head with.
“I don’t listen to the whim of Facebookers!”
“And Youtubers! And Instagrammers!” Riley put the kitchen island between them and set Baxter down to get into Sam’s food to distract him. “You’re popular, Sammy! People wanna see you branch out. And it’ll be good for you. You haven’t pushed yourself since we got settled in.”
“I don’t want to push myself,” Sam snapped back as he scooped the cat up in his arms. “Getting you out of the hospital was my only post-military goal. I pushed myself enough then.”
Riley’s face softened and he stepped around the island, stealing a finger of ganache on his way, to pull Sam into his arms. Baxter extricated herself to curl up in the empty sink. “I know it was hard, Sam. But it’s been years. I’m back in school taking classes and we’ve got this gorgeous place. And a cat. We’ve got a cat, Sam. We’re just two guys now. It’s time to put all of that behind us. I don’t need you to babysit me anymore. It’s been months without a spell and I’ve even got a job that I’m doin’ real good at. This will be good for you, Sam.”
“I have a job too. What am I supposed to do in the meantime? I work with guys who expect me to be there, Riley. I can’t just stop showing up.” Sam adjusted his face against Riley’s shoulder and loosely wrapped his arms around his best friend’s waist.
“I’m sure if you bring them a lot of sweets over the next few weeks, they won’t mind,” Riley assured. “The group is tougher than you give them credit for. And they care about you a lot more than you think. They want what’s best for you.”
“Yeah, but my job is to want what’s best for them and me disappearing in the middle of nothing is not what is best for them.”
Riley scoffed and ran his hand over Sam’s short hair, familiar callouses pulling in the same places they always did. “They’re grown men, Sammy. I’m grown. It’s going to be okay. Do this for you.”
Sam’s heart thundered in his chest, but Riley seemed so sure. Sureer than almost anything he’d said since the accident. His eyes were clear and the smile behind them was purer than Sam had seen in a while. After their tours, after they got shot down, his whole world had ceased to exist and exploded into something different. Suddenly it was about easing Riley back into the world, easing himself back into the world. It was about not seeing his nieces for a year because his nightmares on the couch scared them. It was about wearing ear plugs to bed because garbage trucks in the morning jolted him awake and left him reaching for a gun.
Sam had fought back to this weird almost-normal with Riley. He had a job, he had an apartment, Riley had a cat. But most of his normal was the repetition day to day. It was normal because he worked 8-5 Monday, Wednesday, Friday at the VA and took Riley to therapy on Tuesday and Thursdays. He spent all Sunday baking and the rest of the week editing to post a video every Saturday. The cat got fed at seven every morning. That was their normal. Fucking off for a cooking show was not part of that schedule.
Still.
Still, spontaneity had been the whole of their life before the accident. They’d met both trying to sneak off base the same night. They’d signed up for a super secret mission that no one else could know about, that wouldn’t get their names written down if they died in the middle of it. They flew, unguarded, in real wings over enemy territory. They got shot down and still stumbled back to a friendly roof without calling for help. A baking show would not kill them.
When Sam looked over at Riley again, the little shit was grinning like he already knew he’d won. “Alright, fine. I’ll talk to them. But it’s not a guarantee, Wiatrek,” he warned.
Riley swooped back in for another hug, squeezing Sam until his ribs ached. “It’s gonna be awesome, Sammy. You’re gonna love it.”
“It’s not a guarantee!” Sam repeated, swatting his thigh with a towel.
Something clattered beside them and they both shouted “Baxter, no!” as the cat leapt at the cooling pot on the floor now.
~ ~ ~
Three weeks later, Sam was in upstate New York because Riley always won. “Mr. Wilson?” a sharp voice called as he wandered around the foyer of a hotel, taking in the art deco decorations and weird light fixtures.
Sam looked away from filaments burning themselves in his eyes and adjusted the bag on his shoulder. A tall woman was striding towards him. She had a sharp face, dark hair pulled back in a severe pony-tail, and well cut suit accenting her muscular body.
“Yeah, that’s me. Hi,” he said, holding his hand out.
“Maria Hill. I’m the producer for the show. Mostly I’m here to make sure none of you make too many bad mistakes.” She shook his hand firmly and handed over a stack of papers.
Sam grinned and tucked the papers under his arm. “How bad is bad?”
Maria gave him a bland look and then slowly raised an eyebrow. “You’ll have a room near mine.”
“In a good way?” he asked, waggling his eyebrows at her.
“No.”
He snorted and ran his hand over his head. “Probably for the best. I’m not from around here. It’d break your heart when I had to leave.”
“Oh, jeez, you’re going to get along just fine with the others,” she sighed.
“Making your job more difficult?”
“Always.” She shot him a pinched smirk and started towards the large room at the other side of the foyer. Dulled music and chatter managed to escape from the doors. “Your room key is in the file, as well as a schedule. You’ll be fifteen minutes early to listed events.”
“Makes sense,” Sam agreed, nodding and following after her.
“There’s a meet and greet with a few of the other contestants and cast. Feel free to eat and chit-chat. Get your personal things in order. We’ll be confiscating phones to ensure nothing leaks out to the public about the show after the luncheon. Don’t forget you signed an NDA, along with the rest of the cast, crew, and Tower staff.”
Sam nodded again and let out a breath when he suddenly stood in front of the doors. “Are there any other regular people in there?” he hazarded.
“Mr. Wilson, whether you think of yourself as one or not, you’re a celebrity too. Do you know how many people suggested your name for the show?” Maria said dubiously. “Granted, I didn’t know you from Jack, but everyone else seemed to. But, in answer to your question, the cast is evenly divided between actors and singers and entertainers, and bakery owners.”
“And some of the entertainers are bad, right?”
“You won’t go home in the first round, Mr. Wilson,” Maria assured, lips quirking to the side again. “Enjoy your afternoon. There will be a trial run in the evening, so be ready to bake.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Sam said. He pretended to look at the papers in his hands as Maria walked away and then let out a long breath in front of the doors. But Riley would be telling him to hurry up and go. Make new friends or some shit.
Sam sighed again and pushed open the door. At first, it was no different than an officer’s ball or a recruitment day. But, slowly, faces started to swim into focus and he felt his breath catch in his throat at the first one that registered in his head.
Because there was Steve Rogers standing at the punch table, laughing with another gorgeous blonde. Steve Rogers was one of the most talented actors in the whole world, probably. His rags-to-riches story had captivated every audience and his charming, down-to-earth personality kept them coming back for more. He’d been cast in some cheesy action flick detailing the life of Captain America, downed World War II soldier and probable folktale, and he’d put so much energy and emotion into the performance that it got him three more movies and an Oscar nomination. It changed the direction of the entire action movie industry. Suddenly docu-movies were cool again.
And the gorgeous blonde he was talking to was nothing to scoff at either. Carol Danvers was a bonafide war hero in her own right. People compared Sam’s videos to her career all the time and it wasn’t halfway fair to her because she was a two star michelin chef. And she broke down barriers in the Air Force that let Sam go where he went with the Falcon program. StarForce Bakeries was the hottest bakery in the US South and expanding more every day.
Sam could not talk to either of those people.
Down the table from Rogers was Peggy Carter, his on-screen/off-screen love interest. Sam didn’t know if Carter was a baker or not, but he imagined she was such a spitfire that, even if she wasn’t, she’d be trouble. She was talking to a blond man with a bandage over his nose that Sam didn’t recognize. On the man’s six was a gorgeous red-head and Sam’s mouth went dry when she met his eye and shot him a smirk.
When he finally stopped ignoring the commotion at the front of the room, he found Tony Stark, owner of Stark Productions. Sam wouldn’t put it past Stark to cast himself in this show. Stark was a genius with a machine, but that didn’t mean he could mix eggs, flour, and butter together.
Sam didn’t bother to figure out who all was around him. Mostly because his eyes caught sight of the dark figure in the far corner and his teenaged heart stuttered in his chest. After Bucky Barnes had dropped off the face of the Earth following a messy split from none other than Steve Rogers, suddenly everyone saw the punk-rocker in their local bakery. Though it was never confirmed and Barnes had never come out of hiding, it was mostly accepted that the young musician hid himself away in a bakery that popped up several years later named after his biggest hit--TEOTL. The letters made as much sense in the context of a bakery as they did in the context of the song that had no matching line. Still, no one could get a picture of the man or hunt him down for an interview.
But there he was, looking a little healthier than his rock star days, and a little more tired. The difference between 19 and 33 would do that to you, Sam ought to know. Sam had had every intention of avoiding the celebrities, maybe hitting up the redhead, but his feet moved him towards the first dude he’d had a sex dream about, because of course they did. It wasn’t to say Barnes was Sam’s sexual awakening. He’d pretty much figured out he was into guys and girls when he was fourteen, but he was a late bloomer when it came to sex. He’d graduated college before finally taking someone to bed and there hadn’t been many since. Barnes was just different. There was something about his style and his air and his music that dug into Sam’s chest and wouldn’t let go, even ten years on.
Oh, God, why was he thinking about this walking over to the man to talk to him? What the fuck was wrong with him, actually? He thought about just turning around to walk away, blending in with Stark’s crowd. But then Barnes’ eyes flicked up to him and Sam couldn’t just leave him.
“Hey,” he said with a nod. “You mind if I take up some of the wall space too?”
Barnes’s eyes flicked over him again and he shrugged. “Not like there’s an entire reception hall for you to stand in,” he muttered.
Sam clicked his tongue and sagged against the wall anyway. “I’m Sam. I do baking videos online.”
“Are you any good?” Barnes asked.
“Well, I haven’t burnt down my apartment yet.”
“Then you’re not as bad as Steve.”
The casual way Barnes threw it out there jolted Sam from his thoughts, which mostly revolved around getting Barnes to say his name. He realized he ought to get used to celebrities casually referring to each other.
“So he’s one of the bad bakers?”
Barnes leveled a bored stare at Sam. “No, he’s the host. No one’s stupid enough to put Steve behind a stove. He burnt boiled eggs once.”
Sam’s eyebrows shot up and he stifled a snort. “Yeah, that’s pretty bad,” he said.
“I can’t believe they’re gonna let him on set at all. He’s not allowed past the cash register in my bakery. He can just look at an oven and fuck it up.”
Sam never thought he’d be in a position where Bucky Barnes ragged on Steve Rogers immediately upon meeting someone new. He had approximately zero intentions of making Bucky stop. “My roommate’s not that bad. But he’ll eat anything, no matter how uncooked it is.”
“Oh, yeah. Steve’ll steal half your chocolate before you notice. I suggest leaving lids on things when you turn your back.”
“I didn’t know you and he had stayed in touch once you started your business,” Sam ventured.
It was the wrong thing to say apparently because Bucky shut down just as quickly as he’d opened up. Sam should’ve known the whole relationship was probably dicey and that he should’ve just let Bucky control the speed of the conversation. It must be surreal to have a stranger start asking about your dating history. Sam would’ve been pissed off and here he was anyway, doing that shit.
“Sorry, sorry. I didn’t mean to get up in your business,” he started to say, but a microphone squealed on the other side of the room.
“Saved by the bell,” Bucky muttered, shoving himself away from the wall. Sam watched, feeling a little helpless and like the kid that had gotten rejected at the dance, as Bucky found Steve’s side, throwing an elbow into his ribs and catching a mean pinch back on his hip.
Sam missed Riley like an ache.
The redheaded woman from earlier came up on Bucky’s other side and mussed his already messy hair. Sam glanced around for the blond man she’d been with but didn’t find him until a voice off to his side said, “Don’t even think about it, dude.”
Sam raised his eyebrows and glanced over at the man, who’d appeared by his side fairly quickly. “Think about what?” he asked.
“Trying to get into her pants. It’s not gonna work and she’s just gonna embarrass you in the process.”
Sam held up his hands in surrender. “Lucky for me I’m not really interested then, I guess.” Not after that conversation with Bucky and all his teenaged angst piqued again.
“She’s a ballerina for the Russian Ballet,” the man continued, though Sam hadn’t asked.
“So she’s not a baker.”
“Not on paper, but there’s nothing I’ve found that she can’t do.”
Sam snorted and nodded. “Noted. What about you, man? You some influencer?” Though he was sure the messy man was not. Sam was fairly certain there was a coffee stain on his shirt.
The man huffed out a laugh and shook his head. “No. I’m the fool who’s gonna let Tony Stark make an idiot of him.”
“You don’t bake?”
“I burn water.”
Sam nodded, though he wasn’t so sure. He didn’t get people’s fascination with being stupid on national television. Jesus, why was he here? This was too much. He should be back home. He was going to miss at least three videos with this bullshit and who knew how many therapy sessions. This was all a mistake.
“Hey, dude, just breathe. It ain’t so bad. I’ve been here for a few days. Everyone’s nice,” the guy explained, clapping a hand over Sam’s shoulder. “It’s not gonna be so bad, I promise. I’m Clint, by the way. Clint Barton.”
“Hey, Clint,” Sam said with a nod over to him. He took several deep breaths and then looked over. “Sam Wilson.”
“Well, Sam Wilson, are you a baker?”
“Not professionally. It’s a hobby. I have a Youtube page.”
“Well at least that means you’re good, right?”
Sam shrugged. “My roommate and our cat eat what I make, so I guess it’s not so bad.”
Barton snorted and nodded. “Sure. That’s a good metric. Well, hey, man, good luck on this whole thing. Excited to see what you do with the challenges.”
“Wait, do you know what the challenges are already?” Sam asked after a second.
Barton only grinned and gave an exaggerated shrug. “Who knows. Maybe I’m a government plant. Just here to spy on all of you and make tension.”
“Well then, I’ll be sure not to fall for your tricks.”
“I’m easy to fall for,” Clint said with a cocky grin.
Sam laughed and shook his head. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. If he just imagined he was at some terrible party and Riley was a few feet from him, charming the pants off someone, it would be fine.
A few rows ahead of him, Bucky Barnes turned over his shoulder and caught sight of Barton and Sam and, maybe, a little smile quirked at his lips. But Sam wasn’t counting on it.