okay but can you imagine like
a week after your truck gets stolen out of the goddamn mall parking lot, you get a knock on the door and there’s fucking Captain America standing there. Says he’s here about your goddamn truck. And for a moment you wonder if…
So I’ve decided Steve totally wore that unbelievably tight shirt as a way of getting Sam’s attention.
He spots Sam while they’re both running, but he can’t think of how to start a conversation that won’t be awkward.
He mentions it to Natasha during one of her insistent and almost always bizarrely-timed attempts to improve his love life.
“There’s a guy on my jogging route,” he admits, ducking bullets or punches or both.
“You should talk to him,” Natasha says as she drops another mercenary.
Steve dodges a knife swing and knocks the guy unconscious. “I don’t even know his name.”
“That’s what the talking’s for.”
“We’re always both running, isn’t there some kind of etiquette about not interrupting?”
“Depends,” she says, snatching a rifle from the guy aiming at her and smoothly dismantling it into three pieces before hitting him over the head with one of them. She drops the pieces on his prone form with a shrug and looks at Steve. “Just how desperate are you?”
Steve pauses for a millisecond. “What am I gonna say?”
He only ever passes by the guy, and they both keep to their own bit of path; it’s not like he needs to yell ‘watch out’.
She smirks as they walk to their extraction point. “You’ll think of something. And if that fails then just a wear a smaller size of whatever you usually go running in.”
He makes a face. “Really?”
“You have assets, Rogers, it’s just good sense to use them to their full effect.”
The chopper’s close enough Steve can hear the rotors whumping. “Fine, but if it doesn’t work you can’t try and fix me up for a month.”
She smirks again but doesn’t say anything, which means she’s planning something.
When he wakes up the next morning, the shirt’s sitting neatly folded on his bedside table. He’s given up asking Natasha not to pick the locks.
The note placed on top reads “Desperate times…”
Even if he can’t think of anything better in the moment than ‘on your left’, it only takes a few repetitions to get a response, and he’s only a little worried about the shirt cutting off the circulation in his arms.
The guy’s name is Sam.
It’s all worth it.
psi-neko asked: Something with Sam getting his wings back? He did say there was only one left and Bucky broke that one. He must have been pretty happy that he can get them back. (I imagine that Tony took it as a challenge to build wings)
Sam was waiting for Steve on a park bench. There were a lot of superhero things that Sam didn’t qualify for, especially now that he was wingless. That was fine, mostly, but suggesting Captain America steal his wings back for him had only been 50% because Captain America needed his help.
The other 50% had been—would always be—that he loved to fly.
But he could do waiting. He’d been flightless most of his life. He could sit stuff out.
Someone sat next to him on the bench. He looked up and had that weird feeling he got a lot with Steve’s friends—that feeling that he knew their face but only through a TV.
"Hi?" he ventured.
"I know something about having a best friend who runs around in a superhero outfit," the guy said. "And I know a little bit about needing to fly, too."
"OK…good," said Sam. "Good…for you?"
The guy rolled his eyes. “See, my best friend is Tony Stark—” oh, Rhodes, this was Colonel Rhodes, and Sam tried to sit up straighter “—and I had to steal my wings right out from under him.”
"Sir?" said Sam.
"I want you back in the air, Sam," said Rhodes. "Because Steve needs you there."
"It’s not entirely in my control, sir," said Sam.
Rhodes lowered his aviator sunglasses on his nose and looked at Sam over the rim. “The information I am about to give you is so classified, it’s not even classified, you feel me?”
"OK, this is how you annoy Tony Stark into making you the fancy toys…"