prompt: you fell asleep on my shoulder on the plane ride and i would ask you to move but you look so comfy and adorable when you sleep. also you smell really good and the feeling of your breath on my skin is somewhat relaxing maybe we can go out to lunch in this shitty airport when you wake up?
---
( in this new world, every direction he glances in raises a new argument from his moral compass. sometimes, regardless of the amount of missions and real-life experiences he walks into, it feels like maybe he's never going to lose his sentimentality for the forties. things weren't any easier back then ( as much as he likes to protest the opposite ) but the world felt smaller. from hydra to s.h.i.e.l.d. to the avengers — it just never gets to be black and white. it's about power: who has it and who wants to take it. one person's best intentions to save humanity usually transform into something ungodly, warped into an ideology that people have to be wiped out for something better to emerge.
they're between wars, which means that steve's mind isn't on what could possibly crawl out of the depths of hell next, it's on the mission at hand. in four more hours, they'll be on another continent, following ghost stories from the mouths of locals. he stops asking sam why he's doing this and trades the inquiries for needless reminders that he doesn't have to follow him, or that he's done plenty and he can leave whenever he likes on the next flight stateside.
he doesn't.
it's part of the reason why when sam dozes off in the seat next to him on the jet, steve doesn't shrug him off into the window to teach him about personal space with a sunburn. he lets him sleep because he's keenly aware of the sleeplessness that comes with the job. he's puzzled over the maps, spent the last 72 hours with headphones in more often than not, trying to pick up key phrases without sounding like a tourist. there's no escaping his well-known looks, although he will do whatever he can to throw smoke.
at the moment, he's practicing mindfulness. he figures if he paces back and forth long enough, he'll tear a hole in the cabin floor. the strokes of his pencil against paper are cathartic in their own creative way, giving him an outlet that's vastly different from using his hands for violence. the other part of the reason he allows sam to sleep long after his shoulder gets tense and his bicep goes a bit dead is because he looks peaceful. his cologne or aftershave isn't totally intolerable either. it's less bothersome than it is when his breath fans against his neck, touching one of the few patches of exposed skin on his body. it's weirdly comforting, like knowing there's a knife under your pillow or someone in the cot beside you. it's nice — nice being the luxury steve doesn't permit himself to have as far as intimacy is concerned.
he won't draw something personal with sam around. these sketchbooks have served as visual journals for him in the past. so he's touching up the falcon's wings, the actual bird, when he speaks up. ) How long have you been pretending to be asleep?
[ 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?
( 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.
[ that's a bit the pot calling the kettle black, isn't it? because alright, sam's not the type to downplay his own worth. he's done too much self-inspired therapy to know how dangerous that is for your own self-worth and mental health, but if they wanted to get technical here - steve was the special one. a man lost to time, a super human asleep in the ice. a soldier, home from war, given very little if anything at all in terms of help with adjusting.
sam had his issues with the armed forces, with the way the government treated the people they created and molded and left out to dry. whether it's the air force, the army, shield - it's all the same. all systems not built for the care and support that they promise to provide. sam knows what it feels like to find someone who you would risk your everything for, just to protect, and the bond built when you know they would do the same - but steve rogers doesn't just need another soldier, but someone to remind him of...well. what? that there's something worth coming back to? that he's more than just the serum in his veins? sam is working out exactly what he's meant to be, here, but for now there's no question that he wants to be here to do just that.
plus the fancy planes? he could get used to travel, like this. (and maybe even used to naps, here, on soft shoulders and warm bodies, but that's something else entirely)
as he sits up, snorting once at steve's comments - he likes those moments, when steve gives back as much as he gets. it's half the reason sam knows he can joke with him, when he can see steve rise to meet him. to joke in turn. the smiles and laughs he can drag out of steve are the better moments, between them, and he knows they have enough battles under their belt to not worry about how in sync they can be when they want to. ]
Too late. [ sam stretches, pulling away just enough that he doesn't clock steve across the face as he does it. sam's eyes go to the sketchbook on the table. steve's drawing had been something of a surprise to sam, though he supposes it shouldn't have. whether or not captain america was good at art hadn't been in all the propaganda exhibit he'd gone to, but then again - this is steve, the brief glimpses sam likes to hold for himself.
his eyes catch the falcon, the wings spread across the paper, and sam feels himself smile a bit at the image, before he's turning back to steve with an incredulous look. ] First off- I don't snore. Natasha snores. Second, that would leave you bored and restless and we all know how dangerous that can get. [ it's said casually, though sam wonders if the familiarity is too soon. he decides to keep going with it, settling back into the cushions of the chair. thank you tony stark. ]
You heard the woman. She doesn’t snore. That was a sinus infection. ( spoken like a man with no conviction but plenty of self-preservation. he likes the part where natasha doesn’t allow them to take a few extra smacks to the head on the field because “they look like they had it under control.” does he agree with sam? absolutely. the lady sounds like an engine when she lets her guard down enough to crash out. doesn’t matter because there’s an allegation that’s more pressing that needs attention. )
Dangerous? Who are you calling dangerous? ( he strives to come across as cautionary and all he manages is an emphasis on amused. the laugh barely contained at the edge of his voice doesn’t do him any favors. ) I’ll have you know that while the rest of you were dreaming, I haven’t rerouted the flight path once.
( he did have an anchor in the shape of his companion on his shoulder and that is entirely not the point being made here. irrelevant to the point. with the stretching out of the way and his hands unoccupied, he turns in his seat as much as he can. steve wants to face sam without craning his neck. )
I was thinking we hope like hell that these aliases Natasha procured hold up under scrutiny. Maybe try not to get caught. ( better than most he understands what it is to squander time and to avoid something solely due to unpredictable or undesirable results. there's no path around, only through. as much as he dislikes darkening the energy between them by moving away from levity, it's as good a time as any. ) We need wheels. I decided against hiring a driver. Thought we would spare ourselves one set of ears. We still have a four hour drive ahead of us. This airport is the closest they could get us without clearing air restrictions and raising red flags.
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you can't blame me, it was the prompt
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?
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.
i will always be happy to be bothered by you
sam had his issues with the armed forces, with the way the government treated the people they created and molded and left out to dry. whether it's the air force, the army, shield - it's all the same. all systems not built for the care and support that they promise to provide. sam knows what it feels like to find someone who you would risk your everything for, just to protect, and the bond built when you know they would do the same - but steve rogers doesn't just need another soldier, but someone to remind him of...well. what? that there's something worth coming back to? that he's more than just the serum in his veins? sam is working out exactly what he's meant to be, here, but for now there's no question that he wants to be here to do just that.
plus the fancy planes? he could get used to travel, like this. (and maybe even used to naps, here, on soft shoulders and warm bodies, but that's something else entirely)
as he sits up, snorting once at steve's comments - he likes those moments, when steve gives back as much as he gets. it's half the reason sam knows he can joke with him, when he can see steve rise to meet him. to joke in turn. the smiles and laughs he can drag out of steve are the better moments, between them, and he knows they have enough battles under their belt to not worry about how in sync they can be when they want to. ]
Too late. [ sam stretches, pulling away just enough that he doesn't clock steve across the face as he does it. sam's eyes go to the sketchbook on the table. steve's drawing had been something of a surprise to sam, though he supposes it shouldn't have. whether or not captain america was good at art hadn't been in all the propaganda exhibit he'd gone to, but then again - this is steve, the brief glimpses sam likes to hold for himself.
his eyes catch the falcon, the wings spread across the paper, and sam feels himself smile a bit at the image, before he's turning back to steve with an incredulous look. ] First off- I don't snore. Natasha snores. Second, that would leave you bored and restless and we all know how dangerous that can get. [ it's said casually, though sam wonders if the familiarity is too soon. he decides to keep going with it, settling back into the cushions of the chair. thank you tony stark. ]
So what's the plan once we touch down?
no subject
Dangerous? Who are you calling dangerous? ( he strives to come across as cautionary and all he manages is an emphasis on amused. the laugh barely contained at the edge of his voice doesn’t do him any favors. ) I’ll have you know that while the rest of you were dreaming, I haven’t rerouted the flight path once.
( he did have an anchor in the shape of his companion on his shoulder and that is entirely not the point being made here. irrelevant to the point. with the stretching out of the way and his hands unoccupied, he turns in his seat as much as he can. steve wants to face sam without craning his neck. )
I was thinking we hope like hell that these aliases Natasha procured hold up under scrutiny. Maybe try not to get caught. ( better than most he understands what it is to squander time and to avoid something solely due to unpredictable or undesirable results. there's no path around, only through. as much as he dislikes darkening the energy between them by moving away from levity, it's as good a time as any. ) We need wheels. I decided against hiring a driver. Thought we would spare ourselves one set of ears. We still have a four hour drive ahead of us. This airport is the closest they could get us without clearing air restrictions and raising red flags.
So...first order of business: you hungry?