ON YOUR LEFT

As Steve sidled up to rescue Sam from Wanda’s death glare, they exchanged a brief, silent eye conversation. Why are you driving away the love of my life, Steve eyes said. You are not dating and you have literally known him for six months, Wanda eyes said back. Steve scrunched his nose and hip-checked her a little, feeling a small prickle of victory as she made an annoyed sound in the back of her throat and reluctantly moved away, probably to go spit in some unsuspecting customer’s latte. Steve turned back to face Sam, a shy flush working its way along cheeks.

“Hey, hotshot.” Objectively, Steve knew that it was not great business practice to flirt during rush hour, especially when it was with the (possibly straight?) sexy fireman who likely had no romantic interest in him whatsoever. However, all rational thought vacated Steve’s head at the sight of those cheekbones, so he really couldn’t be held responsible for his actions. “I’m not going to make you black coffee because that’s really boring, but I promise you recompense if you really hate this latte.” Steve moved further behind the counter, dropping a cinnamon stick into a warm cup of milk and moving to pour a healthy amount of deep black coffee into a large cup. “How’s your morning going?”

Seeing Steve approach was like watching his guardian angel descend on the bakery to rescue him. Or maybe it was just because Wanda seriously resembled satan. “Hey yourself. No fires today, I see.” Sam said, making a big show of peering around like he thought there might be a fire hiding behind the counter or something. “You must be reading those fire safety flyers I gave you.” Which, in all honesty, had been Sam’s attempt to give Steve his number, but he’d chickened out of writing it on the paper at the last minute. His sister was right, he really was terrible at this.

“Oh, that’s boring, is it? You know, some of us drink coffee for the caffeine benefits, and not for the sugar content.” But he didn’t protest. Anything Steve made would undoubtedly be fantastic, so he might as well keep his mouth shut before he did anything stupid like bet a date on whether or not he liked the coffee. He’d definitely lose that bet. “Hmm, what kind of recompense are we talking here? I never say no to free food, just a suggestion.” Sam said, watching, impressed as Steve worked. He’d never been much of a cook himself, but Steve was clearly in his element here. “Better now that I’m not going to be putting boring black coffee in my system.” Sam chuckled. “How are you? Still haven’t been murdered by the scary witch girl, I see.”

When the line moved forward, Sam could feel his grin growing, before he locked eyes with the scary girl behind the counter who had once glared at him while deliberately misspelling his name on an order and his smile faded slightly. “I’ll take a...large cup of black coffee and two of your best scones.” Her frown deepened, and he hastily backtracked. “I mean, I’m sure they’re all good. Everything I’ve had here so far has been fantastic. Forget I said that. What are the specials today?” He was met with silence and a shrug. Great. So helpful.... “Forget that, too. Do you have blueberry? I’ll take two of those. Unless that’s too difficult for you to handle, I wouldn’t want to put you out,” He said with a lopsided grin.

Sam Wilson is in every way an example of how a person can flourish in a loving environment. He grew up in a happy home filled with so much love that the building was practically bursting at the seams. His mother was a doctor and his sister a psychologist, so from a very young age Sam was pushed towards a career in medicine. The idea was fine. He wanted to help people, and he had connections in the industry, but something about that line of work just didn’t call to him. Still, he promised his mom he’d consider it before signing up for a tour of duty with the Air Force and promptly forgetting that promise.

This was where he belonged. In the middle of danger, doing everything he could to protect others--even if it cost him his own life. His family hated it, though. The fear that something would happen to him consumed them, and began to drive a wedge between Sam and his family. After several years as a pilot in the Air Force, Sam finally decided to call it quits and move back state-side. He got a job as a mechanic in an attempt to find something a little quieter and less stressful that would appease his family. But he just couldn’t shake the desire to be doing more.

After a house fire in his area burnt down two homes and a local laundromat, leaving the elderly shopkeeper with extensive injuries, Sam decided to become a firefighter. This way, he could actually do something to protect the people in his community, to try and help people. Knowing that he was able to keep his family safe was a huge relief to Sam, and he bridged the gap that had widened between himself and his family with ease.

Oh my god… Are we— Ha. We’re back, bitches!

I was pretty sure we weren’t gonna make it. I--damn it, I should have made Barnes put money on it. See, what did I tell you? Steve Rogers will do anything to get his team out of dangers, this was definitely his work.

Hope knew that she shouldn’t let her frustrations get the better of her.  She was a practical woman, for the most part she knew when to open her mouth and when not to.  But honestly months and months on the run, combined with the shock of losing everything that she’d thought she’d gained was making it hard to walk that even line she was used to walking.  Especially when faced with someone she could blame for everything.  "Some bright side,“ Hope said, the words feeling like they were sticking against her teeth.  Her thoughts were turning slowly to her parents and then to Scott, who had been in the Quantum Realm when they’d started…

Hope squeezed her eyes shut and took a breath, her fists clenching and  unclenching almost rhythmically, as if she was squeezing a stress ball.  "It doesn’t matter?” Hope said, when she opened her eyes, something incredulous on her face and a harsh laugh sticking in her throat.   “You’re little stunt didn’t just affect Scott, you know.  He took our tech and that meant we got on the government’s shit list too.”  She clenched her jaw.  "Of all the reckless…“  Hope took a breath.  "Fine.  I know I can’t expect grown men to act as if they have any common sense,” she said finally and gave Sam a bit of a smile.  There wasn’t much humor in it though and Hope didn’t know if that would be the case for quite awhile.

“He managed to get a hold of us, even with the plea deal, so I’m not taking that as a good enough excuse.  You guys run around with Tony Stark, I’m sure you can work around some low level government  surveillance.”  Hope ran her fingers through her hair and let out another soft bark of laughter, this time with something close to humor.  "I don’t hate you, I don’t know you enough to hate you.  It’s just really hard not to hold you partially responsible for ruining everything.“  She rolled her shoulder back and straightened, pushing all of it down, so she could focus.  "But you’re right. I don’t know what we’re dealing with here.”  She hadn’t heard a thing about stones or an alien but then frowned when Sam said that they were dead.  "Really?“ Hope said, incredulous.  "So this is hell then,” she said and smirked, which was probably the most real expression she’d managed since she got here.  "I don’t feel dead.  And I…to sound cliche, I really refuse to let that be how I die.“  She pursed her lips.  “What else can you tell me?”

Yep, she was angry. And honestly, Sam couldn’t blame her. He would probably be angry at them too, if he were on the other side of things. But a small part of him thought that she was angrier at herself than she was at him. “At least there is one,” He shot back, still smiling, but with a noticeable strain now. He was a nice guy, friends with Captain America, but her attitude was grating. Whether she liked it or not, they were stuck here now, and no amount of guilt assignment would ever make her feel better. Borrowing Scott for their fight over the Accords had nothing to do with their situation now.

Temper flaring (and it was only in that moment that Sam realized just how bad prolonged contact with Steve had been for his disposition), he jabbed a finger toward the orange sky. “Out there? This shit matters. It means something. But here? It doesn’t mean anything. This is a brave new world, and we have to find a way to survive it as a group, or we’re gonna be stuck here for eternity, probably.” He wasn’t angry--anger required a level of delusion about his hand in all of this that he didn’t quite posses--but he was frustrated. They’d risked their lives, time and time again, to save these people. To protect the world. And sure, they hadn’t always made perfect decisions, but who had?

Her words dimmed that fight in him, though, and he took a moment to respond, sighing and dropping his shoulders from their defensive position. “I’m really sorry about that. If, once we get out of here and get this all fixed, you want us to try and make things right for you, we will. I know Steve would want to help if he knew how this had affected you.” Because Steve was a good enough guy to want to help a woman who was standing in front of him blaming him for every problem the world had faced in the past weeks, and Sam intended to be that, too.

The joke was unexpected, and although it didn’t contain much amusement, it was enough to relax Sam, finally setting him at ease that they weren’t about to start full-on brawling in the middle of a strange, orange world. “You know grown men are practically toddlers in the grand scheme of things.” Sam said, offering her a smile of his own. A truce, of sorts, for now. “I guess the guy cared less about honoring his plea deal than we did,” Sam shrugged. Scott was a grown man, and regardless of their jokes about grown men, he was capable of making his own decision. If he’d decided to break his plea deal, that was his decision. They’d honored his request not to put his freedom in jeopardy. But it seemed like they just couldn’t win with this woman. It was kind of like arguing with Natasha. “Yeah, uh, we really don’t run around with Tony anymore. For years, actually. We’ve all been pretty low-key underground since the Accords were first introduced.” Which was really a not-so-subtle reminder that he was a fugitive, something that was doubtfully a point in his favor with her.

“Alright, that’s fair.” Sam agreed, nodding his head a little. It was frustrating (she was frustrating), but he was going to be the bigger man. Whatever happened next, he just wanted to make sure that anything he was doing would have made Steve proud. “But since you don’t know me, I’m going to ask you not to keep coming for me like this. Any and all issues you might have with me and my friends needs to be settled later. You’re smart, you get why we need to work together here.” It wasn’t a question, he knew without a doubt that she saw the reasoning behind his request. Whether she was calmed down enough to respect it was another issue all together. “Well, I can tell you that we’re dead, but it’s not...real death. There’s a chance we can come back. This is more like a limbo state, a between world somewhere in the middle of death and life back on earth. If we can find a way out of here, we might have a chance at defeating Thanos and fixing everything. If we can’t, well, I guess we’re stuck here forever.”

Riley was falling. The harsh sand of the Afghanistan desert was rushing closer and closer to him. The wings were only prototypes, they were missing safety features all around. There was no parachute, it was a stealth mission. He couldn’t help but feel abandoned at that moment. Riley had long given up religion, but he prayed to every and any god at that moment that Sam would make it out safe. Right before he could hit the ground, he felt bullets rip through his armour. He wasn’t meant to get captured, they clearly wanted him dead. He never felt his body hit the ground.

When he opened his eyes, he was…In New York? It was enough of a hellscape that it made sense he would see it after death. He looked down, not seeing any of the bullet holes he knew should be there. He had hoped there wasn’t any afterlife, he would much rather have just faded away. He didn’t want to have to atone for any of his actions. He had killed a lot of people in the name of justice but he knew it was just to make him feel better. He didn’t know they were civilians until after the fact. He was told they were terrorists. He still felt responsible for their deaths.

Riley started walking, no direction in particular. The city wasn’t empty, but no one seemed to notice him. Maybe this was his purgatory. Forever surrounded by people who would ignore him. It wasn’t so bad, at least they weren’t taunting him. He could get used to this. “Being dead isn’t so bad. I don’t even have to talk to any of you. I can say whatever I want and none of you will judge me for it. The Harlem Shake is an awful trend and I hope it is dead by now.”

Sam had always been one to believe in moments. Big ones or little ones, or anything in-between, that changed your life. Sent it spinning off course. He’d had his fair share over the years: joining the military, losing Riley, meeting Steve and becoming an Avenger for all of ten minutes before the world had gone to shit again. Dying, most recently, and ending up trapped in the confusing (and slightly oxymoronic) Soul World that seemed to have no idea how to properly disguise itself as Earth. But never, ever, in all his wildest daydreams, had he thought he would see Riley again. That door had been closed.

At first he thought his eyes were playing tricks on him. It was the only reasonable explanation, the only thing that would have made sense. He was probably going crazy from being in the Stone too long. That was a thing, right? Stress-induced breakdowns were far too common in--No, nope, that was definitely Riley. Talking to a woman who looked confused to all hell, and it wasn’t until Sam got closer that he realized why. “Hate to break it to you, but the Harlem Shake’s been over for like, six years now.” He called out, face splitting into a huge grin. He hadn’t been this happy since....Well, it was stupid to try to quantify how he felt about his dead partner coming back to life. “Riley, you asshole, get over here,”

“No one would take Spider-Boy or Spider-Kid seriously though. When I go out as Spider-Man, that gives me a little bit of credit and clue into the fact that I’m still trying to get a 4.0 GPA while fighting villains in the streets of Queens.” Sam had a point, Peter realized that but it was already difficult enough to try and prove himself to a lot of his peers, with a name that included boy or kid, there was no way that anyone was going to take him as seriously as he would want them to. “I made the web fluid in my science class my freshman year after I got bit. I have various things in there.. salicylic acid, methanol, carbon tetrachloride, potassium carbonate..” he listed off as he thought back to everything he had included with the web fluid, at least the prototype version he had made before Tony had recruited him for the Accords. “He’s updated it a bit since then, with my help of course. He has access to a lot of the things that my science lab doesn’t really get to have. I’m sure that’s how it was with your suit as well, the great things were already there he just improved it a little with his fancy technology.” Even if Peter’s original suit wasn’t the greatest, he had designed it specifically for himself and from his new suits that Tony had given him, he could tell that he put a lot of those features into the new and improved version. “Although I don’t think he would think that much in advance to have a feature like that on the suits.” That they knew of, at least. But he didn’t think that was the way Mr. Stark would do things, not yet. “They’re super cool! I wish they were real, we could’ve used those against Thanos for sure. He wouldn’t stand a chance.” Or, he could’ve used one of them back at him. From what he’d seen of the Titan, he always seemed to have something up his sleeve. “Yeah, some of the Avengers should still be there to save the day while we’re stuck in here. I just hope Aunt May isn’t too mad about me leaving my field trip early to try and save the world, I’m sure she’ll understand when we get back.” He just hoped that she was in the real world still and not where they had ended up, she was safe on the other side. At least,  maybe safer than in the soul world. “Hopefully, I want to graduate before the end of this year.” 

Well, the kid had a point. But he was still way too young to his own hero safely. “I don’t know, lots of people out there wait until they’re actually adults to try this stuff.” But lecturing a kid who’d already died on the job felt like insult to injury, so Sam backed off. “Spiderman it is. I’m just impressed you’re getting your homework done at all, much less working for a 4.0. You must be good in school.” It just highlighted how truly bleak life options were for a lot of kids these days, if dressing up in costume and fighting crime seemed like something to pick up from a young age. Sam himself had no excuse, except perhaps that nobody said no to Captain America, but he’d hoped the next generation would have more sense. “Alright, I probably shouldn’t have asked, honestly. I thought I knew enough chem to follow, but I was wrong. That’s impressive, though. Freshman year? You’re probably early accepted to MIT and Stanford already, right?” With a mentor like Tony writing recommendation letters for him, the kid could probably go anywhere he wanted. “Yeah, I couldn’t pronounce half the materials he added to my suit. But as long as it still flew, I wasn’t complaining.” Tony Stark had a lot going against him, but he definitely put together some pretty nice tech. “Maybe, I honestly don’t know what that guy’s made of. He could be completely untouchable for all we know.” A terrifying thought, but perhaps less so know that they’d already died at his hand. Everything seemed less distressing once you got over the initial realization that they were, for all intents and purposes, dead. “Your Aunt had better be one understanding lady, or you’re going to need a lot more than an apology and a sad face. Chocolates, maybe. Or flowers. Both, even.” Having such a mundane goal might have seemed trivial to someone else, but Sam saw it as a coping mechanism, a small fact to focus on that could keep him grounded to the real world when everything else was spinning out of control. He wasn’t going to take that away from the kid. “I bet you will. I bet you’ll even make the honor roll.”

Hope wanted to find some logical explanation for all of this, to use her vast compendium of knowledge gleaned from years and years of trying to keep up with her father.  But this wasn’t some division of the quantum realm, it wasn’t something that she’d read about in any of his notes, or tried to decipher from his bizarre own form of shorthand.  It was too much like a wasteland to be what Scott and her parents had described as the quantum realm, which only meant it was another kind of other realm, because it wasn’t earth.  And she was willing to bet it wasn’t just another planet either, because she could still breathe the air around her.  

She was startled out of her thoughts when she heard a voice behind her and hid that sudden rush of fear with a bark of laughter.  "Is that so?“ she said and drew herself up a little taller.  "And what exactly is here?”  It was only when the man mentioned home that she really started to take in her surroundings and her eyes widened just a little.  It was New York, so not technically home, but everyone knew how that group of buildings cut against the sky. “So I finally get everything back and then I fall into bizzaro New York?  Great.  This is just…great.”

Hope hadn’t smoked in years, she was smart enough to give that nasty habit up before it was too late, but god didn’t she feel her fingers burning to hold a cigarette at the moment, a kind of electric shock almost between her fingers.  "Hope,“ she said with a nod and then looked him over, her eyes narrowing just a little.  "Wait.  It’s you,” she said and jabbed a finger at him.  "You’re one of those vigilante Avengers that made us all criminals.  Do you have any idea what you did when you dragged Scott into you’re silly little grudge match?“ Hope said, her voice still steady, but something charged with the kind of anger and betrayal that she still hadn’t completely been able to let go of.  Hope thought for a moment about just hauling back and hitting him, but that wasn’t the most diplomatic option so instead she clenched her fists and pursed her lips.  "I don’t know who you’re talking about, but it sounds like something you might have tried to share with Scott, since apparently you’re such good friends.  What is it with you people, thinking you can handle everything yourselves?  There are more heroes in the world than just your Avengers with their massive egos and schoolyard antics.”  Hope let out another annoyed huff of breath, and crossed her arms over her chest.  "So how did you get us into this mess then?“

Sam shrugged. “It’s still pretty bad, don’t let me mislead you.” Her tone and her face spoke volumes as to how prepared for this she was (he sensed more of the frustration he usually got from other heroes than the shock civilians experienced), but he knew that no one could truly be ready for this. “Well, it’s not Kansas, that’s for sure,” he told her as he saw recognition hit. “On the bright side, the only things that seemed to want to kill us were the aliens that came through this rift, and that’s closed now, so I don’t think you have anything to worry about here.” Except, obviously, the fact that they were trapped far away from their loved ones.

It was always a matter of time before people recognized him, and when they did, it usually wasn’t great. Although there were a handful of people who respected the decision to become an international terrorist and fugitive, they were few and far between. “Yeah, that would be me. But honestly, shit like that doesn’t matter here. We’re all the same now, regardless of who we were before.” Which was exactly the kind of thing an international terrorist would say, so Sam wasn’t exactly giving himself a leg to stand on here. “Woah, okay, recruiting Scott was not my c--” Okay, well, it had been his call, actually. “Not my best idea. But we needed the man-power, and he had a lot of tricks up his sleeve. I didn’t know things were going to go down so badly. I never would have called him if I’d realized.” Sam honestly didn’t know if that was true. They’d been pretty desperate for help, and Scott was eager and available. He was just glad he’d never have the chance to find out if he would have made the same decision.

“We didn’t actually have any information about this guy until recently. Way after Scott took the plea deal. We couldn’t contact him, that was a condition of his deal. So we didn’t.” Which had seemed reasonable at the time, but the way Hope was glaring at him made him wonder if they’d made a mistake. “Look, I get that you hate me because of what happened with Antman, but if we ever want to figure out a solution to this mess, we’re gonna have to work together, okay? So maybe table the hate until we’re all back home safe and sound.” It wasn’t ideal--none of this was--but they had to compromise. “You ever hear of the Infinity Stones? Some big ugly alien dude was looking for them--apparently they’re powerful enough to do anything, even end the universe--and when he found them he killed a bunch of people. Us included, it seems.”

I’m so fond of you that sometimes it makes me want to fling myself off an uninsured skyscraper. Steve refrained from saying this, instead opting to blush and duck his head so he could keep up the illusion that Sam didn’t see him blush and therefore had no idea that he was currently nursing the biggest, most obnoxious crush known to man.

All butterfly-affiliated feelings were deftly swept from his chest at the mention of Sam’s family. Sam’s soft, nostalgic smile was beautiful, but it did nothing to ease the painful twisting in Steve’s chest. Sam would never go for it, but Steve privately thought that he’d let them lock him up at Hart Island in a second if Sam wanted his old life back. He owed it to Sam - he owed everything to Sam, because at the end of the day, he’d stolen this smart, gorgeous man and proceeded to systematically destroy his entire life. “I’m serious, Sam,” he said, mouth curving into a gentle smile, “I’d be okay, if you left. I’d miss you, obviously, but I swear I’d take care of myself.” He did it for years after his mom died - and then again, when he first got unfrozen. Steve Rogers was intimately acquainted with loneliness - even having encountered the deep, soul-crushing kind on several occasions. And it wasn’t even the worst pain he’d faced, not by a long shot. “You have to promise to tell me, if you want to go. That’s the only way this works.”

Steve fell silent, listening to Sam’s story with rapt attention. He never realized how starving he was for these pieces of Sam’s life until they were offered to him - little bits of his family, of Riley, of who he was like before the world let a war loose in his head. The absurdness of the story had Steve laughing, really, really laughing, like holding his stomach with one hand and pressing the backs of his fingers to his mouth with the other because he just couldn’t keep the smile off his face. Steve loved history, but only the personal, intimate kind, and only from the people who were really worth knowing. “I can’t believe you did that,” Steve said, even though he absolutely could. Sam was delightfully impulsive in the right situations. “I can’t believe you did that and you still wanna call yourself twice as sensible as me. You are a reckless flyboy and I’m sure the first thing Bucky thought when he met you was ‘oh, god. Now there’s two of them.”

—and then Steve’s amusement dried up in one second flat. “Ordinary?” he repeated, eyebrows bunched in disbelief. Ordinary? Steve didn’t know where to begin trying to refute such a frankly ridiculous claim. For one thing, Sam made perfect pancakes. And when he smiled his dorky gap-toothed smile? The whole world got better. Steve was also pretty sure he almost crashed rental cars in three different states because he got distracted by Sam singing along to the radio under his breath. Just that morning he’d made Steve laugh so hard he had orange juice coming out of his nose. How could someone like that think they were ordinary?

“Bullshit. The first time I met you all I wanted to do was impress you, because I just knew that you’d let me do it on my own–” he halted, stuttered, this part was always difficult. It was easy to talk about someone else but when it came to unearthing his own insecurities, it always felt a little like drowning. “–Free from whatever Captain America baggage I was lugging around.” Steve shrugged helplessly, cheeks burning with embarrassment, but determined to finish his thought. “You never wanted me to be anything but me. You’re warm and kind and trusting - but never naive or stupid, you don’t take shit from anybody. And, save for maybe Peggy Carter, you’re the smartest tactician I’ve ever met. So, respectfully, you’re wrong. You’re incredible.”

Steve was an enigma, a welcome challenge on the days when fugitive life proved to be less exciting than the movies pretended. Even so, Sam would have given anything to be able to see inside his brain at that very moment, to know exactly what he was thinking. Pink-tinged cheeks or not, they were just friends, and Sam wasn’t dumb enough to get the wrong idea about a guy who’d been hung up over his ex for 70 years. Was she really an ex if he’d died without ever breaking up with her? She had married another guy, right? Sam shifted on the floor, folding one of his socked feet under his leg, trying to move just enough to shake his tipsy brain out of its spiral but not so much that he jostled Steve away. It was a difficult balance.

It was the truth, because Steve was an adult man who’d survived a couple years (and more than his fair share of world-ending events) before meeting Sam, but it felt wrong to hear it said out loud. “Yeah, I know you would.” Sam agreed easily, nodding slightly. “But that doesn’t mean I think you should. I worry about you, you know that right?” A stressful task considering Steve was known for tossing himself off tall structures without much warning or protection. And Sam--stupid, idealistic Sam--had just been even more drawn in by that.

It took a moment to work the incredulous look off his face, but when he had, he shot Steve a suspicious look. “Y’know, for a guy who claims to want me around, you tell me I’m allowed to leave an awful lot. You sure you aren’t trying to subtly kick me out?” The serious look only lasted a moment, just long enough for Sam to realize that he absolutely couldn’t handle seeing Steve’s face fall if he thought Sam meant it. “What am I saying? You, subtle? No, that’s just not realistic.” He said with a laugh. “But....Yeah. I promise. You’ll be the first to know if I want to stop this.” It took everything he had not to reach out do something stupid like put a hand on Steve’s unfairly chiseled cheek. His self control only extended so far, though, and he ended up somewhere in the middle, callused palm landing on Steve’s bicep. The contact was hot under Sam’s hand, and for a moment he felt his mouth go dry again. Quietly--because they were still too close to be able to miss a single syllable the other man said--he laughed softly. “The same goes for you, okay? If life on the run ever starts to feel like yet another nail in your coffin, you let me know and we’ll turn ourselves in.” He didn’t see it happening (this was Steve Rogers after all) but he felt better having said it.

Discussing his life--the old one, before losing Riley, before his tour had ended, before he really understood what the world had in store--always felt surreal. Like he was recounting things someone else had experienced. It was a normal reaction, completely understandable and temporary, as he would have told any of the people he worked with at the VA, but he’d never really felt as connected to his memories as he did when he talked to Steve. Somehow just knowing that Steve understood the disconnect between past and present more acutely than perhaps anyone else in the world changed the dynamic of the conversation. It wasn’t fixed, by any definition of the word, but it allowed him to feel slightly more comfortable, and for that he was grateful. “Alright, alright, let’s meet in the middle and call it one-point-five times more sensible than you. We’re all about compromise at this motel, Rogers.” Sam said, punctuating the statement with a jab of his finger. “Actually I think he muttered something in Russian about wanting someone to shoot him, but Natasha didn’t give me a great translation.”

It was then that he realized he’d said the wrong thing, because Steve’s body language changed so dramatically that Sam actually sat back a few inches from him. “Oh no, it’s the eyebrows of disapproval. I’m in trouble now,” He said, because he was still pretty tipsy, and the alternative was something even stupider about Steve’s bone structure. Nat would be so disappointed in his poker face. “Steve, I didn’t mean--” But it was too tempting to hear all the things Steve thought of him, and his arguments died on his lips. This clearly meant something to Steve that he listen, so he did. “You’re a complete dork, you know that?” But he said it with a smile, words so fond he was surprised his heart didn’t leap right out of his chest and lunge at Steve. But he couldn’t express his appreciation for the way Steve cared so much without saying something he was trying not to put into words. He ducked his head, pretty sure his own face was lighting up like a christmas tree. “You really came up with all of that off the top of your head? I’m growing on you, I guess.” He paused, grin a little crooked. “You really still think about all that stuff? Years after, with tons of stupid shit under our belts, and you still think about that?” It made something funny flip flop in his stomach. Something he couldn’t let Steve read in his face.

“Alright, I won’t let you outdo me, lets talk about your positive qualities. Um, totally selfless for one thing. Annoyingly so. If I said I was cold right now you’d probably take your shirt off and give it to me.” he said with another laugh, ticking off the list on his fingers. “You never back down. You’re so stubborn you could have an argument with an inanimate object, and I’m sure you’d win it.” There was more, so much more, that Sam couldn’t possibly say without risking everything they’d built. Seeing you is the best part of my day, even though I see you every day. I’d spend the rest of my life on the run if it meant that you’d keep looking at me like I’m the most important thing you see. But those weren’t words that a guy was allowed to say to his friend. “You’ll eat anything I cook without complaint, even if it’s shitty, burnt gas station food. You...shit man, there’s a lot to say about you.” I’ll never find another person who cares about the same way you do. “I guess I’m trying to say that you’re pretty cool.” That, and so much more.

Send me ± for a headcanon about our characters 

Steve Rogers is a reckless man. Not reckless because of his abilities or the things he’s seen, but reckless down to his very core, a product of years spent feeling like he had nothing to live for. Steve is someone people can immediately tell is a reckless, self-sacrificing idiot, prepared to throw himself into the flames if he thinks it’ll help someone. Anyone.

Sam, on the other hand, is reckless in a way that isn’t immediately obvious. He plays at being the sensible one, pretends to consider his options before making a decision. And he’s good at it, too. Anyone meeting Sam wouldn’t assume he’s the kind of guy to throw his life away to follow Captain America into the jaws of death. And yet….

“I get the feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore… But judging by the severe lack of Idris Elba, I‘m also guessing that this isn’t heaven.”

It was inevitable that eventually Sam would find himself face-to-face with someone he cared about who had died, but it was a situation he’d mostly been able to avoid until now. He stared in dismay at the girl in front of him, still making quips like her life depended on it. “Jen....Hey. You--You’re...Shit. This definitely makes my night a little worse.” He motioned to where the rift had been before. “What, you see danger and just decide to go throwing yourself into it? You’re lucky you ended up here.” No, lucky wasn’t the right word for it, but she didn’t know everything that was out there. She didn’t understand the danger of space. “Okay, maybe lucky’s not quite right. But you could have been shot straight out into space and turned to jelly or something, so this is the better option.”

“See? I know what I’m talking about. Sometimes.” Steve, without really thinking about it, reached over to thumb away a little excess frosting off the corner of Sam’s mouth. Unfortunately he came to his senses a split second later, and quickly pulled back his hand, resisting the urge to sit on it in a show of restraint. He cleared his throat and leaned back against the couch, pulling his eyes away from Sam and staring at the ceiling, hoping the change would neutralize any residual fluttering in his stomach. “How do you mess up frosting? Isn’t frosting just sugar and cream? Well,” Steve backtracked quickly, suddenly suspicious that Sam might have a slightly more illustrious culinary skillset than him. Sam was randomly good at everything like that. “I don’t know, really, I don’t know anything about good food. Child of the depression, plus we did that whole rationing sugar thing well into adulthood.” 

Steve laughed at Sam’s quip about hearing aides, but it sounded a little weird in his own ears. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he was holding Sam back from so many things - the people that depended on him at the VA, the normalcy of a life with a routine, the comfort of his family. It was ultimately why he’d tried to stamp down the wealth of Sam-related feelings pushing around in his chest - if they started something like that, it would only be harder for Sam to leave when he decided he wanted to settle down. “Yeah, I know. I’m glad you’re here with me, too. But I always want to make it clear that you never have to be. Say the word and I’ll call Tony - he could probably work some kind of deal out for you with the DOJ. Amnesty or something.” This isn’t a life. You deserve better.

Steve shot Sam an unassumingly wicked half-smile. “Come on, Wilson, you know me better than that. My record is five, but the story is considerably less cute. It happened a few years later-” After my mom died. Steve winced a little, loss still a steady thrum at the pit of his stomach. It was ridiculous, really, it had been years, but he didn’t think he would ever stop missing her completely. The pain was steady, a long-term ebb and flow. “Mom had just passed away. I was still tiny, at that point, and acting a tad more reckless than usual. Some goon was giving a lady a hard time at the fair and I didn’t realize he had two goon friends that’d back him when we took it to an alley.” The incident definitely cracked the top 5 times Steve Rogers almost died - and that was including all the alien-related incidents of recent past. 

“They got my nose, my arm, one rib, and two fingers,” Steve flexed his hand a little at the memory, “middle finger used to be crooked ‘cause of the break, but I guess the serum fixed it? Dr. Erksine was a genius. Anyways, it actually wasn’t so bad. All the Barneses were mad at me but they saved it ‘til I looked a little less pathetic, so I got first dibs on all the chocolate passing through the house. Definitely had worse summers.” Steve looked back at Sam, suddenly feeling like a silly old man who couldn’t stop blithering on pointlessly about the past. “Hey - what about you, Wilson? Dumbest thing you’ve ever done besides sticking around me for so long. And don’t hold back, ‘cause I know you, and I know you’re not half as sensible as you wish you were.”

The urge to bite something back about Steve never knowing anything disappeared in a flash (along with nearly everything else in his head) as Steve’s hand made contact with his skin. It only lasted a split second--really, Sam was pretty sure he’d had flu shots that lasted longer--and when it was done he had to fight to create a sentence that made sense. “Careful. You keep doing that and I’m gonna start to think you’re fond of me.” It wasn’t a sentence that was particularly helpful to the main goal of not making things worse, but Sam couldn’t be blamed for a loss of sight on the main goal. Steve could be incredibly distracting when he wanted to be. Or even when he didn’t. He was just a distracting guy.

“Well, there’s also a shit-ton of butter in there too, but nobody in my family ever wanted to admit that we were eating roughly half a cow worth of butter every time we had cake, so we said it was Crisco.” Talking about his family was sort of bittersweet, not that he’d ever say that to Steve. He’d made his choice, and he didn’t regret it in any way, but there were times that he wished they could take a night off from being wanted fugitives and just be people. Maybe drive back home and visit the picnic he knew his family was having. His grandmother would have loved Steve, once she got to know him, and his nieces and nephews would have been thrilled to hear about Captain America’s adventures. “Mhh, yeah, lets just call Tony up together and tell him I want a plea deal. Leave you here all by yourself to forget to eat and do your laundry, and probably jog yourself to death.” What Steve didn’t get--what Steve had never gotten--was that he hadn’t forced Sam into anything. The overwhelming amounts of guilt Steve seemed to carry argued with that, but Sam was right where he wanted to be. At least, when he considered all of his current options.

Five bones. For a guy who the history books had claimed weighed about ninety pounds soaking wet, that had to have been a major blow. It would have been a major blow to anyone, really. “You’re a real piece of work, we both know that. I don’t know how Barnes put up with you for as long as he did. I guess he’s just crazy, too.” Steve’s expression slid into something less reminiscent, and Sam knew seconds before he said anything else that he was remembering something painful. It wasn’t an expression Sam saw a lot, but without fail he could usually expect it to be something about Bucky, Peggy, or--yep, his mom. He wanted to say something about it, to tell Steve that he didn’t have to talk about this stuff if he didn’t want to, but Steve wouldn’t have listened. He was stubborn like that.

It was about some girl, because when hadn’t Steve Rogers been defending some girl? The way Steve and the history books went on, a guy would have thought he did nothing else with his time but defend people’s honor. He listened to the story with a growing mix of horror and amusement, feeling very much like this was the Steve he knew, and yet also like he didn’t know the guy at all. Picturing Steve small would have been impossible had there not been pictures of it. “How many times has that nose been broken now? Six? Seven?” He was exaggerating, but he wouldn't have been surprised at all to find out that the number was even higher than that. This was Steve Rogers, after all.

Steve’s question took him by surprise, and he considered his options before he responded, fingers moving against the fork in his hands. He’d given up on the cake--it was nice in theory, and terrible in taste--but it was nice to have something to do with his hands. “First off, I’m still twice as sensible as you are, so don’t even say that like you’ve got something on me.” Sam said with a laugh, nudging Steve’s arm a little with an elbow. “But, uh, I guess I’ve got a couple stories you might be surprised by. Did I ever tell you about the time I tried to cannonball into a pool with the wings on?” But he knew the answer was no, because when he’d first met Steve he hadn’t wanted Captain America to know how stupid he’d been when he was younger, and by the time he got over that, they were mostly passed the swapping stories phase. “Alright, so. I was....Oh man, twenty-three or twenty-four I think, just really dumb and drunk off my ass at some get-together one of the guys in my unit was throwing. I had just finished the first month of training for flight school--wings, not planes--and for some reason I thought I could pilot the suit while drunk, because at twenty-four you always make such great decisions, you know that.” He laughed again, trying to remember the somewhat fuzzy details of the night. “Anyway, I got the suit on, and I was like, on top of a roof or something, telling everybody to dare me to do flips and stuff, and this one asshole yells ‘jump in the pool.’ And I--for some reason--agreed. Obviously the suit was a tester, not something that should have been immersed in water in any way, and the whole thing started to short out the second it got wet. I’m probably lucky I didn’t get electrocuted, honestly. Needless to say, my SO was not happy with me when I got back to training.” It was funny now, years later and in so much trouble with the government that he couldn’t ever hope to get out of it, but at the time the idea of being kicked out for one dumb mistake had been terrifying. That, paired with the fact that he’d been pretty sure he was going to have to pay for the damages had made the weeks following pretty stressful. “I know, I know, it’s nothing compared to the exploits of the great Steven G Rogers, but most of us were pretty ordinary until recently.”

Oh, ha ha. Barnes, I know this is you. Very funny. But, on the off-chance it isn’t, I don’t think Barnes could survive hate sex with me. We hate each other a lot. And, don’t know if you’ve noticed or not, but he’s old. Like hearing going, nursing home, adult diapers levels of old. We’d make it thirty seconds and his heart would give out.

“Okay, Sam. You’re the pretty one.” It was slightly irresponsible, how Steve let the words slip with such blatant adoration on his face, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. It was his birthday after all, he should be allowed these kinds of indulgences once a year. “It’s really not that bad,” Steve suppressed a laugh, mouth twisting into a barely contained mirthful smile, “but you’re doing it all wrong, as usual. See, it’s all about the ratio. You’re getting way to much of the cardboard cake and not enough of the frosting.” Steve ducked his head, meticulously preparing a forkful of cake for Sam. He looked up again, holding his offering up with a gentle smile. “Try it like this.”

Steve chewed on the inside of his cheek, body curving protectively around Sam as he leaned closer. “Sorry I couldn’t find the ear plugs,” he said quietly, curling his fingers into the carpet so he could stop himself from doing something stupid like trying to hold Sam’s hand. There was more he wanted to say: sorry I dragged you into this. Sorry I made you a fugitive. Sorry you can’t spend today at your family’s cookout. He couldn’t bring himself to voice any of that -selfish - especially when a blush moved across his cheeks at Sam’s compliment. “Be careful, Wilson. You keep sweet-talking me like that and I might get used to it. Expect that kind of thing all the time.”

Sam’s request for a story pulled a nostalgic smile on Steve’s face. There was no shortage of anecdotes about idiotic things he’d done in his life - both pre and post serum - but he had the feeling Sam wanted to hear something Steve held a little closer to his heart. Something he couldn’t read in one of the many extremely embarrassing biographies of his life. “I was fifteen and ninety pounds soaking wet. Bucky was a lot bigger and a lot more sensible, but I talked him into doing stupid stuff all the time. Anyways, Willa-Jean Janowski and her awful brother dared us to spend a half hour Meeker Mansion, which was rumored to house the ghost of Marilyn Meeker, a slightly deranged widow who murdered her husband in a fit of feminine hysterics.” Steve gave Sam A Look out of the corner of his eye. “Clearly sexist propaganda.”

“Even still, never could back down from a dare. So I dragged Bucky with me and we went inside, wandered around for a bit. At one point I got bored and went upstairs, but Bucky didn’t wanna come, so I left him down there. And then, ‘cause it was around Halloween time and I was feeling a little more demonic than usual, I wanted to mess with Bucky. Started screaming 'help me, help me’ like something was happening. He ran up the stairs and,” Steve paused to let out a laugh, rubbing a hand over his face. “God, you should have seen his face. He looked like he was gonna kill me. Stood there holding me for God knows how long.” Something twisted in Steve’s chest at the memory. “…And then the floor gave out beneath us - 'cause the house was super old and definitely had some kind of termite problem - and we both fell straight through it. Bucky was fine but I broke three bones and my ma wouldn’t talk to me for a week. Everybody at school said it was the ghost exacting her revenge on us for disturbing the peace.”

The way Steve said it was almost like he believed it, and that was territory they just couldn’t go into tonight. They were stressed, and it was Steve’s birthday, and being on the run wasn’t making things easier. Anything that happened now--anything they said now--would be underscored with so much tension it couldn’t be genuine. It couldn’t be anything more than a mistake Steve would regret when the adrenaline, wine, and sugar rush wore off. Someone had to draw a line for the sake of their friendship. Backing down and breaking eye contact, Sam laughed. “Yeah, just ‘cause your reference for pretty faces is Barnes’s ugly ass.” It was easier this way, to avoid the thing they were dancing around, but it made something in Sam’s chest feel uncomfortable and tight anyway. Like he was throwing away something he’d regret losing when it was gone. “It’s really not that bad he says. Sure. Again, your standard is a lot different from mine. Is the frosting better, though? Is it really?” But he shook his head and accepted the cake, right off the fork because apparently self control was overrated.

“Alright, you’re not wrong. This is....yeah, this is better.” He grinned, soft and wide, and it was getting harder to remember why exactly he’d told himself to establish a line in the first place. “But I resent that you think I always do it wrong. Not all of us have supersoldier serum flowing through our veins, wearing down all our calories for us. I’ll bet you could eat nothing but icing all day, and still have triceps the size of my head.” The glance he gave Steve was definitely NOT appraising. At all.

Steve though....Steve was still beating himself up over something little that Sam had long forgiven him for. Or not really been mad about in the first place. “Hey, I’m not mad. You’re here. That’s better than earplugs.” Which sounded a little too close to the truth from him now, and he shrugged a little. “I’m honestly just surprised you can still hear anything over them. Aren’t you supposed to have really great hearing? It’s the hearing aides, am I right?” Teasing Steve was safe, it was easy (it was fun). He could tease Steve without a thought. But, because it was Steve, he was never just apologizing for the obvious thing. He was apologizing for everything he’d ever done. “I’m glad I’m here with you, you know that right? This was my choice, and I stand by that.” Steve was a dumbass if he thought anything else. “Alright, I guess I have to keep it up, then.”

It was far too intimate a thing to say while sitting so close, but Sam was saved from having to think too hard about it by Steve’s story. He paid attention to it the best he could, snorting at the appropriate parts, and rolling his eyes at his friends during the stupid moments. But mostly he watched Steve talk about the past. He looked different when he spoke, lighter and softer almost. Seeing him like this, it was hard to picture him as the same man who had braced himself and rushed headfirst into battle at the first sign of trouble. Seeing him like this, Sam could imagine a very different life for him, with just art and no supersoldier serum or death or aliens attacking. Of course, without the things that had shaped his life, he’d be a very different man today, and Sam wouldn’t even be here.

“Clearly sexist propaganda. I can almost picture you trying to stop yourself from calling that out.” If Sam were honest with himself, this is how he always wanted to see Steve, reminiscent and freer, if only because he was remaining positive for Sam. It made something funny shift deep inside, and he stamped it down quickly. Steve was just doing this because they were friends--partners--and he felt like it was his fault. there was no point reading more into it. “You didn’t.” Sam laughed. Barnes was an asshole, but he was an overprotective asshole who clearly loved Steve more than he knew how to express, and Sam couldn’t imagine what a scare like that would have done to the guy. It was a miracle he was still standing. “Three bones, Steve? In one go? That’s gotta be a record of some kind.” He paused, and gave Steve a hard look. “That is your record, right?”