i loved that sam and avengers fic! could you write one of sam trying to go on a trip away from saving the world and avengers not getting that he wants to relax alone? bonus bucky watching over his house while he is away...
Sam had the bag over his shoulder and the key in the lock and he was so sure he’d get out. No Avenger had camped out on his sofa for a good week, vacation would happen. He wasn’t asking for much, just a weekend at his sister’s house in Georgia. Just enough time to quiet all that noise he was getting from his mom about not being an “active part of his extended family.”
The key clicked. Then it unclicked from the inside. Sam rolled his eyes.
"Man, you people are gonna give me a complex," he said as the door swung open. "You know if a supervillain actually tried to kill me by sneaking into my apartment, by this point I’d probably be halfway to making him chicken noodle soup by the time he got the garotte around my neck?”
Bucky glowered. Then he noticed the duffel bag.
"Are you—" Bucky started to ask, frowning at the bag. "Do you need a place to lie low?”
Then Sam made a huge mistake. He should have known better, but apparently there was a self-preservation gene missing from his DNA or something.
"Right," he said sarcastically. "Sure, I need a place to lie low. I’m totally on the run right now. While I’m gone, feel free to drink my beer.”
Bucky’s frown deepened.
In hindsight, Sam should have known that meant shit was about to get real.
He had gotten maybe twenty miles down I-95 when a crazy wind started to buffet the car. About ten seconds after that, the sky had turned entirely gray and what looked like some sort of tornado was forming directly over his car.
"Fuck me,” Sam said earnestly. He pulled onto the shoulder and waited.
Thor landed with a thud and a decent-sized crater a moment later.
"Friend Sam," he boomed. "Fear not. I have come to your aid."
"Oh good," said Sam and hit his head on his steering wheel.
"Do he villains force you to harm yourself?" asked Thor, approaching the driver-side window. He tapped on it and the window cracked a little. "Instruct them to make themselves apparent that we may fight like warriors!"
"There are no—”
And then there was a screech of metal and Iron Man arrived with Captain America. The decent-sized crater was now expanded.
"Sam, can you tell us—" Steve started to ask.
"I can do a scan of—" Tony said at the same time, flipping the mask open.
"Fuck. My. Life," said Sam earnestly.
Then a voice piped up from his own back seat.
"I’m guessing you’re not actually being kidnapped, huh?" said Clint. Sam had definitely looked in his rear view mirror many, many times in the twenty miles it had taken him to get this far and Clint had not been there.
"Pssh, like this is the first time I stowed away in a car," said Clint, reading the question on Sam’s face.
"Were you in the trunk?" Sam asked, morbidly curious.
Clint shrugged. “If I told you, I’d have to—you know.” He smiled. “Anyway, Tasha and Bucky have hijacked a six-wheeler and are ten minutes out.”
Sam pulled out his phone and texted his sister that he might be a bit late. Traffic, he said. Super traffic.
The pattern starts forming: after the big missions, the normal humans on the team tend to have shit to do in the medical floor Stark made for the Tower. And they tend to have to stay there a while.
It’s not like it’s on purpose or something anyone is conscious of, but the Steve Rogers and Bruce Banners of the world basically can shake off the gaping intestinal wound and finish watching the film they’d had on pause since being called out to fight aliens. The Clint Bartons and Sam Wilsons, on the other hand, have to wait for neck braces and dislocated shoulders to be fixed.
The first time it happens, Barton just nods to Sam and sits in stony silence for the twenty minutes it takes a nurse to bandage all the abrasions on his arms—arms which, of course, he hadn’t bothered to even clothe let alone wear significant kevlar protection. Sam’s got a pretty significant gouge out of his left shoulder so he’s not entirely up for conversation either.
The second time, Sam’s there because one of his own wings erupted and is sort of stuck in his back. Barton’s there because he fell badly and something’s wrong with his right foot.
"Taking the bird thing a bit literally," he says after a half hour.
Sam blinks. He honestly thought they weren’t ever going to talk.
"Fuck you and the bow and arrow you rode in on," he says.
Somehow, that makes Barton grin.
The third time, Barton’s whole left side is covered in burns and Sam’s just got a sprained wrist but he’s in no rush because clearly every doctor in the entire building so be dealing with the dude whose left side is entirely covered in burns.
"You get that I’m the one with the wings, right?” Sam says.
Barton grunts but it’s sort of a quizzical grunt so Sam continues.
"I mean, of the birds on this team," he says. "Let’s count how many of us should actually be jumping off cliffs into pits of fire."
Barton huffs a laugh.
"Because one of us earned their bird name," Sam says. "And the other’s all talk."
"Your face is all talk," Barton says, his voice gravelly and strained.
"Yeah, but my face can fly.”
The fourth time, they have matching bullet wounds. Nobody says anything and the machines just keep beeping quietly.
The fifth time, Barton’s jaw is broken so Sam takes the opportunity to explain how if he wanted to pick a bird based purely on eyesight, there are better options than a hawk. Falcons, for example. Super good eyesight.
The sixth time, it’s clear Barton—Clint, he corrects when Sam says it out loud—has been watching some Planet Earth. Sam decide’s to call him “Cooper’s Hawk” for a while.
"The male is smaller than the female," he explains. "Seemed appropriate."
Oh god, and half the time they're making stuff up, but eventually Sam starts catching on, and Natasha's around them enough that she gets the gist of everything and then the four of them DESCEND upon Tony Stark and just olde-timey-slang at him and he just gets more and more confused until the foursome breaks down crying with laughter at his expression
(I don’t know what came over me. I kind of want to publish this, so I’m warning for spoilers for people who haven’t seen the movie, so that filters can catch this.)
"What is this; S.H.I.E.L.D.’s gone, so you all joined the mafia?"
Surprisingly enough, it was Bucky who cracked first.
It started out as a quiet wheeze, unusual but not unheard of after a battle. The battle had been over for hours now, though, so the excuse was a shaky one, and only got as the wheeze gained volume and force, and turned into an outright snicker.
Steve and Sam cracked next in quick succession.
Trying to hold it in only made it worse for Sam, when it finally broke through as a loud noise best copied down for posterity as “PFFBBT!”
Steve wholeheartedly surrendered to the hilarity with a smile so wide his face hurt, laughing long and loud because these were his friends, and there was nothing better than to see them, all of them, able to smile and joke like this.
"Just call me Grifter Moll, pally." Natasha drawled in an intentionally bad Brooklyn accent, smiling not just with her eyes, or mouth, but with her whole face. She threw a wink Bucky’s way, and he clung to Steve to keep from doubling over under renewed laughter.
Tony raised his hands, and slowly backed away. “JARVIS, make a note; never drink the water in D.C.”
What if word gets around that if you show up to sam's house he'll patch you up and make breakfast
Apparently, searching for the Winter Soldier means moving to New York and hell no is Sam Wilson moving to Brooklyn.
"Nah, man," he explained. "I love you like whoa, but hell no. Harlem or bust."
Steve didn’t get it, but whatever. He offered to let Sam have his floor in Stark’s godawful tower, but again: hell to the no.
"I know people in Harlem," he explained further.
He should have known that sentence would put a cloud over Steve, but at least the argument held water for him. That was what Brooklyn was about, anyway. He was going to where he used to have people.
So Sam moved back to Harlem.
At three AM on a Thursday night, the buzzer for the front door of his apartment went off.
"If you’re here to kill me, come back in at least five hours," he told whoever it was through the intercom.
"Sorry, Sam," came Natasha’s voice. "We need a place to lie low."
Fucking whatever. He buzzed her up.
She had a different buff, blonde superhero with her this time. He introduced himself as Clint and shook Sam’s hand. Then he winced and shook out his hand which Sam could now see was turning no-good-very-bad colors.
Natasha shrugged. “You should see the other guy,” she said.
"Other guys,” Clint corrected. “So many other guys. At least twenty.”
Sam raised an eyebrow.
"Fifty," Clint continued. "Probably fifty."
Sam repeated internally: fucking whatever.
"I left my straightener in DC," he told Natasha. "Bad for your hair anyway."
"Please," she scoffed. "Straight hair is so last year."
Two months later, Clint showed up with Bruce Banner. A lot of people in Harlem knew about Bruce Banner.
Sam put on the Enya CD he always told people he only had because an ex left it in his apartment. (This was a lie.)
Clint gave him a look.
"Look, Harlem thanks the dude for stopping the other dinosaur dude and everything," Sam explained. "But he is not allowed to break my apartment. I don’t have the funds to build a new one from scratch."
Bruce looked…not green, not in the bad way, but green like sea-sick sort of green. Like a hangover or something. His head was lolling and Clint was basically holding him upright.
Bruce Banner showed up in the daylight hours two days later with Tony Stark. Tony made fun of Sam’s CD collection. Bruce Banner fixed his leaky shower.
Sam thought to himself, OK, this is my life now.
Tony had to help with the shower. It went off and soaked them both and they left wearing all of Sam’s clean jogging clothes.
Steve came by with the Winter Soldier—“he’s Bucky"—in the middle of the night a couple weeks later.
Sam kept the place stocked with first aid kits and poptarts these days.
About an hour after they arrived, Natasha and Thor arrived. Then ten minutes later, Clint and Tony. Then Bruce.
"Everybody gets poptarts and beer," Sam announced as he ushered Bruce in. "It’s all I have on hand."
The Winter Soldier—Bucky—looked so fucking stunned at the suggestion that Sam made a bag of microwave popcorn just to fill the sudden depth of “feed this boy” feelings that had swelled up. It was something he inherited from his mom, no doubt. She was always feeding people who looked like that.
Yeah. This was his life now.
There were superheroes having a slumber party in his living room.
Finally saw Cap 2, and I won’t post any spoilers but…
I DON’T KNOW WHAT I SHIP ANYMORE. There’s like so many good pairings, and I was already kind of mixing and matching with the Avengers. Can I just give up, throw them all in a bowl and toss them like a salad and call that my OT-insert number here? ORGIES FOR ALL