( sam is special. steve knew that from the first conversation. the connection of coming back to civilian life after what might as well have been a lifetime in the military, even if realistically it hadn't been. time moves differently in the service of one's country because the most basic mission with the wrong intel or a misstep can become the mission that ends all of them. it's a bond he can't verbalize to natasha when they're running from an infiltrated s.h.i.e.l.d., he's still glad that she never asked. he didn't have a reason beyond that, steve had just known somehow that whereas he felt like he still didn't belong here, sam did. he could help and it would mean something. without knowing it, he had invested hope in a friend that reminded him of what wanting to change the world really looked like.
it's somehow fitting that he's the falcon, taking flight like a new beginning. hope without a lackluster gleam. the thoughts are too heavy for him to sift through stoically with nothing but the white noise of the engine for company. truth be told, he should probably take a page from sam's book and recline back, catch some shut-eye while they're thousands of miles above the ocean and presumably without a care in the universe. insomnia finds steve for a multitude of reasons: the self-afflicted burden of duty, the serum that separates him from normal humans, and the nearly 70-year ice nap, to name a few. he's too stubborn to spend eight hours a night motionless, although he does catch three to four as needed.
he has tunnel vision when it comes to bucky and it's like nothing else matters, not sleep, not eating, not regrouping, second only to saving the world. ( and steve doesn't know that it actually is second. ) he's relieved to have sam with him because he serves like an anchor to reality. a reminder that while he may have lost nearly everything to time, he's needed in this era. this may not be his america but the people here need protecting. these days, he's not positive who the bully is. )
In that case, go back into deep sleep. Not this R.E.M. talking-in-your-dreams cycle. ( his own smile comes in reply at it being creepy. he feels the change in sam's breathing, which is a much less creepy explanation than say hearing it. he's right there huffing on him, how can he not? he lets sam believe he's more powerful and gifted than he actually is. deeper breaths traded for shallow, more controlled ones. it's pretty obvious or maybe just for the kid from brooklyn, who would roll over on couch cushions on the floor and ask: are you still awake? )
A little over an hour now, give or take. ( he hasn't glanced at his watch in awhile, nor has he stretched and bothered their pilot. steve takes the opportunity to set his pencil in the center of the sketchbook and tosses it down on the accent table in front of them. he doesn't want to think about what he owes tony for borrowing his personal jet with all the bells and whistles. frankly, it's a little too showy for him. the seats are plush enough that he doesn't have to fret over elbowing sam in the jaw when he stretches his arms above his head. ) Honestly? Figured I'd let you snore until the wheels were out.
i am here to personally bother you ty
it's somehow fitting that he's the falcon, taking flight like a new beginning. hope without a lackluster gleam. the thoughts are too heavy for him to sift through stoically with nothing but the white noise of the engine for company. truth be told, he should probably take a page from sam's book and recline back, catch some shut-eye while they're thousands of miles above the ocean and presumably without a care in the universe. insomnia finds steve for a multitude of reasons: the self-afflicted burden of duty, the serum that separates him from normal humans, and the nearly 70-year ice nap, to name a few. he's too stubborn to spend eight hours a night motionless, although he does catch three to four as needed.
he has tunnel vision when it comes to bucky and it's like nothing else matters, not sleep, not eating, not regrouping, second only to saving the world. ( and steve doesn't know that it actually is second. ) he's relieved to have sam with him because he serves like an anchor to reality. a reminder that while he may have lost nearly everything to time, he's needed in this era. this may not be his america but the people here need protecting. these days, he's not positive who the bully is. )
In that case, go back into deep sleep. Not this R.E.M. talking-in-your-dreams cycle. ( his own smile comes in reply at it being creepy. he feels the change in sam's breathing, which is a much less creepy explanation than say hearing it. he's right there huffing on him, how can he not? he lets sam believe he's more powerful and gifted than he actually is. deeper breaths traded for shallow, more controlled ones. it's pretty obvious or maybe just for the kid from brooklyn, who would roll over on couch cushions on the floor and ask: are you still awake? )
A little over an hour now, give or take. ( he hasn't glanced at his watch in awhile, nor has he stretched and bothered their pilot. steve takes the opportunity to set his pencil in the center of the sketchbook and tosses it down on the accent table in front of them. he doesn't want to think about what he owes tony for borrowing his personal jet with all the bells and whistles. frankly, it's a little too showy for him. the seats are plush enough that he doesn't have to fret over elbowing sam in the jaw when he stretches his arms above his head. ) Honestly? Figured I'd let you snore until the wheels were out.