[ the thing about this new world that sam has always accepted is that simple fact that nothing has ever been simple, and nothing has ever been easy. growing up in the south had taught him that early on, and even as he ran off to the airforce, to change the world through force and skill and as much of that wilson determination he could muster, he was still faced with that reality. with the heavy weight of what he did, over there. of what it cost him. of the photos in his home that he can look at more now than ever before, and see riley's face looking back at him.
nothing has ever been simple. not wars, not orders, not life. and after he lost riley, sam had lost his grasp on why he was doing anything at all. which probably makes it fitting, that as the days go on, steve feels things get more and more complicated, because if there was one thing that was crystal clear to sam, it had been that letting steve rogers (and natasha, of course) into his home that day had been the right decision.
even now, as they bounce between countries, chasing ghosts and stories and rumors and the listless look in steve's face when he looks a little less captain and a little more steve rogers, sam doesn't regret it. he checks in with sarah when he can, thinks about her when he can't, and gets up each day with a kind of purpose and motivation that sam hasn't felt in what, honestly feels like years. though, really, if he's being honest, he's not waking up each day because that assumes he slept the night before and didn't just grab naps during any possibly stretch of a few hours he can find. because while steve gets to have some fancy super-soldier serum that apparently made it so he didn't need to sleep. ever. like a normal human.
it works for sam, though. with how often they fly, he takes his few hours the second they take off. something about the seat, the hum of the engine, the knowledge that there are a couple of hours and very little else to do, and sam just passes out. this flight had been no different, except that apparently, at some point, he'd shifted where his head was laying. sam didn't realize this, of course, until he eased back into consciousness and noticed where his head was laying, how much of him was pressed against steve's shoulder. he was warm, and it was comfortable, and sam wondered briefly about the last time he felt comfortable enough to fall asleep on someone's shoulder and that the someone had been comfortable enough to let him sleep.
he can hear steve's breathing, steady and calm and slow, and for a few minutes, sam just lets himself listen to it. though, apparently, those few moments are long enough for steve to notice.
sam lets a very small smile tug at the corner of his mouth. ] I don't know what you're talking about. I'm still sleeping. [ as if to make the point, sam doesn't move an inch. not for ten, maybe twenty seconds, before he lets out a small huff. ] That's still creepy, by the way. [ he means that steve could tell he was awake from his breathing alone, but he doesn't care to elaborate, pushing to sit up straight and rub the last bits of the nap out of his eyes. ] How long do we have left?
S C R E A M S
nothing has ever been simple. not wars, not orders, not life. and after he lost riley, sam had lost his grasp on why he was doing anything at all. which probably makes it fitting, that as the days go on, steve feels things get more and more complicated, because if there was one thing that was crystal clear to sam, it had been that letting steve rogers (and natasha, of course) into his home that day had been the right decision.
even now, as they bounce between countries, chasing ghosts and stories and rumors and the listless look in steve's face when he looks a little less captain and a little more steve rogers, sam doesn't regret it. he checks in with sarah when he can, thinks about her when he can't, and gets up each day with a kind of purpose and motivation that sam hasn't felt in what, honestly feels like years. though, really, if he's being honest, he's not waking up each day because that assumes he slept the night before and didn't just grab naps during any possibly stretch of a few hours he can find. because while steve gets to have some fancy super-soldier serum that apparently made it so he didn't need to sleep. ever. like a normal human.
it works for sam, though. with how often they fly, he takes his few hours the second they take off. something about the seat, the hum of the engine, the knowledge that there are a couple of hours and very little else to do, and sam just passes out. this flight had been no different, except that apparently, at some point, he'd shifted where his head was laying. sam didn't realize this, of course, until he eased back into consciousness and noticed where his head was laying, how much of him was pressed against steve's shoulder. he was warm, and it was comfortable, and sam wondered briefly about the last time he felt comfortable enough to fall asleep on someone's shoulder and that the someone had been comfortable enough to let him sleep.
he can hear steve's breathing, steady and calm and slow, and for a few minutes, sam just lets himself listen to it. though, apparently, those few moments are long enough for steve to notice.
sam lets a very small smile tug at the corner of his mouth. ] I don't know what you're talking about. I'm still sleeping. [ as if to make the point, sam doesn't move an inch. not for ten, maybe twenty seconds, before he lets out a small huff. ] That's still creepy, by the way. [ he means that steve could tell he was awake from his breathing alone, but he doesn't care to elaborate, pushing to sit up straight and rub the last bits of the nap out of his eyes. ] How long do we have left?