the wilson family
the wilson family
A large portion of tfatws discourse was based on Bucky's sexuality and how the mcu should make him a canon bisexual cos of rep. But a lot of you are full of shit because of how misogynistic, biphobic and downright racist yall got when a Bucky/Sharon romance was rumored and when seeds of Bucky/Sarah were shown. Yall ran Sharon into the ground for weeks before the show started and said the most racist awful things about Sarah Wilson because Bucky flirted with her. A lot of you don't want Bucky to be bisexual because of representation. You want him to be bi because you know they'll never make him gay and him being bi is the closest you'll get to saying stucky is canon. This was never about representation for some of you cos yall quickly forgot the meaning of bisexuality when Bucky looked at a female character. And when Bucky/Sarah took off, yall yelled queerbait when that was NEVER the case. Malcolm Spellman did a lot of foul shit but when he said "I'm not diving down rabbit holes, just watch the show", he didn't queerbait you. He just said he's not engaging in that discourse and yall should watch the damn show. And when some gays in the fandom spoke up and told yall to stop calling close male friendships on tv queerbait, you ignored them too.
Yes, queer rep is lacking and that's on disney/marvel. But dark skin female love interests are also lacking in main stream TV. And those of us that are queer AND black (and ship sambucky) pointed out the importance of Bucky/Sarah and how it doesn't cancel Bucky's perceived bisexuality but you anti black straights and white queers ignored it all cos fuck intersectionality huh. This isn't about rep for some of you. It's about 2 particular canonically straight male characters you want to become canon. And I hope yall give the queer couple in Eternals this energy but we all know you won't and why.
Now I assume most of the people doing this are actually straight women. But some of the people who gave so much pushback to bucky/Sarah despite asking for bisexual Bucky are supposedly queer too. Apparently Bucky's bisexuality is only valid when he's with a man 🥴.
Yall can have your issues with what Anthony said or the way he said what he did, lord knows some of it was cringy but let's not pretend like there's not some truth to it.
The Eighth Movie in The Conjuring Universe and the third film in the Conjuring Series. Did I find The Devil Made Me Do It scary good or scary bad, read my thoughts and review to find out.
Story The Conjuring, The Devil Made Me Do It, is a supernatural horror film and sequel to The Conjuring film series, directed by Michael Chaves. The film follows the actual accounts of real-life paranormal investigators Ed and Lorraine Warren and the trial of Arne Cheyenne Johnson. Arne Johnson is arrested after murdering his landlord in 1981. Johnson claims that he was under the possession of a…
View On WordPress
Wilson Family + Bucky fic ideas I don't think anyone has come up with yet:
Cass and AJ afraid to go out at night, whether it is to take the trash out or retrieve a belonging accidentally left out. they bargain Bucky to do it for them, if he does it, he'll be crowned their favorite uncle.
"It's not that short of a distance. Why make Bucky do it?"
" Because if there's monsters or that loose dog, he's super durable, super strong, and is bound to fight whatever it is off."
Any of the Wilsons are sick with the flu, the common cold, or whatever you choose. Their adopted white ex assassin has turned into their butler. Depending on who the sick person is will determine whether the outcome is calm or constant annoying complaining
A Wilson family member: *complaining about how awful they feel*
Bucky: "I actually haven't gotten sick in a long time. But from what I do remember it was unpleasant "
A Wilson: " That's nice. Can you refill my juice? / reheat my heating pad? / "get me some more ice cream?" or some other request.
Ava Starr is the type to demand her men to bow and kiss her feet if they want sexual release
Sarah Wilson is the type to smile sweetly or nonchalantly ignore his pleas for attention
So Bucky is part of Sam's family now, even though Sam might have never intended for that to happen.
Like maybe a month or so after the cookout the family has a little get together for a holiday or something, and Sam is just having a nice time with his family when Bucky walks up behind him and is like "hey what's up your sister invited me" and Sam goes and bitches to Sarah for four minutes straight and at the end of his rant Sarah just goes: "I just thought you were friends?"
Pepper Potts was not immune to bad decisions. Tony Stark was often the first example she cited of this.
Not that being with Tony had been a bad decision. No, she’d loved him more than she thought humanly possible, more than she feared she could ever love again. But when they’d first gotten together… Well, Tony liked to have fun, and that had resulted in more than a few close calls. Memories Pepper now treasured, memories she wouldn’t sacrifice for the whole wide world, but ones she had found… beyond humiliating at the time.
So no, Pepper Potts was not immune to bad decisions. But this?
If this was a bad decision, it was the best bad decision Pepper had ever made. Said decision being the first kiss she’d received in almost three years, a kiss she was currently sharing with the most beautiful woman Pepper had ever had the good fortune to lay eyes on.
Sarah Wilson, the woman had introduced herself as with a soft smile, and it was within that breezy warmth where Pepper immediately saw the resemblance between her and Sam. It’s a pleasure to meet the famous Virginia Potts.
Pepper had laughed. The image of herself the world saw was nothing like the woman Tony had known, the woman Rhodey and Happy and Morgan knew. And yet… something told her Sarah understood this. The pleasure is all mine, Mrs. Wilson. And you can call me Pepper.
Ms. Wilson, actually. Sarah’s brown eyes had glittered in the bright light of the gala. But ‘Sarah’ is fine.
And just like that, they’d hit it off, and Pepper found herself glued to Sarah’s hip the rest of the night. They talked, they danced, they touched with a tenderness and a spark that sent chills down Pepper’s spine and—well, one thing had led to another and they were now pressed together in a private room Pepper knew no one would find. She could taste champagne on Sarah’s lips as Sarah kissed her with a stubborn gentleness that made Pepper’s stomach soar. She barely withheld a displeased murmur when Sarah pulled away.
“Hey.” Sarah’s voice was softer than her lips as she tucked Pepper’s hair behind her ear, moving her other hand to run a thumb over Pepper’s cheekbone. “You sure you want to do this?”
Pepper melted like butter under Sarah’s warm gaze, determining in less than a second that the best course of action was to kiss her again, maybe a little more feverishly, a little more desperately than before. Sarah responded in kind, and Pepper allowed herself to dissolve into Sarah’s touch.
This couldn’t be a bad decision, Pepper decided, her arms snaking around Sarah’s neck as Sarah deepened the kiss. No, not when it was the first time in years she felt so good.
I don't like how these gif comic posts for Bucky/Sam and Bucky keep intentionally leaving out Sarah like she wasn't a key player in both the show and the arcs of both characters.
WARNING: Major Character Death
SUMMARY: Soulmates existed, in this world it was everything. A timer to know when they will die. However, Sam doesn't like his timer. He just hopes they can make it out alive.
READ THE REST HERE, FEEDBACK PLEASE
@siancore @xsleepylilgeekyx @hey-yes-hi-hello @stansamwilson @fuckyeahsambucky @gay-gym-rats @sokovianpropaganda @blacklavenderjade @blvckdorkkpop @blackboylikesflowers @areubeingserved
How TFTWS basically ended
Sam: *to Bucky after fixing the boat* would you like to stay for dinner
Sarah: *knowing damn well her brother has a crush on the sad puppy* WOULD YOU LIKE TO STAY FOREVER
Sarah: Sam? Can you pass the salt?
Sam: *launches Bucky across the table*
𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐢 | 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐢 | 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭
characters: fem!reader; sam wilson; archibald the tabby cat; sarah wilson
word count: 3.1k+
warning: mentions and descriptions of alcohol, death, grief, trauma, therapy, depression – i call this post-snap realism
series summary: after the blip, sam wilson gets home to an unpleasant surprise - his key doesn’t fit the lock anymore and his apartment is now inhabited by a stranger and a grumpy feline. however, the unusual encounter is only the beginning of their post-blip lives and the reader soon learns that what life takes away, it can give back in the most particular ways.
a/n: the ending is a dark unedited mess, so proceed with caution
Taking a cautious sip of your hot beverage, you watched this absolute gatecrasher of a man trying to make up his mind about whatever he was so confused about – Sam kept looking all around your apartment as if searching for something he had left there, his slightly lost and disoriented expression sending a sudden wave of guilt rushing over you. Now that you thought about it, it really must have sucked absolute cheese for him to come home hoping he could finally have that huge cup of strong black coffee he had been anticipating ever since having defeated that enormous purple bastard from Outer Space, only to find that his coffee machine was long gone and now this random lady with a philodendron problem and a judgmental cat were inhabiting the place with absolutely no room left for him whatsoever. It did sound tragic when you put it that way.
However, it really wasn’t your fault that you had needed to find a brand new residence approximately five years before. He really should have checked in with someone to make sure he still had somewhere to go home to. You were quite clearly the real victim here. And Lord only knew how poor Archie was going to process all the excitement of the day.
For a few seconds, you contemplated whether or not to put your thoughts into words, and eventually decided against it for the time being. The man had just helped save the world a few days before, after all, and out of what? Good conscience? Personally not for you, but you could appreciate it in others. And it would have been a real shame to die right when your fan-favourite succulents and killer new posting schedule had been attracting more Instagram followers than ever before. Thanks to the savior complex flaming inside of the gentleman standing before you though, the regular civilian had luckily escaped such terrible hardships. And special thanks to approximately a thousand and one other superheroes. Oh, and to an African country filled with similarly public-spirited people.
For a few awkwardly long seconds neither of you said a word. Sam kept looking around and you watched him look around, slowly lowering your mug onto the table and tilting your head slightly to the left. Weird how Sarah had never mentioned the brother believed to be dead for the last five years was this handsome. It is unfair, really. Some people are just naturally gorgeous no matter the shitty kitchen lighting, that tiny confused frown that had been sitting on their face for the last half hour, or those shiny black bugs for eyes tearing up ever so slightly to snitch on a long repressed yawn.
“Now that the drama is over and the Avengers as such are non-existent – have you considered a career in modeling yet?”
Sam snapped his head towards you with such force and speed that for a moment you were afraid you’d have to spend the rest of the afternoon sewing it back on his neck. You grabbed your mug still pretty much filled to the brim with tea and raised it back up to your mouth to hide your lingering half-smile behind a faded portrait of baby Archie on the ivory porcelain.
“Just saying, I would buy anything for this face on the package alone,” you continued with the confidence of a woman who hasn’t got a single drop of shame left in her body. But it was fine ‘cos you didn’t actually mean it, right? It was all just a joke, an attempt at lightening the mood and snapping him out of his puzzled melancholy. And that tiny flutter of your heart upon hearing Sam’s perfect little chuckle was but a momentary malfunction of the organ. The incident was purely physiological. No contribution from any emotional factors. It was simply an innocent coincidence that these two, completely unrelated things had co-occured.
So when your gazes met, you didn’t tear yours away in embarrassment – you stood your ground, completely unaffected and unbothered, ignoring the increasingly hot sensation in your cheeks when you saw Sam raise a cheeky eyebrow at you. Before even more damage could have been done, however, you decided to cut the party short.
“Oh, no. Don’t get your hopes up, Birdman. I simply couldn’t keep watching you in your deeply disturbed state.”
Very, very smooth. Cleared of all suspicion. Good job.
“Wow. Okay. That was cruel,” Sam scoffed and gave emphasis to his words by bringing up his right palm dramatically to his chest, right above his now most definitely broken heart. The overall effect got ruined by an annoyingly goofy grin in the end and before you even realised, you had already reached out for your massive mug again to drown your own erupting smile in the hot liquid.
In the silence that followed, however, you saw Sam’s smile fall ever so slightly, as if exhaustion or worry were holding onto the corners of his lips, physically tugging them down, and you shifted slightly uncomfortably in your seat. It was time you had stopped messing around with the poor guy.
“Look, I know this is weird but I’m sure we can find a solution. Just call Sarah so she can stop worrying now,” you suggested, finishing your tea and pushing the now empty mug to the middle of the table before leaning back in your seat.
“Ugh, yeah,” Sam started slowly, squatting down to get his mobile and the charger out of his massive sports bag. “Can I plug this in somewhere?”
You blinked at him a couple of times while he waited patiently for your answer. You could only imagine the number of missed calls and unread texts waiting for Sam on his phone, but you decided you didn’t know him enough to give him a lecture on behalf of his sister. So you just gave him a tired nod and gestured lazily towards your battered kitchen counter, Sam following your direction with his gaze.
“Above the microwave. Oh, and the socket farthest to the left–”
“–doesn’t work. I remember.” Sam flashed another exhausted but friendly smirk at you above his shoulder, and you allowed yourself to return the gesture to his back once he wasn’t watching.
“Right, sorry. Forgot I was the intruder here,” you joked, delighted to earn another one of those irritatingly lively chuckles of this man’s.
You seriously needed to get your shit together.
“Okay, while your phone is doing its thing, let’s call Sarah from mine, I guess” you continued, jumping up from your chair the moment Sam returned to the table and you headed towards your worn little couch where you scratched Archie gently behind his right ear. “Where have you put my phone, you dirty old man?” You cooed, smiling softly while sliding your hands under the cheap cushions and booping your irritated cat’s tiny nose when your fingers finally touched the cold metal you had been looking for.
Once seated again, you caught Sam staring at Archie, his eyes slightly narrowed in what appeared to be deep concentration. You furrowed your eyebrows and tilted your head, waiting for your uninvited guest to notice you.
“I don’t think your cat likes me too much,” he finally said, slowly tearing his gaze away from the pet feline’s and looking into your slightly more welcoming human eyes instead.
You chuckled dryly, turning around to see Archie in all his glory on the couch. He simply gave you an unbothered look before completely losing interest in the two of you, and he hopped of the couch, slowly making his way towards your bedroom where you knew he would bundle up under your bed on the cosy carpet. He had apparently decided it was time for his beauty sleep.
“Yeah, he’s like that with everyone. Nothing personal,” you assured Sam, who offered a tired half-smile in return. You cleared your throat gently, eyes fixed on your phone’s screen and fingers already searching for Sarah’s number. Once you had found it, you handed it to Sam whose only job left was to press the call button. You raised your eyebrows at him expectantly and he let out a sigh while reaching out for your mobile.
* * *
It wasn’t like he didn’t want to talk to Sarah. Quite the opposite, actually. But he was embarrassed. Sam knew full well how furious his sister was going to be. And honestly, rightfully so. He couldn’t argue with that. After all, she did say there had been something she wanted to talk to him about. And Sam did hang up on her without a passable excuse. And he did let his phone die on his way back home to Louisiana.
Yeah, he most probably wasn't going to be nominated for this year's Brother of the Year award.
Their last call had happened two days before. Two days is a long time without any news from a brother who had just returned after having been believed to be dead for the past five years. And if you had been to ask him, Sam wouldn’t have been able to tell you what had gotten into him either but ever since the Blip, something had not been exactly right. He couldn’t quite put his finger on what was going on, so he hadn’t brought it up to anyone, but his brain felt slow and foggy as if it hadn't had time to catch up yet.
Sometimes, Sam worried that the molecules in his brain had been mixed up and hadn't been put back into their original places in the process of the whole turning-into-dust-and-back-into-human-form-again thing.
It was a silly thought, yes, but with everything going on in the world, would it really be that hard to believe?
"Hey hon! What's up?" Sam's thought process was cut off by the endearing voice of his sister, and though he was aware all this affection was not directed towards him – given that he had called Sarah on your phone – his heart did swell upon hearing her again.
And then he said hi and it all went south from there.
Sarah was obviously pissed.
She asked Sam if he had any idea how many texts and missed calls she had left him, and no, he had no clue but if he had to guess, the number would have been way high up in the double digits.
Then she started going off on Sam, using different kinds of actually very creative euphemisms – which was a problem because Sam got so distracted by his sister's choice of words that her short, well-thought out rant had very little effect on him, but at least he had enough self-respect left to get his sister off speaker at this point.
"Look, Sarah, I know I messed up but I'm fine! I swear," he started, cutting his sister short while subconsciously picking at the skin around the nail on his index finger with his thumb. "What if I stop by Andy's and tell him to give me their best apple pie?" Sam added, hoping this promise would serve as an ice-breaker. Sarah did love her desserts. A lot. And Andy always gave a discount to the Wilson family, too.
When he heard his sister's tired sigh, Sam's heart gave a hopeful flutter, but he was rudely dragged back onto the ground on his way to cloud nine the very next second.
"I'm doing the shopping at the moment. Just got here and it's gonna take long," Sarah replied, annoyance poking through all her words. Then, the tension that had been dominating the pair's call suddenly seemed to evaporate as Sam sensed a weak shadow of a smile in her following sentence. "But that apple pie does sound good."
Sam couldn't help the grin that creeped its way onto his face and he didn't even care about Sarah's semi-serious threat, saying how they were nowhere near finished yet. He muttered out a quick sorry again, promised Sarah to give her regards to you and finished the call with a charming 'I love you' to which his sister replied with a snarky 'I bet' before hanging up with a promise that she would call again when she got home.
Sam let out a relieved chuckle before handing you back your phone and taking the final sip of his slightly lukewarm coffee, watching your bright red-nailed fingers tap away on the device, and he swallowed harder and probably louder than he had meant to. You just happened to put your phone down the very next second, so he tried to cover up the gulp by clearing his throat and shifting his gaze from your nails to your eyes.
"So, I guess you're staying," you started hesitantly, raising your eyebrows at Sam in a slightly impatient manner, which snapped him out of his blissful thoughts and thrust him back into reality.
Was he staying? He certainly had nowhere to go now that he was practically homeless and his sister was unable to welcome him in her own home for the next two hours, at least. But then again, you were a complete stranger whose afternoon he had just disrupted, and it didn't matter how weird it felt seeing you be so at home in his apartment because it wasn't his anymore. It was yours and you had all the right to kick Sam out and he had absolutely zero right to argue.
But, thankfully, he didn't have to.
"Which is fine, by the way. I did promise you an explanation, after all." Sam couldn't quite ignore the hint of dread behind your words and he was ready to object, to leave you alone and spend the rest of his afternoon doing God-knows-what, but then you offered him another cup of coffee followed by a tiny but honest smile, and Sam just couldn't bring himself to say no.
* * *
Sam Wilson was ridiculously easy to open up to.
It made you want to commit a crime.
His gaze was so intensely warm that after a while, you were looking at everything in your apartment but him just to avoid accidentally trauma dumping on him, especially when you got to the part about group therapy.
Because you had met Sarah at a group therapy session approximately four and a half years before.
It had been clear from the very first minute that neither of you had actually wanted to be there and that both of you had been forced into this situation. Sarah had been dragged to group by an overly enthusiastic co-worker of hers whose crush on the counselor had been probably more intense than the trauma she had suffered – she had lost a dog and her neighbor to the right whom she had always talked shit about behind his back. She was a nice enough woman, but considering that people had lost actual family in the Snap, her presence had always been mostly aggravating, to say the least.
In your case, it had been your grandmother who had bullied you into going to one of the sessions because 'she had the same rotten mentality when Miss Taylor told her to go but then she found it life-changing'. At this point, you had become so indifferent to everything in the world that you hadn't needed much convincing to go. You had told yourself it would be one session anyway after which you would have told Grandma Ethel that 'therapy was simply not for you' and could have been back to your usual Thursday evening routine consisting of a cheap bottle of red wine and depressing reruns of trashy British reality shows from the late 2000s.
The actual sessions had never worked for you. They might have if you had actually spoken up at any of them but you had never become quite ready to talk about your loss in front of a dozen other people, most of whom you had already known. But then you had met Sarah and something about her had made you feel secure, secure enough to talk about them for the first time, so you had started hanging out at a café not too far from the community center and it had become the best thing in your life.
"And the rest is history," you finished, getting up from your chair to put both yours and Sam's mug in the sink and watered your nearby plants while at it.
"I'm really glad Sarah had someone by her side," Sam commented and you could hear a hint of guilt in his words but you decided to ignore it. You simply nodded and muttered out a weak 'yeah', saying you were just as happy to have found a friend like Sarah.
Then Sam said something that made all the muscles in your body tense up and you froze completely for the next couple of seconds.
"And have you seen your family yet? Now that they've come back?"
It was an innocent question. He doesn't know the whole story. So calm down.
You slowly put down the glass you had used earlier to water your plants and tried with every particle in your body to put on the best toothpaste commercial-worthy smile you could force out of yourself before turning back towards Sam and answering his absolutely understandable question.
"Yeah!" No. "They're doing well, actually!" They're fucking dead.
Sam's genuinely happy smile was way too much to handle and if it hadn't been for a call from Sarah, you would have broken down in tears right in front of him the very next moment.
So instead of all that, you decided to turn right back around, pour yourself a huge glass of cold tapwater and down it in one breath while Sam finished his brief conversation with his sister. The stinging pain in your chest that followed was enough to distract your thoughts until he was finally at the door, saying goodbye and thanking your for the coffee and saying sorry for intruding and taking absolutely way too fucking long to finally leave.
"Hey, um... I could give you my number? If you ever need anything or..."
He can't be serious.
"Sure! You can, ugh, put it in my phone," you replied, your hands shaking dangerously as you reached into your back pocket for your mobile and handed it to Sam, who knew better than to comment on it.
Once finished, he returned your phone with one of those irritatingly joyful smiles of his and with a final 'see you around' Sam Wilson was off and you proudly patted yourself on the back for successfully holding it together until you finally reached your couch.
* * *
mini-series taglist – let me know if you want to be added
mcu taglist – join here
Steve jumps out of an eleventh-story window and, because he has wings, Sam jumps after him.
The men chasing them have only knives and the sky, at the time, seemed safer.
But, because he doesn’t have wings, Steve falls. Sam is ashamed to admit that all coherent though leaves his brain right around that time, and he nosedives straight down after him.
Steve jumped precious seconds before and there’s so much space between them, but Steve is reaching, not curled up behind his shield, not protecting himself. Never intending to make impact. The free fall rips the air out of Sam’s lungs, fear and speed rendering him breathless.
Steve is falling. And reaching. And all the while his wild eyes and parted lips are saying come on, Sammy, come catch me. Catch me like you do during practice together, like you do when I step off of planes without parachutes and when Nazis push me off of rooftops, by the tips of my fingers, or under my knees and shoulders like a bride. Catch me like you always do.
Not this time.
Steve hits the ground, and pain rips across his face. The shield skids off his arm, across pavement, and he twists into himself, breathes heavily.
Sam wanted so horribly catch him, kept after him even when he knew he couldn’t. He didn’t pull up in time. It’s only Steve, still looking agonized, throwing his strong arms up to catch Sam’s chest that keeps his knees from breaking. The padding still tears when he crashes. The road still scrapes him open, and he feels like a little boy falling off his bike again.
Sam is also ashamed to admit that he gasps, “please, no,” into Steve’s shoulder, and doesn’t realize he’s still moving until he squirms out from under Sam and pulls him to his feet. They’re being chased again by then, though Sam isn’t even sure he grasps that he isn’t being led by a dead man until they leap into Natasha’s car.
“Close one. Nasty fall,” she tosses into the backseat as she steps on the gas until the car squeals. She probably doesn’t see Sam wince, or the hand Steve lays on his thigh without looking up. And yet, she still has the good grace to leave them alone in the kitchen that evening, saying something about getting packed up and ready to find the next safe house.
Steve sips coffee because he’ll be driving. Sam sips coffee because he’s always felt rude dozing off in the passenger seat. “Are you okay?” Steve murmurs, covering Sam’s hand with his own and rubbing his thumb through the curve of Sam’s palm.
“I...” Sam starts, feeling helpless to answer. “I don’t know. No.”
“I’m okay, you know? There’s a bruise. It’ll be gone by morning.”
“I thought you didn’t bruise,” Sam replies, even though that’s not really true. He’s seen Steve bruise; it had happened once after he got punched in the face by a man with a vibranium arm.
Steve cracks a smile. “I’m flattered.”
It’s too harsh, but Sam snaps, “Wasn’t a compliment.” Steve’s smile dies.
“There was nothing you could have done. It was too far; I shouldn’t have reached for you. You never would have made it,” he reassures, even though he doesn’t have to because Sam knows. He’d never let anyone fall if he could help it. “So, there’s no reason to beat yourself up.”
“Can we stop talking about it?” Sam asks. He means it, too. There’s nothing else to say.
Steve is Steve though, and Steve is sweet, so he squeezes Sam’s hand and hooks their ankles together under the table. “I’m not gonna make you,” he says, “but I wish you would.”
“I love you. That’s all. I love you and I don’t want to see you dead.”
“I’m not going to die. I’ve fallen much further than that.”
Sam bites his lip. “Yeah. Don’t remind me.” Now Steve is actually scooting his chair closer, and it’s making Sam roll his eyes. “There are better places to cuddle than at the dinner table.”
That gets him the baby-blue puppy eyes, and Steve says, “Okay. Bed?”
“Couch,” he says, because he doesn’t want to explain to Natasha why he’s crying.
He lets Steve haul him to his feet and lead him over to the couch, where they collapse together. Steve wriggles out of his jacket and throws it over their shoulders, oblivious as ever to the fact that he’s a human space heater. Really, this shouldn’t be comfortable at all; they’re in jeans and still wearing shoes, but Steve is a notoriously excellent snuggler.
Sam still feels like an idiot or an asshole, laying there and sniffling into Steve’s t-shirt like he can’t stop, but the thing is he really can’t stop, and Steve’s never judged him before. That’s a really addictive feeling, not being judged. What’s also addictive is the warm grip Steve has on his arm, and the way his fingers are slowly caressing the crown of Sam’s head.
“I like your hair when it’s longer,” Steve mumbles. “You’re pretty, Sammy.”
Sam only sighs. Steve’s trying. He’s being as loving as ever, really, but Sam doesn’t want to be told he’s pretty right now. He’s honestly not sure he ever wants to be told he’s pretty again, because he feels horrible, and the incongruence is making it worse. His hands feel dirty, and his stomach feels upside-down, and he wants Steve to either be quiet or get upset about the near-death experience. Or, well, it wasn’t really a near-death experience at all. Because Steve is fine. So, then Sam is irrational, and also maybe having a slow-motion panic attack.
It very nearly becomes a real-time panic attack every one of the four times he wakes up on that couch, not realizing he’d nodded off, grabbing Steve’s waist, sure that Steve is falling. Or that Riley is falling, but sometimes he can’t tell the difference between his nightmares. The ripped-open feeling in his gut the whole way down is always the same, anyway.
Steve must not sleep much that night either because he’s awake and ready to dote on Sam every time he spasms back into consciousness. It’s pleasant and it’s comforting, and days probably could have passed by the time Steve whispers, “Let’s get up, honey, we have to drive.”
Sam doesn’t remember where they’re going and doesn’t really want to know. He wishes Steve would get on the road and drive them back home, so he could let his big sister crush him in a hug and watch her shake hands with Natasha. He’d play soccer in the backyard with his nephews and Steve. He’d probably call Rhodey, too, and visit his parents’ grave, and everyone would forgive him for everything.
But by the time he’s snapped out of that daydream he’s sitting in the front seat of Natasha’s car, beside Steve and with no memory of how he got there. Impossibly, he thinks he must have been asleep on his feet.
“Good morning,” Steve whispers with a tiny smile, like he can somehow tell Sam has just come alive.
“Oh, God. Good morning,” Sam says back and takes Steve’s hand off the wheel, folding it in his own. That widens Steve’s smile, and Sam feels himself relax with a shiver, the warm touch spreading heat into his cold hands and his body through them. Steve actually looks alright, Sam thinks, and it’s a relieving thought.
“How about McDonald’s for breakfast?” Natasha asks from behind them.
Sam arches a brow. “Is that safe?” he asks, knowing it can’t be.
“Close enough. It’s a pick-me-up,” Steve justifies with a shrug, and Sam actually laughs, because sometimes Steve is actually unbearably chivalrous.
“I— you don’t have to. It’s going to suck if they bring us in over some hash browns,” Sam protests.
“Hash browns it is,” is the only reply Steve gives him, squeezing Sam’s hand like he did the night before. Lovingly.
The sun is coming up on the horizon, and they’re driving straight into it, the light turning their faces golden and soft. Natasha is laughing behind them, the radio is playing quietly, and it’s funny how alive Steve looks right now with mischief in his blue eyes and that flashing white smile. Suddenly, how Sam could have possibly mistaken him for a dead man mere hours earlier is entirely beyond him.