#size dynamics

Sam anticipated a reaction. But Bucky continued to stare at the ceiling, unblinking.

Sam wasn't sure Bucky even saw him. He could've been convinced Bucky had fallen asleep with his eyes open. Sam considered rolling off and curling up on the pillow to pretend this never happened... but that didn't sit right with him. Sam kept envisioning the sight of Bucky in distress, the hallowness that followed him upon waking: the haunted demeanour of a man who could not recall his last restful night.

Sam laid on his back and pillowed his head on his arms. He'd put on his remaining shoe, determined not to lose that one, too. He gazed at the ceiling. It was one of those popcorn ceilings like his parents' home - now Sarah and the boys' home. He recalled sleepovers with childhood friends spent staring at that speckled ceiling, chatting in hushed voices about nothing and everything long into the night.

Sam let time pass, then whisper-yelled, "You awake?"

After a prolonged moment, there came a reply.

"No," grumbled Bucky.

Sam smiled to himself. He wiped it away. "You know, I- I still get nightmares 'bout that fight. With Thanos. Keep dreaming up more ways we lose. 'Bout getting dusted. That shit was scary. One second, you're there, and the next- y'know?"

Sam wasn't looking for a response. Still, he heard Bucky's quiet, "Yeah."

"Yeah," Sam echoed.

Bucky shifted. Sam hoped he had another sheet under him. Poor guy. Would Bucky benefit from a weighted blanket? Or would that just make everything wor-

Bucky said, "I'm not talkin' to you 'bout my dreams."

Sam blinked and flapped his jaw, saying, "Oh...kay. I wasn't trynna- I just want you to know you're not alone. You don't have to tell me anything." After a moment, Sam added, "Unless you want to."

"Goodnight, Sam."

"Alright," Sam swiftly backed down. "I hear you, man."

Sam twiddled his fingers. He wasn't tired; waking up to that had him too wound up. Sam thought about a lot while he laid on the arm of the couch. Most of his thoughts did nothing to soothe his nerves, only making him feel worse about his situation and future. Sam anxiously rocked his socked foot side-to-side, missing his shoe. He needed to find that.

Well... Sam wasn't sleeping, anyway.

Sam slid off the arm. Before he changed his mind, Sam wedged his hands between the cushion and climbed down the couch in the most ridiculous impression of a rock climber, using creases as grips and crevices as footholds. Sam didn't fear the drop: he was on a mission. He shoved everything else aside, leaving all of his worries behind because he needed his other shoe.

Hanging, arms fully extended, Sam dropped the remaining distance. The sole of his single shoe absorbed the impact and his ankle strained - thankfully, unharmed. A leg injury would be devastating right now. Sam reminded himself to be much more careful going forward. No risks.

Sam took in his surroundings dimly lit by a street lamp outside. The warm light cut off at the windowsill, forcing Sam's eyes to adjust to the gloom at his level. The television stood tall and the couch truly resembled a cliff face, making Sam reconsider this whole retrieval mission. How was he getting back up there?

Too late for regrets now.

Sam refocused on his goal and was confronted by a lumpy mountain range of white bedsheet. Reflexively, Sam's hand shot out to rest his weight on the couch. Bucky. Sam didn't forget, but he certainly wasn't prepared. Sam crept forward, a hitch to his uneven stride. He peered around the couch to take in the rest of the sleeping giant. Bucky was on his side, his broad back facing Sam and the bedsheet covering half of his tank top-clad torso.

Sam swallowed his nerves. He took a breath.

Sam walked.

His short strides made long work around Mt. Barnes. 'Mountain range' was an apt description for the man's enormous form, seeming to stretch on forever. Sam trekked behind his back, eyes trained solely on the steady rising and falling of Bucky's ribcage and the shining peak of his vibranium shoulder. Sam reached the pillow, and when he rounded Bucky's front, Sam spared only a quick glance at the giant man's face. Closed eyes - that was all Sam saw before he set about searching for his shoe. The shadows weren't so dark, but Sam squinted into them, regardless. He replayed the memory and tried to guess the trajectory of his shoe after colliding with Bucky's thick skull.

Leaning forward, Sam scoured the floorboards. Beside him, the edge of a bedsheet lay crumpled and disturbed - a sea of white fabric that dipped and rippled and folded unto itself. It occurred to Sam that maybe his shoe was lost in the sheets. Sam sighed. He did another once-over of the floor and concluded that it must be over there. Great.

Sam turned.

Sam paused.

Bucky hadn't moved an inch, eyelids shuttered and that steady rise and fall of breath persisting uninterrupted. Bucky was laying on his right side, exposing the port of his shoulder and the empty space where a metal arm usually hung. His right arm bent beneath the pillow, supporting his head. Something inside of Sam twisted. Watching Bucky sleep felt wrong, but perhaps a more selfish part of Sam was pleased to see him asleep, period. No, that wasn't selfish... so, why did Sam keep staring, when Bucky couldn't stare back, in this moment of vulnerability?

Sam physically shook himself and stepped onto the bedsheet. Pointedly, he spun away from the other man. Whatever - Sam had a sneaker to find.

Sam rummaged through the sheet, tossing it aside and kneeling to pat his hands within pockets of shadow. He did this for several minutes before giving up with a testy huff and planting his fists on his hips.

"Man," he said, dejected. Sam kicked a wrinkle. He resigned himself to backtracking toward the pillow and starting again.

Sam turned around - and nearly jumped out of his second shoe.

Icy-grey eyes were staring him down.

Sam was embarrassed to admit that he was genuinely shaken, having leapt backwards like he'd touched a hot stove. The sound that escaped him was closer to a squeak than he liked.

Bucky stared a few unbearable moments longer, then mumbled, "What're you doing?"

Sam made an attempt to gather his remaining pride. He straightened up, adjusted his jacket, and cleared his throat. "Just, ahem, lookin' for my, ah, shoe."

Bucky's eyebrows cinched together, wrinkling his forehead. "Your... shoe."

Sam lifted his foot to demonstrate and replaced it before he lost his balance. "Yup," he said. "Down here somewhere."

Bucky briefly shut his eyes. He sighed through his nose, then he performed the tell-tale inhale of someone resigning themself to getting up. Sam skirted backward before Bucky even moved. Bucky planted his elbow on the ground and pushed himself upright. Sam tried not to stare at those flexing muscles. He really tried, okay? But Bucky was ginormous and monopolized the majority of Sam's vision; Bucky's bicep alone was the size of a car. Sam managed to tear his eyes away and focused, instead, on the space Bucky had been occupying.

"I'll get the light," Bucky said in a sleepy rasp. He moved to get up further - but was halted by Sam's shout.

Amazed, Sam cheered, "Found it!" as he spotted the little dark speck tucked within a crease of the pillow. Sam didn't hesitate, running through the field of rumpled bedsheets to collect his prize. He pounced upon the pillow and snatched his shoe, taking a seat to slip it on like Cinderella after the ball. He paid hardly any mind to Bucky's hand mere inches away. Sitting on the pillow - or rather, sinking into it - gave Sam a new definition of 'marshmallow'. Sam leaned back and let himself be subsumed by squishy stuffing. He didn't stay: the scent of sweat flooded his nose and he made a split-second decision to jump off.

"Welp!" Sam announced, trying to sound casual and failing spectacularly. He traipsed away, putting a comfortable distance between himself and the hand that he was getting far too acquainted with. "That's that, so I'm just gonna..."

Sam didn't finish his sentence. He wouldn't get to, either, because the ground was suddenly quaking under him. Sam whirled around to find Bucky horizontal again. Bucky tugged the cover over his waist and slid his hand under the pillow, supporting his cheek.

Sam stood there, feeling very out of place. Hopeful, he said, "So... the couch?"

"Figure it out yourself," Bucky grumbled, finally shutting his eyes.

Sam continued to stand there. He gazed past Bucky's shoulder at the insurmountable side of the couch and said, "How am I s'posed to get back up?"

"Shoulda thought of that 'fore you came down," Bucky grouchily countered.

Sam debated throwing another shoe at him.

Sam decided not to - ultimately, because he didn't want to go hunting for it again.

Sam scanned the couch. Then, he veered toward the set-up in front of him. A comfy - if smelly - pillow, right there.

Sam's exhaustion was catching up to him. He really didn't have the energy to attempt climbing that couch, not to mention the trek to get there. The brain fog was hitting hard and Sam's arms hung heavy. Giving a sigh, Sam buried his pride and trudged forward. Half a pillow wasn't so bad - as long as Bucky kept his hand to himself.

Sam planted his palms on the pillow and hoisted himself up. Feeling this, Bucky peeled his eyelids back. He squinted, which deepened into a scowl.

"What-" Bucky started.

"Hey," Sam snapped, pointing at the larger man's face; Bucky briefly went cross-eyed to maintain his concentration. Sam said, "You wouldn't help, so now this happening. I don't wanna hear any shit. It's this, or the couch." Sam nestled deeper into the pillow, ignoring the overwhelming scent of Bucky. Sam was next to the edge, giving himself enough space that he wouldn't roll onto the floor. He looked to the left; lo' and behold, Bucky's gaze hadn't left. Sam had never been this close to his face. It was disconcerting. Sam flipped over, turning his back on Bucky.

Moments later, there was an exhale behind him and some shuffling that pitched Sam's side of the pillow like a boat on waves. Then, silence.

Sam didn't get much contemplating done before he drifted off; he was too tired for any more searching tonight.

Sam was pleased to report no aching spine as he rose to consciousness. That beat his own mattress, which he hadn't the time nor ambition to replace; it sure beat the barracks beds by a high mile. He laid with his eyes shut, allowing himself to enjoy a moment of peace without any responsibilities or somebody else trying to beat his ass. The soreness of his muscles was unrelated to his quality of sleep and had more to do with said ass-beating he received yesterday. Sam couldn't walk off a punch or gravity without something to show for it - he wasn't a super soldier. Sam attributed the bruise on his arm and torso to being flung off the backseat and hoped it wasn't from Bucky's man-handling.

The reminder made Sam shoot upright, instantly on edge as he scanned his surroundings. He was miffed, but unsurprised, to see a giant head taking up the entire left field of his vision. What gave him the biggest shock was how close they were: Sam didn't remember being in arms' reach. Sam could stretch out and touch Bucky's ear. Goosebumps covered his arms and prickled the nape of his neck as Sam connected his newfound warmth to Bucky's radiating body heat.

Sam swallowed. Way too close. He scooted in the opposite direction, moving slowly to not disturb the sleeping giant.

Sam failed to realize that he wasn't the first one awake.

The slightest tilt of Bucky's head exposed a single steel-grey iris and plate-sized pit of a pupil that successfully pinned Sam in place. Bucky gave him a quick up-down out of the corner of his eye, then resumed gazing at the ceiling.

"Uh, morning," Sam awkwardly greeted, dropping his shoulders from his ears. "How'd you sleep?"

Bucky didn't answer right away. Sam used the silence to rub his eyes and do some sitting stretches for his aching muscles, popping his neck and back to his satisfaction. There was no point moving, now, so he didn't bother.

"Fine," Bucky mumbled.

"'Fine' fine or actually fine?" Sam asked, half-distracted as he twisted his upper back.

"Just... fine."

"No more nightmares?"

"Sam."

"Right, sorry. No more buggin' 'bout your dreams."

It was worth a try. Sam threaded his fingers and flipped his palms toward the ceiling, fully extending his arms over his head. The bruise on his side complained, but Sam didn't let it show. He gingerly kneaded the sore patch of skin and was relieved to find no fractures in his ribs. Sam let his arms fall to the pillow. He pondered Bucky's suggestion and sat with his anger and frustration over consulting Helmut Zemo. Y'know - the man that murdered King T'Chaka and framed Bucky for it. The man that tried to make the Avengers kill each other and almost succeeded?

Bucky had a point, though: if anyone knew anything about the creation of more super soldiers, it would be the man that single-handedly tried to end them all in one fell swoop. Logically, Sam knew they should go to Pym, first - but the Flag Smashers wouldn't wait for Sam to sort out his shit before enacting world-changing plans, and that was even assuming Pym could fix him. Either way, Sam was taking a risk. And he'd rather choose the risk that would get results.

Sam's internal debate was interrupted by a growling stomach.

"Breakfast?" Sam suggested. Hearing that prompted his own stomach to twist into hungry knots. Sam recalled his last meal. Lunch? No, they'd skipped that... unless a single protein bar counted. Which it definitely didn't.

"Breakfast," Bucky agreed.

No further warning was issued as Bucky heaved himself off the pillow and nearly upended Sam, who recovered without complaint. Bucky boosted himself single-handedly onto his feet while Sam remained ground level.

Sam's jaw fell slack.

Sam hadn't truly understood how big Bucky was before this moment. He thought he knew in the car - he thought he knew how tall Bucky towered, the heights that he reached, but that was nothing. Sam actually felt his brain short-circuit trying to comprehend the sheer amount of man that had risen above him.

If there were clouds, Bucky's head would've pierced them. If there were skyrises, Bucky would be standing among his peers and not be the slightest bit out of place. It was mind-boggling how easily he stood when nothing so vast should be able to support itself. Sam's back squashed into the pillow so that he could take in Bucky in his entirety. Sam felt his eyes bugging out of their sockets and he couldn't stop because holy shit.

Sam followed legs of concrete pillars past boxers that Sam didn't have the brain capacity to get frazzled over because, Jesus Christ, that man could challenge Godzilla and win. The horrifying thought of being crushed underfoot crossed Sam's mind. A brief sensation of vertigo revolved inside Sam's head and he clasped the pillow to keep himself grounded. Bucky stretched his arm and rolled his neck, and Sam could only imagine him as a building losing its balance and crashing to the floor. Sam remembered how Scott toppled - 'like a building' was exactly right, crushing everything in his path and unable to soften his landing. That airport looked like a fucking twister swept through.

Bucky glanced at Sam over his vibranium shoulder. Forget being a rabbit - Sam felt like a bug all the way down here: small and helpless and squishable. Sam wished he had his wings so he could buzz away from his problems and not have to worry about roaming around on the floor.

"You comin'?" Bucky asked. His hand twitched and Bucky pivoted to face Sam as if he might reach down and-

"Naw," Sam said, "you go on ahead."

No further prompting needed, Bucky stomped off.

It was insane that Sam felt the vibrations of Bucky's strides through the pillow - even when the couch blocked Sam's view of him. Sam slid to the floor, fixing his jacket and ruffled shirt. He stretched his legs, mentally tracking Bucky's progress through sounds and movements. Sam heard a cupboard door open, then whirring technology. Intrigued, Sam jogged across the bedsheets, hopping over lumps and avoiding tripping on wrinkles. He slowed to a brisk walk as he approached the edge of the couch. His view of Bucky was once more obstructed - now, by a half-wall that left only the top of the larger man's head visible. Bucky opened the freezer and took something out. Sam guessed as he trekked toward the kitchen over laminated wood tiles. Pop Tarts. No - Uncrustables. Hot Pockets?

Bucky pressed a toaster lever. Sam's pace quickened, doing his best to keep fatigue at bay. And despite that, when Sam finally arrived at the corner of the half-wall, he still bent over with his hands on his knees. His breaths came in haggard wheezes. The table and its single chair blocked Sam's sight, yet again, and the contents of the countertop were obscured by the angle. Sam strolled a little further 'til he saw Bucky in full and leaned on the table leg. He heard a POP and Bucky retrieved the toast(?) with his vibranium arm.

Bucky washed that, right...? Where did he even keep it?

Bucky scraped a knife over breakfast and turned, plate in-hand. His lowered gaze immediately locked onto Sam.

"Long walk?" Bucky said, lips quirked into the faintest hint of a smirk.

"Nah," Sam lied through a deep breath.

The plate clunked as Bucky sat it on the table. With all the grace of a falling bridge, Bucky squatted down and flipped his right palm over, saying, "Need a lift?"

Sam accepted before he could chicken out.

When Bucky extended his hand, Sam shoved aside the unsettled queasiness swirling in his gut and stepped on. It felt like he had something to prove. To himself, to Bucky? It didn't matter.

Then again, the stomach was an excellent motivator. And breakfast smelled good.

Sam swayed, keeping his balance as he ascended. Bones and tendons flexed under the rubber of his sneakers and Sam did his best to shove that to the back of his mind, astutely averting his eyes from Bucky himself. Sam crested the tabletop, and for whatever reason, he couldn't help smiling. Waffles. Plain, buttered waffles.

Sam's elevator rested next to the table and Sam disembarked, reassured by the solid surface that didn't have a pulse. Rising from his crouch, Bucky took a seat and picked up the fork and knife. Sam was rooted in place, unable to take another step. The fork's long tongs stabbed into bread thicker than his arm while the knife sawed through its crunchy exterior, severing pieces bigger than Sam could ever hope to eat because they were the size of his upper body.

The knife clacked on the ceramic dish. As its final act, the knife severed two waffle squares and nudged the much smaller chunk toward the edge of the plate. Only after Bucky set aside the knife did Sam even consider going closer. Sam hefted his waffle like a big slice of pizza, keeping his fingers free of butter. Golden-brown and still warm, Sam took a bite.

Naturally, it was really freaking good. Sam plopped down to enjoy it.

The fork raised - and crunch. Sam ignored the fact that the waffle wasn't much smaller than himself, and he ignored where it was going. He focused on his own food.

Sam struggled with his final bites. Once they both finished, Sam and Bucky continued to sit in silence. Sam wiped his hands on his jeans, greasy despite his efforts. Or maybe he was just sweating.

Sam broke the silence: "So, Germany?"

Humming, Bucky said, "Can your air force buddy get us another ride?"

"Joaquín? Oh, he doesn't authorize flights. He's more like a puppy I just can't shake off my tail. Trust me, he'll be following us into that prison if I don't tell him no. This whole 'Flag Smasher' business started with him sticking his nose where it don't belong. These guys have a frickin' app like Pokèmon Go."

"Like what?"

"It's-" Sam waved his hand. "Nevermind. I can get us a ride. Where's my phone?"

As if he'd spoken the magic words, Sam's phone began to ring. Bucky was on his feet and across the room in seconds, sending Sam's head spinning. Bucky dug into the pocket of his jacket and withdrew Sam's phone.

"No kidding," Bucky said before sliding his thumb over the screen. He trudged over to the table. Sam stood.

"Morning!" Joaquín's voice crackled through the speaker. "How's it going, you two? We still alive?"

Sam smiled fondly. The timing on this kid. Sam lifted his arm, gesturing for Bucky to lower the phone, and loudly said, "Still kickin'." His phone clattered as Bucky set it on the table and Sam walked over, crouching while he slapped the speaker button with his whole hand. Bucky reclaimed his seat. Sam said, "How 'bout you, Torres? You sleep alright?"

Joaquín answered, "On the bunks? Oh, like a dream."

Smirking, Sam said, "Bad dream, more like." Sam abruptly wiped away his smirk when the image of Bucky intruded on his brain: pale and haunted amidst a nightmare, entire physique tense as a clenched fist. Sam changed the topic. "Listen, we're headed to Germany for a lead on who's making super soldiers. You still finding their location?"

"You know I'm on it." There was an anticipatory pause. Joaquín inhaled. "I- okay, listen. I was thinking last night, and maybe I should be going with you. Barnes is strong, I know, but it just doesn't sit right with me - knowing you're out there, potentially in the line of fire because of me and my- you know, not my guys - but the only reason you were even there in the first place is because I asked you to be and I just-"

It was instinctual for Sam to wave his hands as he said, "Whoa, whoa! Put the brakes on, there, Torres. Are you blaming yourself for this shrinking thing?"

The connection sizzled in the silence. "...a little," Joaquín admitted in a small voice. "Maybe."

Sam said, "Come on, man. Don't do that to yourself. How could you know something like this would happen? This is not on you. Are you hearing me?"

After a beat, Joaquín said, "I'm hearing you. I just-"

"Up!" Sam cut in.

"I-"

"Zip-bup-bup! Uh-uh. No more of this guilty talk from you, mister. I absolve you of your sins - go in peace, and whatnot. Alright?"

Joaquín sighed and glumly lamented, "Alright."

"Good," Sam affirmed, nodding to himself.

"About me coming along-"

Sam glanced up at Bucky, whose boulder-sized chin hovered a little too close for comfort. Bucky caught Sam's inquiring gaze and shrugged.

Sam exaggerated a matching shrug. He replied, "I don't know, man. How 'bout you just focus on finding the super soldiers while Bucky and me follow up this lead? You can help us a lot more tracking them down than being on the ground with us, yeah?"

Sam wasn't too jazzed about another giant hovering over him, either. But if Joaquín wanted to be useful, playing bodyguard for Sam wasn't it.

"Yeah, I..." said Joaquín, "I got it. You're right. Just- you're gonna be safe, right, Sam? No- no storming in anywhere and getting into fights?"

Sam refused to tear his eyes from the phone. "God, no. My ass is staying out of sight. Trust me: all my fights are gonna be with big and scowl-y over here. Probably over the radio and keeping his hands off me."

Sam felt Bucky's stare on his back.

"Not sure I believe that," Joaquín said, skeptical, "but alright." He blurted, "Hey! Uh, I was also thinking - what if Srgt. Barnes gets a little, like, bag or fanny pack and carries you around-"

"Okay!" Sam proclaimed.

"-like a little purse dog?"

"No more brainstorming!" Sam asserted, sitting forward and fighting the urge to slap that big, red button. "Joaquín, serious voice: can you pass on my request for a flight to Berlin? Tell them it's urgent."

"Can do," Joaquín said, all teasing gone. "Timeframe?"

Sam thought. "We'll be there for ten. Oh - and don't tell 'em I'm supposed to be on that plane."

"Riight. Request on behalf of Sgt. Barnes."

"Whatever works. 'Preciate it, man. Thank you."

"Anytime, sparrow. Get it? Because you're tiny now? And a sparrow is-"

"BYE," Sam interjected before slapping the big, red button. His phone bleeped. Sam's shoulders drooped and he confessed, "I hate that a fanny pack isn't a bad idea."

Decisive, Bucky said, "Pocket's good for now."

Ten o'clock still gave them a couple hours to kill. Sam suggested turning on the TV; Bucky admitted he only had news channels. Neither of them pushed for that option. Bucky placed his dish in the sink and asked Sam if he wanted a drink.

"This early? I'll pass, thanks." Before Bucky could mistake Sam's sarcasm for being genuine, Sam said, "Water, please. Whatever I can use for a cup."

Bucky unscrewed a water bottle cap. He held it delicately between two fingers and inched the faucet handle 'til he caught a splash in the cap. He swiveled in one motion, locked onto that bottle cap, and slowly brought it to the tabletop. Using both hands, Sam picked it up and slurped very loudly - just to annoy Bucky. He tipped the cap and drank normally. The water was thick, like honey, and took effort to swallow. He finished the last drop, which he had to scoop into his hand. He admired the surface tension. It stuck to his hand like honey, too, refusing to let go.

Bucky washed the meagre dishes in the sink. He offered a refill, which Sam refused and thanked him for. Sam toyed with the bottle cap, rolling it on its side and letting it spin onto its flat top. He threw it on as a hat. Then, he tossed it aside, bored. Bucky dried his hands on a nearby towel.

"What time is it?" Sam asked. He remembered his phone and reached across the screen to press the power button. It required more force than he expected. 8:54, read his lock screen. "So, we taking a cab? We could probably leave right now."

"My bike," Bucky answered.

"Your-" Unpleasant imagery flashed in Sam's head. Sam said, "And what about me? I'm gonna go flying! Never in a way I've wanted to."

Bucky thought about it for half a second and said, "I'll buy a helmet. Should be safe enough."

"Safe en-" Sam shifted gears. "You don't own a helmet?"

"Don't need it."

"Super soldier serum prevents your skull from cracking open on the pavement?"

Bucky's mouth curved into a shrug. "Has so far."

Sam was too blown away to muster a rebuttal.

It seemed they had a plan, now, so they got into action. Bucky shrugged into a different jacket and Sam zipped up his, wishing he shrank with a thicker coat. Bucky slipped on his gloves and offered his right hand to Sam, who hesitated for a few seconds. Once Sam got himself situated, up and up he went. Sam was confused - until he registered the chest pocket. Okay! This was new!

...this was gonna be so much worse than the other pocket.

Bucky's hand began to tilt and Sam automatically starfished, trying to stay on board. His back hit Bucky's palm.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Sam exclaimed. "Let me! Let me do it!"

Bucky righted his hand. Sam exhaled. He crawled toward the tips of Bucky's fingers and peered into the open mouth of the pocket. How secure was this? Couldn't someone just peek inside and see him?

Sam reminded himself this was Bucky - there was no way he'd let somebody get that close. Bucky had Sam's back.

Sam turned, going knees first. His legs dangled, his stomach pressed into Bucky's middle finger, and Sam did not want to let go. Not giving Sam the chance to back out, Bucky shook his hand. Sam fell the rest of the way, landing in a sprawl of limbs at the bottom.

"Hey!" Sam protested.

"You're hesitating," Bucky said.

Oh, that was new. Sam looked around wildly as Bucky's voice rumbled through his chest, rattling Sam's bones like heavy thunder. The pocket opening was thin, allowing only a glimpse of Bucky's chin and the ceiling. Bucky gave it a tap and the entrance smushed even smaller, soothing some of Sam's concerns. Bucky headed out the door, and Sam rocked in time with Bucky's swaying gait; he had to acclimate himself to the impact of each stride.

Sam also had to acclimate himself to the steady beat of Bucky's heart. It thumped like a bass drum in Sam's ear - not loud, but not discreet, either. A low, steady rhythm that Sam physically felt whenever he leaned into the warm wall of Bucky's chest. Sam was weirded out, at first - but the longer he sat there, the less the sound bothered him. It was just Bucky, being alive and present.

The stairwell was a different beast altogether.

Bucky descended the stairs like the damn building was ablaze. Sam grabbed tight to the inseam as he flopped around, repeatedly flung into the air and landing to do it again. Sam yelled at Bucky to slow down, and he did - for the last couple steps that remained. Sam had things to say and Bucky had to listen.

"-gotta be more careful, man!" Sam shouted, his nerves wrung out from the experience. "I'm fragile goods! Can't be knockin' me around like that. I thought for sure I was gonna fly out."

"I'll be more careful," Bucky said - and he meant it. "Sorry, Sam."

There was that rumbling again. Sam shivered. He replied, "Thank you."

In order to reach the closest shop that sold helmets, they had to take the motorcycle. The dilemma was obvious, and Sam refused to sit in such an open, hazardous space.

"What if I drive real slow?" Bucky hedged. "There's gonna be traffic, anyway."

Sam acquiesced - only under those conditions. A fall from this height was fatal on its own; Sam didn't enjoy envisioning how a fall while hurtling down the road at sixty miles-per-hour would end. Sam was tempted to ask Bucky to go switch jackets. What was wrong with the leather one? It worked just fine! Sure, the pockets were more spacious, which left room for even worse bouncing around, but then Sam wouldn't be crammed so close to Bucky's chest...

Y'know, maybe it wasn't so bad.

The motorcycle revved to life and Sam slammed his hands over his ears. How could Bucky stand that without a helmet? And with enhanced senses? Jesus.

Bucky rolled his bike out of the parking garage. Honking and idling engines that had been a distant echo became cavernous applause. Sam endured.

"Wait," Sam hollered, impossibly pitching his voice over the noise, "isn't it illegal to drive without a helmet?"

Bucky took off without a word. Sam knew for a fact Bucky was ignoring him.

Sam put all his focus toward holding on. Bucky grew up here, right? How much could a city change in... shit, eighty years? A lot. But it was fine! Presumably, Bucky knew all the backstreets and alleys. Plus, Bucky said the shop wasn't too far; Sam taught him well in digital navigation.

The bike lurched over a manhole cover. Sam held on tighter.

It might've been five minutes, it might've been half-an-hour. When Bucky finally pulled his bike into a parking space, Sam's ears were blessed to be rid of its roar. He couldn't hold on and protect his hearing.

Bucky marched into the store and b-lined for his goal. He purchased a helmet without preamble and walked out the door. Bucky kept walking, farther than Sam remembered the bike being.

Bucky stopped. "We're alone," he said. "Get in."

What a gentleman.

"Damn, not even gonna buy me dinner first?" Sam teased while he pulled himself upright.

Bucky stated, "I made breakfast."

Sam braced his legs against the outside of the pocket 'til it was taut, his shoulder digging into Bucky as he climbed. Sam poked his head out and was greeted by the underside of Bucky's jaw and the brick walls of an alleyway. Propping himself on the lip of the pocket, Sam gazed into the open abyss of an upside-down motorcycle helmet waiting for him to jump. Sam preferred to do anything else, so rather than wait for the decision to be made for him, Sam kept climbing. Upper body strength paid off as Sam clutched fistfuls of Bucky's canvas jacket and hauled himself up, his legs haphazardly kicking for any kind of support on the vertical surface.

"What-" Bucky cut himself short, tucking his chin to peer down. Bucky raised a hand, but didn't go beyond that. Bucky flattened his curled fingers into a platform, poised to catch Sam should he slip.

Sam did not slip and was cresting the peak of Bucky's shoulder within seconds. The surface beneath him was simultaneously soft and unyielding, the mesh of flesh and vibranium distinct as he knelt on both. Sam crept toward Bucky's collar and neck, then he took a seat. He gripped the larger man's collar.

"Good to go," Sam said, proud that he didn't even strain himself.

Dropping his hand, Bucky muttered, "Warn me before pulling any stunts like that."

Ooh, yeah... Sam probably should've done that. But then Bucky might've stopped him or grabbed him, and then it would become a whole thing - Sam didn't want to get into it.

"Will do," Sam acknowledged. It certainly wasn't a promise; he left wiggle room for emergencies.

Bucky flipped the helmet and eased it over his head. Padded walls came down, and the helmet's confining fit forced Sam to squeeze right up against Bucky's neck. Reacting to Sam's presence, Bucky twitched his head. Muscles in his neck spasmed against Sam's side. This was so much more intimate than either of them signed up for. This was worse than the goddamn interlocked thighs exercise.

"Don't tell me you're ticklish, man," Sam pleaded. God, Bucky was so warm. It was like standing next to a furnace.

"Just- feels weird," Bucky rumbled. The power of his voice buzzed through Sam, sending vibrations straight into his bones. Bucky's larynx hummed like a strummed guitar through his skin, and Sam felt every note. The helmet only amplified it. Bucky said, "Keep the wiggling to a minimum, alright?"

Sam shuddered. The sensation was comparable to hugging a giant subwoofer. "Hey, no guarantees."

Bucky returned to his motorcycle. Its growl was muffled, for which Sam would've sank to his knees in thanks if he was in any position to do so. As he was, Sam half-stood, half-leaned against Bucky's neck and tried not to think about the visceral throbbing of blood through Bucky's arteries - a feeling that was unbelievably surreal. If Sam stretched, he could see out of the bottom of the helmet and watch Bucky steer. Sam opted to close his eyes. The thing smelled like a new car, so he pretended it was. He was just going for a ride with a buddy. A buddy that was so close, Sam could measure his pulse. A buddy whom Sam slept beside and awoke within touching distance.

"I'm on a nice, sunny beach," Sam said to himself, trying to banish all other thoughts. "Clear skies. Warm air. Sipping on a fancy cocktail."

"Sounds like a date," Bucky lumbered.

Sam's face was warm. He blamed it on the living furnace. "I make it out of this alive and Sam-sized again, we're taking a vacation. I need a couple beers and a lawn chair bad, man."

"I'll clear my calendar."

Sam piped down for the rest of the ride. Mostly, so he didn't have to feel that again if Bucky answered him. Partly, because Sam didn't know how to respond to what might have been an invitation to hang out - and definitely wasn't a date.

The plane was ready to depart when they arrived at the airfield. Bucky flipped open his visor and awkwardly greeted somebody who was expecting him. Sam shuffled around to the back of Bucky's neck so he wouldn't be spotted, and Bucky reacted by hunching his shoulders and wringing his neck. Luckily for both of them, Bucky walked past the airman with only slight judgement; there were perks and downsides to a public name like his.

"Watch it," Sam hissed, fighting to keep his footing as the world shifted on Bucky's axis

"That tickles," Bucky hissed back.

"You said you weren't ticklish!"

"I never said- just- stop-"

"You stop! I'm 'bout to go splat if you don't get your shit together, man!"

Bucky squared his shoulders and straightened his spine. Sam braced his shoes on the back of Bucky's collar and huffed out a sigh. Bucky rolled his inert motorcycle up the plane's ramp by its handlebars. Nobody waited inside; it was just the two of them again. The ramp closed and idling engines powered up. Bucky claimed a seat, mindful not to lean back.

"Think it's safe?" Bucky suggested.

"I don't know," Sam groused, feeling petty. "You tell me."

"...we should be in the clear."

Bucky carefully removed the helmet. Sam shimmied over, claiming his own spot on the outside of Bucky's collar. A wave of cool air immediately sucked all the heat out of Sam's body and he shivered. It might have been stuffy inside the helmet, but damn, if the warmth wasn't nice.

Sam eyeballed Bucky's exposed neck. Sam looked away.

The plane rattled. They hadn't even left the runway yet.

Sam seized the collar of Bucky's jacket in both hands. He dreaded the prospect of turbulence and knew, intuitively, that he'd end up in that pocket again. Sam also knew he was being a baby about it; a petulant little shit that wasn't ready to go inside yet.

More tremors shook the plane's cargo hold.

"Hey-" Sam stiffly implored, intending to say more - but found he didn't need to.

Bucky offered his right hand without comment. Sam slunk off his broad shoulder and couldn't deny the bone-deep relief that washed over him as he settled in Bucky's gloved grasp. Bucky didn't make another move, simply anchoring his hand against his chest and absorbing the plane's quakes. His thumb acted like a barrier between Sam and a nasty drop, the curve of his palm and fingers forming a natural bowl that purposefully tipped toward Bucky. Tension withered away within Sam's body and his gut unwound itself from an anxious knot. Bucky had his back. Everything was gonna be fine.

Now, to consult with a mad baron.

Next stop: high-security German prison.

AO3

OLD VERSION OF FIC with LOTS more content ;] and featuring Zemo, the shit-starter