#look it had to be the teacher AU because you can't have YBWM without incorporating SOME of those vibes at least

[firstelevens]

hi zainab!!

taylor swift prompt #15 + sambucky? (bc lord knows i've thought about writing a you belong with me inspired sambucky fic too many times)

15. a smile that could light up this whole town

Reading the room is one of Sam’s greatest skills as a teacher. It’s turned around any number of bad days, resolved countless conflicts, and prevented dozens of failed tests or quizzes.

It’s instinctive enough that when he dismisses his Honors American Literature class right as the bell rings, he’s not remotely surprised when the best student in his class joins the cluster of students around his desk, asking about test corrections and extra credit.

Once he’s sent the rest of them off with the answers they’re looking for, Sam turns to Cindy Moon, who’s fidgeting with the cuffs of her sweater and won’t quite look at him.

“Mr. Wilson, do you think you could write me a pass to stay here during study hall?” she asks, her voice shaking a little. “I know we don’t have anything in the works for philanthropy club, but maybe I could do some planning? Or some research, or something?”

Part of Sam wants to say no, because he had very specific plans for his end-of-the-school-day planning period, and having a student in the room will mean that he has to be in vigilant teacher mode for the next hour and a half instead.

The other part of Sam has not missed the fact that Cindy used to constantly be surrounded by a group of her fellow cheerleaders and an ever-present boyfriend—a senior from the football team, Sam thinks, but not one he’s ever taught—and now she’s always on her own, sitting at the opposite end of the classroom to the group she was inseparable from just two weeks ago.

It has to be worse today of all days: between singing candy grams and carnation deliveries and heart shaped helium balloons everywhere, Valentine’s Day has hit Excelsior Academy hard. He can’t blame her for wanting to escape.

Sam is already reaching for the stack of blank passes before he speaks. “I could use some help organizing the classroom library, if you’re up for it? I had freshmen searching for books to write their reviews on, and they basically destroyed it.”

Cindy agrees, her voice still tremulous, and runs the pass down the hall to Rhodey in the physics lab. She comes back in as Sam is erasing the board, slinging her backpack onto a desk before moving towards the bookshelves that line the back wall of the classroom. 

Sam’s class library is his pride and joy, nearly two hundred books that he painstakingly chose and catalogued over the years. The freshmen were enthusiastic in searching for books, but less so in putting them back. Sam had taught them the last period of the day yesterday, and there had been an English department meeting—useless, but then most meetings were, under John Walker’s tenure as department head—so he only had time to throw them onto the shelf and rush over to the other side of the school.

Clearly, Cindy is aware of this on some level, because when he looks back at her, she’s got the first shelf’s worth of books separated across five different desks, one for each genre. He’s about to thank her for taking this so seriously when there’s a knock on the doorframe.

Standing just outside the classroom is Bucky, a handful of students peering around him.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Barnes?” asks Sam, capping his dry erase marker and waving the group into the room.

“They finally got someone in to fix the leak in the AC vent,” says Bucky, “but it means the room is unusable for the rest of the day. Can the yearbook kids and I camp out in here?”

“Of course,” says Sam. He turns to the kids. “I recommend the desks by the bulletin board, if you need to plug in laptops.”

Peter and Ned and Kamala head over to the desks nearest the outlets. MJ and Miles come in carrying a large posterboard, and behind them, America is carrying a stack of shoeboxes.

“Is it okay if we push some desks together?” asks Miles. “We’ll put them back before we leave.”

His question is underscored by the sound of both girls shifting desks and chairs behind him to make a larger work surface, and Miles winces. Sam laughs a little and tells him that it’s fine, and the three of them open up the boxes and start placing paper cutouts on the poster board.

“Testing layouts,” says America, when she sees him looking. “Sometimes it helps to do it physically instead of onscreen.”

“Mr. Barnes suggested it,” explains Miles, just in time for Bucky to reappear in the doorway.

“I’m only taking credit if it works,” Bucky says, turning sideways so he can get through the door with the two overstuffed tote bags over one shoulder and a backpack over the other.

“You see that?’ Sam asks, crossing the classroom to take one of the bags. “You haven’t even started and he’s already abandoning ship. Some captain, huh?”

“I’m a navigator at best,” says Bucky. “MJ’s captain; she’s the one at the top of the masthead.”

Across the room, Peter grins at MJ and gives her a little salute. Sam catches a smile crossing her face before she bites it back.

“Mr. Barnes is a pretty good navigator, though. He brought us cookies today.”

“Oh, shit,” Bucky says, and the kids seem unfazed the mild expletive. “Where’d I put the cookies?”

Sam looks into the bag that he’s holding and pulls out two boxes of pink frosted sugar cookies, complete with sprinkles and little candy hearts pressed into each one.

“Valentine’s themed and everything,” he says, grinning at Bucky. “Mr. Barnes, who knew you felt so strongly about the holiday?”

“He doesn’t,” says Ned. “Or, well, he does, but the other way.”

“Oh?’ asks Sam, as Bucky sets the box of cookies on an empty desk and sets a box of tissues beside them, his back to Sam. “And what way is that?”

“He said it was a consumerist holiday that doesn’t have anything to do with the history of all the different Saints Valentine. And then he taught us about Captain Cook attempting to kidnap people and getting killed for it.” Kamala finally looks up from her laptop. “That part was really interesting, actually.”

“Thanks,” Bucky says drily, opening the second box of cookies. “And I don’t want to see you all making a mess of Mr. Wilson’s room with these cookies, okay? We’re guests here and we’re going to clean up after ourselves.”

The yearbook kids murmur in assent. Sam glances over at Cindy, who’s still quietly sorting the bookshelves. He’s about to tell her to join them when Bucky beats him to it.

“Cindy, you’re welcome to have some, too,” he says. “And if you want any help organizing, you can absolutely conscript Ned and Peter and Kamala, because Michelle didn’t even give them an assignment for today, so I know they’re not actually working on anything for the yearbook right now.”

She hesitates for a moment, then sets down the stack of books and walks to Sam’s desk to use the hand sanitizer. “I like those flowers, Mr. Wilson,” she says, gesturing to the arrangement that had been waiting on Sam’s desk when he got in this morning. “They’re really pretty.”

Sam can’t help but smile when he looks over at the flowers. “Thanks, Cindy,” he says. Then, to the rest of the classroom: “I think Valentine’s Day is nice. We could all use a reminder to tell the people we care about that we’re thinking of them, even if that reminder is the day that a guy died for being kind to people.”

“There’s nothing wrong with celebrating Valentine’s Day,” says Bucky. “I just thought it was worth the reminder that our cultural traditions aren’t universal.”

“And also that colonizers getting taken out is a net gain, as far as the universe is concerned,” adds MJ, and Bucky’s lips twitch with a bitten-back smile.

“That, I can agree with,” says Sam. “So am I allowed to have one of these not-actually-for-Valentine’s-Day Valentine’s Day cookies?”

Before he can even step towards the box, Bucky is holding one out to him. Sam takes it with a smile and settles back in at his desk, scooting over to make room for Bucky to join him if he wants.

He does, after a moment, pulling over one of the chairs that MJ and America moved.

“Thanks for letting us hang out in here,” he says, pulling out a stack of tests to grade. “If you’d said no, I don’t know who would have let us in.”

“You mean you don’t know who would have let you get a bunch of teenagers hopped up on sugar in their classroom,” says Sam, holding out a red pen. He nods over to where the kids are now sitting on top of the desks, work abandoned in favor of comparing the messages on their conversation hearts. Cindy, he notes with some relief, has joined them.

Bucky takes the pen and waves his free hand. “Minor detail at best. And you got something out of it, too, didn’t you?”

Sam looks back down at the cookie in his hand and shrugs. “I mean, I’d have preferred homemade,” he says, trying not to grin, “but I guess this works.”

Laughing, Bucky elbows him gently and turns back to grading.

— —

That evening, when Sam’s doorbell rings, he answers it and leans against the doorway, blocking the entrance.

“What are you doing here?” he asks. “I thought Valentine’s Day was a consumerist holiday with no historical merit.”

“Peter and Michelle saw us together at that Italian place last weekend!” says Bucky. “I had to throw them off the scent!”

“Uh-huh,” says Sam, arms crossed and unmoving.

“Did you like the flowers, at least?”

Sam glances over at the vase that he brought home from school, now sitting on the mantelpiece. “Maybe.”

“I love you?”

“Is that a question now?”

Bucky huffs. “I brought you wine from that one tiny vineyard you love, and I have The Princess Bride and The Shop Around the Corner, and there’s no one I’d rather spend the day with, and I love you, Sammy. Happy Valentine’s Day.”

For a moment, Sam considers him. Then, he steps aside and waves Bucky in, shaking his head at the triumphant grin that spreads across his face.

“Fine, but only because I want to know what wine you picked,” he says, and immediately disproves it by leaving the bottle on the credenza and hauling Bucky in for a kiss.