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Chapter Text

They were fighting those 'New World Order' or whatever shmucks on the trucks when the man hanging onto the side of the truck pulled out a weird-ass gun. He aimed down at Bucky, who was hanging on for dear life. The man was harshly and consistently stomping his foot on Bucky's arm.

Sam tried to swoop in. To grab the gun or the man, he didn't know - he just needed to stop him. The opening between the the trucks suddenly shrunk, almost catching Sam in-between. He swore and shot to the side. He avoided crashing into a honking car by just a hair.

The new asshole dressed as Steve and his buddy were occupied with the other people on top. Sam didn't care about them. He flew alongside one truck, just above the asphalt. Dirt and pebbles nicked at his face. Thank Christ for goggles. He looked to the side and saw Bucky. A retort rose on Sam's tongue, but he swallowed it. He couldn't waste time. Instead, he shouted "Hey!"

Bucky looked at him. In that moment, Bucky lost his focus.

With one final stomp, his metal arm lost its grip and flung onto the asphalt, dragging behind him and creating sparks in its wake. Sam steeled his nerves, knowing Bucky couldn't hold on. Not with a gun in play.

Sam dove under the truck. His arms were outstretched, ready to grab his target. He made contact and immediately wrapped his arms around Bucky, cradling his head. Just as Sam snatched Bucky off the truck, a shot went off. Something hit Sam's leg, exactly where there was no padding to protect him. He grunted.

Sam's momentum carried himself and Bucky straight off the road and into the field of flowers beside it. Sam twisted so he hit the ground first and tucked his wings away. The wind was knocked clear out of him as his back hit the dirt. With no way to stop, they started to roll. Sam tightened his grip, determined to not let Bucky go. The roll ended with Sam on the bottom, much to his dismay. Bucky was heavy.

"Could have used that shield," Bucky said through gritted teeth.

"Get offa me," Sam wheezed. Bucky hesitated - Sam's heart skipped a beat - and then rolled off, landing on his back. Sam ignored the hand on his chest in favour of catching his breath.

"Those were all super soldiers, Sam," Bucky said, panting.

Sam's leg ached. He prayed it wasn't as bad as his mind told him it was. "I know," Sam said, voice strained. From hitting the ground so hard or from the bullet in his thigh, he didn't know. Probably both. Sam lifted his head, eager to get at least one edge in. "You're welcome, by the way."

Bucky just grunted. Sam groaned as he sat up. He bent his leg and felt around the back of his thigh. It hurt, but he couldn't find any marks. Not even a single rip.

"You hit?" Bucky asked, and was that concern Sam detected?

"Thought I was," Sam said, lifting his lip in a distasteful sneer. "Felt the bullet, but there's no sign of it."

Bucky also sat up. "Let me see."

Sam scoffed. "And let you stare at my ass? Nuh-uh." He got to his feet, swearing. Bucky stood and Sam knew he was looking anyway.

"There's nothing," Bucky said.

"Yeah, like I said. Must have been a Nerf dart or something."

"I wouldn't trust that. Keep an eye on it - could have been an actual dart and it was knocked free when we landed."

Sam had to admit that Bucky had a point. Who knows what kind of tech those people had? If they were all super soldiers, they had their hands on a lot more than Nerf guns.

A smirk worked its way onto Sam's face as he wiped grass and dirt off his suit. "Hey. That little girl kicked your ass."

Nothing came of the potential dart wound. Sam had a mild hitch in his stride when they first started walking, but the pain quickly went away. He forgot about it entirely. He was too distracted by the real pain in the ass, James Walker. The 'new Captain America.' Sam had no right to be pissed at the guy, but he couldn't fight that biting sting in his heart that arose whenever he looked at that dick and his bridge of a jawline. It wasn't just anger that gnawed at him. It was betrayal, too. Betrayal from Steve, from the government. . . hell, from himself.

Then he met Isaiah and he felt betrayed by Bucky, too. Just a bit, because it wasn't Bucky's fault. Ultimately, he was angry at the government. For so many things, not just superhero related.

They had their couples' therapy session and Sam wished he could put into the right words why he didn't keep the shield. Bucky wouldn't understand. He could never understand. Sam wished that Bucky could. He wished he had someone to explain everything to, but even that therapist wasn't cut out for the job. And so Sam walked out, feeling more than a little guilty after Bucky's frankly heartbreaking words. It's not that, Sam wanted to say. He wasn't wrong about you, Buck. But the words wouldn't come out. They got caught in his throat and something worse came out instead. Bucky followed after him. Sam almost apologized, but his pride and nerves were strong.

A police siren whooped, interrupting any potential of making it up to the man. They spoke with Walker and his buddy, Lamar Hoskins. Walker's parting words left an acrid taste in Sam's mouth. He put his hand on Bucky's shoulder and led him to the rent-a-car that Sam drove to the station. When Bucky suggested speaking to Zemo, Sam had to disagree. Zemo had purposefully opened a rift between the Avengers. He assassinated King T'Chaka. He was bad news all around and it was a horrible idea to even consider seeing him. But Bucky wore him down and Sam reluctantly agreed: they were going to see Zemo.

"I hate that Walker guy," Bucky said into his fist, elbow planted on the door. Sam turned the key and the engine coughed to life. He didn't say it was a nice car - it was clean and it worked. That's all that mattered.

Although, there was a suspicious stain on the floor in the back. Probably vomit.

Hopefully vomit.

"Something else we can agree on," Sam said, aiming a smile Bucky's way. He put the car in reverse and twisted around to back out of the lot. He regretted his remark about going separate ways. He was just so angry and frustrated. . . it just came out. It was too late to take it back now. No, it's not, Sam's conscience told him. You're just on too high of a horse to say anything.

"You have a place?" Sam asked his passenger as he pulled onto the road.

"Not around here," Bucky said. "I'll find a cardboard box or something."

Sam laughed. When he glanced at Bucky, he found that Bucky wasn't laughing.

"You serious?" Sam said, taken aback. He didn't. . .

Bucky shrugged. Sam gaped. Then Bucky said, "Yeah, I'm kidding."

Sam chuckled, unsettled. "I can give you a ride back to Brooklyn." He reached into his pocket and grabbed his phone. He quickly opened it and held it out to Bucky. "Hey, mind setting us a route to the airport?"

Sam felt Bucky take the phone. After about a minute of nothing, Sam glanced at him.

"You're kidding," Sam said, pleading. Bucky didn't know how to use Google maps.

"Shut up. I got it." Bucky hunched over the phone, randomly tapping the screen. Then the Google voice told them to take a right. Sam let out a relieved sigh and flicked on his turn signal.

The airport with their ride was in rural country, out of the city. It was a half-hour drive, which would most likely be spent in awkward silence. Sam would not stand for that. He reached over to turn on the radio.

Pain split up his side.

Sam yelled. He twisted in his seat, back arching and fingers curling. He yanked the wheel and the car careened off the road, out of danger. He slammed his thumb into the seatbelt release.

Sam gasped for air. His eyes scrunched shut and his arms bent into his chest. Bucky was holding his bicep, metal fingers firm through the material of his glove.

"Sam! Sam, what's happening?"

"Fuck," Sam croaked. The pain was spreading throughout his body, all of it originating from that fucking spot on the back of his thigh. It came in pulses, first in his leg then through the rest of him.

He opened his eyes to meet into Bucky's urgent ones. "Hospital," Sam said. He yelled out again. His body tried to curl into a ball but it physically couldn't, not with the wheel in the way.

Bucky jumped out of the car. He ran around and opened the driver's side door.

"I'm putting you in the backseat," Bucky told him. Sam rapid-fire nodded. Bucky scooped him up and laid Sam in the back, buckling him in with one seatbelt across Sam's chest and one across his legs.

The buckles dug into his hip and shoulder, but Sam didn't give a damn. He didn't care about comfort. His entire body was burning and freezing and convulsing with pain. His jaw clenched to the point that his teeth ached. It was nothing compared to the fire and acid and electricity coursing through his veins.

Bucky slid into the driver's seat. The engine roared and Sam jerked as the car was suddenly thrust into motion. He moaned as the car did a fierce u-turn, successfully throwing what was left of Sam's dinner into his throat. Sam swallowed it down.

He was shivering and sweating at the same time. He hugged himself as his knees bent toward his chest. Tears spilled down his cheeks. He cried out when pressure squeezed his organs into jelly. His head pounded like a fucking racehorse, just trampling his skull over and over again with stomping, merciless hooves. He held his head. He was both unbearably hot and unbearably cold.

"Hold on, Sam," Bucky said, urgent and firm. Sam barely processed the words. "Just hold on."

"Nghh," Sam moaned in reply. His sweaty and violently shaking hands fumbled with the seatbelt, stuffing it in his mouth. He bit down on the disgusting material and screamed into it. Screaming brought little relief. His back arched with another wave of pure pain. The worst yet.

It tore through his very being. It ripped his skin with blades of scorching ice and crushed his bones into paste. It twisted everything inside him with a chain of pure, burning electricity. Acid boiled his blood. JUST END IT. FUCKING END IT. JUST KILL ME.

And then. . . it stopped.

Sam sobbed. Cool relief washed over him. He hugged himself tight, crying tears of joy.

It didn't last.

Sam's whole body shot forward, sailing through open air. His eyes snapped open to see dark plastic. He slammed into it. Air left him in a rush. He fell to the ground and rolled to a stop. He coughed and wheezed. He held his aching gut. It couldn't compare to the torture he'd just endured, but pain was pain.

Sam's whole world shook. He looked around the darkness in panic. Earthquake? Where was Bucky?

"The hell," Sam said, watching what he'd perceived to be a wall open outward, revealing a pair of massive trees. No no no - not trees.

Sam's eyes traveled up. And up. And up.

Legs. Attached to a giant torso with two arms and a head. Sam couldn't make out the head. His vision wasn't good enough, the pale face of the monster just a distant blur. The massive monster roared and Sam's hands slammed onto his ears. He winced.

It bent down, crawling onto the dark ledge above. Sam instinctively scooted backwards, into the intense shadows of a yawning cave mouth. He watched the giant look around. Searching.

For him. Sam's breath caught in his throat. It wants me.

He didn't know how he got here - maybe he teleported to another fucking planet - but he sure as shit wasn't gonna let it find him.

The monster shifted. Sam froze. One massive hand reached down for him. The fingers were spread, ready to snatch him up. He got to his feet, about to make a break for the cave, when the ground under his feet shook.

Sam cried out and went tumbling. He rolled right into the hand. It was solid underneath the black leather, with no give. Sam guessed that the hand wasn't made of flesh. Hopefully, that meant it didn't have nerves. That meant he didn't alert the giant. If he stayed quiet, he could run away.

The hand moved. The index finger went forward, right into his gut. Sam sucked in a breath through his teeth. It felt like a square punch to his stomach, except a whole lot worse. Like a car had just rammed straight into his gut.

Sam looked up, hoping the gigantic creature hadn't noticed him.

Once again, he froze.

"Oh, hell no," Sam said, shocked right to his core. The billboard-sized face was closer now. It wasn't blurry anymore. He could see all of the features on it, from the sharp nose to the mouth pressed in a thin line and the very clearly worried eyes. Such familar eyes on such a fucking familiar face.

The giant he'd been trying to run from. . .

It was Bucky.

Somehow, Bucky didn't look down. He was scanning the seat. His jaw shifted. His brows took a sudden slant and his lip curled. Anger. Sam did not want that anger directed at him. Not at this size. He might shrivel to dust - again - if that expression turned on him.

Movement. The massive hand under Sam was moving again. Sam swore as the fingers curled into a fist. To his relief, he rolled off. Sam landed on his back.

Sam's eyes grew wide. "Oh no."

Bucky was getting up. His chest heaved as he shifted his weight. His hand left and the knee that had previously been harmlessly planted on the floor now sailed overhead, a dirty black boot in its place. It was going to crush him.

Scenarios rushed through Sam's imagination. Choices filled his head. He could try to run away, avoiding the boot. He could remain frozen and let the boot land on him. He could call out.

There wasn't time and Sam didn't feel like dying today. He opted for options A and C.

He rolled onto his stomach, pain forgotten, and pushed himself up. He yelled as he did so, shouting "HEY - HEY! STOP!" at the top of his lungs. He hoped the titan above heard him. Or did he? He was conflicted about that. On one hand, Bucky would find him. On the other hand, Bucky would find him. Bucky was huge. Sam wasn't any bigger than a single finger on his metal hand. It was pants-pissingly terrifying.

Thankfully, he'd managed to keep control of his bladder. So far.

Sam stumbled as the ground shook, sending strong vibrations up his legs and throwing him off balance. He kept running, making for the cave. Which, he now knew, was the space under the passenger seat. It was so far away. For Bucky, it was just two feet. For Sam, it felt like a marathon.

Something wrapped around his torso.

Sam yelled. He kicked and punched. His fists bounced off the solid mass, useless and sore. It swiftly encircled his legs, trapping the entire lower half of his body within its confines and making kicking impossible. Sam gave up punching. He started pushing. He leaned back, pushing with all his might. He wiggled, but the hold was too tight.

Air rushed past him. He watched the floor of the car become a distant memory as he rose to nauseating heights. His wings were in a bag in the trunk. He couldn't save himself if he fell. Hell, the wings were massive now.

He was reminded of his fight with Scott. Is this what it felt like? Except Scott was smaller. He always shrunk down smaller than this.

Sam tried to judge his height against the hand. His best guess was four inches.

"What the fuck?"

Sam flinched at the voice. It was right in his ears. Hot air blew against his neck. He didn't want to see what awaited behind him.

He wasn't given a choice.

Fingers pinched his arms to his sides. The hand opened and he was free, only to have more fingers wrap around him in a grip just as strong.

Sam was right in front of Bucky's massive face. He could see every pore and hair. He could see the minuscule movements of pupils the size of his head adjusting to take in his small form. He could count the wrinkles around Bucky's eyes and on his brow.

The large, blue eyes that were scrunched thin with curiosity quickly became wide. Sam heard a small, sharp intake of breath below his eyeline.

"Sam," Bucky said, quiet and shocked.

Sam grimaced. His shoulders hitched up to his ears. He grabbed the glove between Bucky's thumb and index with an iron grip. "Heya, Buck."

Chapter Text

"What the hell?"

Bucky's voice was loud. Sam winced. His grip on Bucky's glove tightened. He didn't like heights. Not without his wings.

Sam was moving again. The motion stopped and he noticed that he now had a full view of that huge face. Bucky's hand opened and Sam fell into his bed-sized palm. Sam sat up, staring up at the gigantic man. Sam didn't realize the light inside the car was on till now. You'll use up the battery, he scorned in his mind.

"Hey," Sam said again, drawing his legs in.

Bucky's eyebrows knitted together. His lips pursed. "You're. . . tiny."

Sam scrubbed his face, mostly as an excuse to not meet the other man's intimidating stare. "Thank you for stating the obvious, Barnes." He could still snark, right? Just because he was significantly shorter didn't mean anything.

"How? What-"

Sam put his hand on Bucky's palm. He couldn't help noticing how his fingers fit into the wrinkles along the rubbery material. Bucky went quiet. "Could you put me down?" Sam prided himself for hiding the tremble in his voice.

"Yeah, yeah. Here." Bucky leaned into the car and let his hand hover over the farthest seat. Sam slid off, landing on the cushioned surface. His feet sank into it. It was a tad bouncy, enough for him to stumble when disembarking.

Sam steadied himself as the ground shook. His arms shot out, catching his balance with a few flaps. He turned and saw Bucky sitting on the other end of the bench. Sam was grateful for the space between them. Bucky pulled the door shut. Sam jumped at the resulting sound, like thunder. Or canon fire. Bucky's eyes fell on him, the man visibly in awe and visibly confused. Sam averted his gaze. He put a hand to his chest, feeling his stressed heart pounding away. It was a miracle he hadn't gone into cardiac arrest yet.

"What happened to you?" Bucky's voice, though soft, rumbled through the air. Now that. . . that was thunder. Like rolling thunder on a cool Summer day, foreshadowing the coming storm. Never booming, just steadily rumbling.

Sam inhaled, deep and calming. Hold for five. He exhaled just as deep. It was a meditation technique and it was very good at calming people down.

Sam was in desperate need of calming down.

"Don't ask stupid questions," Sam said. He couldn't hide the quiver in his voice this time. And fuck, Bucky heard it. Sam sat down. He rubbed his arms in an effort to comfort himself. He refused to look at the mountain of a man just a few - normal - feet to his left.

Silence fell over them. Sam focused on his own quiet breathing rather than the tame hurricane on the other side of the car.

"Sorry for grabbin' like that," Bucky said.

Sam shook his head. Voice a hoarse whisper, he said, "Just. . . don't do it again."

"I won't."

Sam jumped. He wasn't expecting Bucky to actually reply. "Jesus Christ. Forgot how freaky good your hearing is."

"It's not that good. I can't hear your heart or some shit like that." Fabric rustled. Sam turned his head to see Bucky crossing his arms. "Can you believe there are people who actually do that? And there are people who can find you by your scent." The man sighed. "Crazy world."

Sam looked at Bucky like he'd grown another head. Confidence surged within him, fueled by Bucky's casual attitude. "Why're you so talkative all of a sudden?"

Bucky looked at him. Something inside of Sam told him to Hide! Get away! It took so much strength for Sam to ignore that instinct. And he knew it was instinct - Sam was a soldier and an Avenger who had fought his fair share of battles. He knew what instinct felt like. This one? This was all flight.

Bucky shrugged. "Dunno. Thought you'd want to distract yourself. I don't know what-" he waved his hand at Sam "-that is like, but I know you're not a happy camper."

Sam felt his eyebrows raise. The retort was out before he could stop it. "'A happy camper?' Really?"

"Look, Sam, I am trying." Bucky narrowed his eyes at Sam. Sam shrunk in on himself. Here it was: here was that angry - More annoyed, really, he tried to reason - face, directed straight at him. This was how he was going to die. "I am trying to be understanding." Bucky pointed a finger at him. Sam looked at it, idly noting that said finger was longer than he was tall. How humiliating. "Don't be a dick about it. You're scared and lashing out, but lashing out at me isn't gonna help."

Sam sputtered out a half-manic laugh. "You get that from your therapist?"

Fuck. Fuck his habits. The banter was rolling right off his tongue and digging him an even deeper grave.

Bucky half-assed glowered before looking out the window. "Shut up."

Well, to say Sam was relieved was an understatement. It felt good to not be under the scrutiny of those beachball-sized eyes. Still. . . Sam felt bad. Yet again, his big mouth had gotten him in trouble with Bucky. Why couldn't he just let shit be?

Uncomfortable silence reigned inside the vehicle. Determined to heal at least one rift, Sam got up and hesitantly approached the giant form of Bucky. Bucky towered over him. The top of Sam's head didn't even reach his thigh. Sam felt so helpless. Bucky had effortlessly grabbed him in one hand. How could Sam compete with that? Shit, how could he fight that? He'd tried and it'd done jack squat. Even if it wasn't the metal arm, Sam couldn't escape.

Sam stuffed his hands in his pockets and tipped his head down to study the surface of the seat.

"Sorry," Sam said. Then he gagged, just to lighten the mood. And to keep up appearances; some internal nonsense about not showing weakness. Surely it was just his achey-breaky pride. "God, I can't believe I said that."

Bucky didn't react.

Sam heaved a sigh. Yeah, that wasn't nearly good enough. He knew it. Bucky knew it. Sam had to open his heart. Just a little bit; just enough to show Bucky what it was like. He didn't know what to say, though.

Sam took a deep breath. Start with the situation itself. Tell him how it feels. Confident, he started talking with nothing but honesty in his tone. "It is tough," he admitted. "Everything in me is telling me to run away. To find a little cubby hole or some shit and hide." Sam rubbed his forehead with another difficult sigh. "And, apparently, spill my guts out. Goddammit. Just- giants are new, okay? Except Scott that one time, but that was different. He wasn't sitting right next to me. And we knew it was temporary, plus he was on our side." Sam looked up at the ceiling. He didn't just insinuate Bucky wasn't on his side, did he? "God. What am I trying to say here? I'm not good at this feelings shit."

"Doing better than me," Bucky said, gaze still trained out the window.

Sam shuddered. That quality of his voice, that rumbling, was definitely gonna take some getting used to. "Mhm. Okay." Clearly, he wasn't reaching him. Sam needed more. Sam scrubbed his face with both hands before stuffing them back into his pockets. He needed Bucky to really listen.

His attention dropped to Bucky's leg. An idea sprouted in his mind. No. No way in hell. But it would work. Sam's internal battle came to a swift and nervous end. He bit at the inside of his cheek. Fine. God, I'm going to regret this.

Sam shook out his arms, trying to shake his nerves in the process. He cracked his knuckles. He psyched himself up, telling himself, You're the man, Sam. You got this.

He took a steadying breath and marched up to Bucky's leg. He eyed the black fabric. He didn't know what it was. Maybe a loose denim.

Damn. He was losing his nerve.

Before he could turn back, Sam took two fistfuls of denim and hoisted himself up.

Bucky's head snapped down, his eyes boring holes into Sam's back. Sam felt muscles tense underneath him. He definitely had his attention.

Slowly, Bucky said, "What are you doing?"

"What - hrngh - did I say 'bout stupid questions?" Sam went to grab another handful of material. He slipped. He made an aborted choking noise and threw his weight against the denim before he could tip backwards. Sam gripped it tightly, exhaling in slow, calming gusts.

Bucky shifted. His arms went to uncross, very likely to help Sam. Sam was not having that. He grimaced - no way, not again - and continued to scale the giant man's leg. He got his arms over and pulled himself the rest of the way up. He stood, wiping his hands together. "Not so bad," Sam said, looking down at where he had previously stood.

He gaze lifted. His heart leapt to his throat. This was a new angle.

Bucky's arms were large and protruding from his chest. They completely blocked Sam's view of everything above. Sam backed up until he could see the man's large face beyond said arms. Bucky's sharp eyes followed him, reminding him too much of a predator. Like a- like a wolf, stalking a small, helpless bird. A bird whose wings were clipped. Sam could feel his heart pitter-pattering just like a tiny bird's. He wasn't a falcon anymore. He was a broken songbird, unable to live in the wild, unable to care for himself.

Bucky quirked an eyebrow. "How does this help? You just said-"

Sam held up a finger. "Ep-ep! Shush." Bucky shut his mouth, befuddled. Sam was surprised. Fueled by the fact that Bucky actually listened, Sam said, "I'm getting over myself. I can't be scared of the man babysitting me."

"First of all, who said I was babysitting you? Second, I can see you shaking."

Oh, fuck. No way he can see that! That's bullshit. Sam, undeterred, straightened his spine. "Who else is gonna make sure I don't die, Einstein? Who else?" Sam planted his hands on his hips and puffed out his chest very much like the songbird he emulated. "And I'm not shaking. Because that would mean I'm scared and I'm not scared. I've jumped out of planes and fought world-ending aliens. Psh. Scared? You crazy."

So much false confidence. He sees right through it.

And he did. Bucky's doubt was written all over his face. Sam folded his arms, putting on the front of a fearless soldier. He swallowed the lump stuck in his throat. Get over yourself, Wilson. It's just Bucky. He won't hurt y-

"Oh, you're not scared? So if I did this-" Bucky opened his arms. He let one fall while the other stretched along the back of the seat.

Sam flinched. Badly. His own arms went out, as if to stop some invisible force. He took an instinctual step back. What. . . was that? Why- Sam's heart was pounding again, adrenaline coursing through his veins. He looked over at the hand sitting innocently on Bucky's other leg. It was so close. When Sam saw it approach, he thought- he thought-

He thought the worst. Just as he was telling himself Bucky wouldn't hurt him, the man moved like he was about to. Sam knew, deep down, that Bucky wouldn't. He would never. They'd become close, despite all of their banter and the. . . disagreements. Sam liked to think they were friends. But this shrinking thing had made him rethink a lot in his life. Mostly, the rethinking was done by that annoying fucking itch in his head and the nape of his neck. The one telling him to get away from the massive threat. Sam wished the itch would go away. It was making him fear the only one who could protect him.

When Sam lifted his gaze to meet Bucky's, he noticed something. A very big something, painted all across the face above. Something he knew all too well - had seen on so many soldiers' faces and his own in the mirror.

Guilt. Bucky was guilty. He swiftly erased it from his features. instead giving Sam a pointed look. Because he'd proved his point, hadn't he?

Sam tried to quell his trembling. He avoided looking at Bucky directly and hugged himself, his shoulders hitching up to his ears. Bucky's right arm slowly lowered. Sam watched it, wary. It rested at Bucky's side and remained there. Sam allowed himself to relax. When nothing changed, he forced himself to relax. He did the breathing exercise that worked so well before.

"Sorry," Bucky whispered, hoarse.

Sam nodded. It was something, at least. He sat down, right there on Bucky's lap.

"I won't do that again," Bucky said. His voice cracked with earnest, reminiscent of the impromptu therapy session together. Sam believed him. "That wasn't okay."

Sam swallowed that lump again. He pressed his fist into his palm, holding his hands like that in his lap. His own voice cracked when he spoke up. "No, but it- it proved something to me."

Bucky's breath caught. "What?"

Sam raised his head. He wasn't ready, but he needed to see Bucky. He needed to see that emotion - to reassure himself. Sure enough, Bucky's brows were upturned and the guilt in his eyes was overwhelming.
"God forbid, but. . ." Sam squeezed his eyes shut, tucking his chin into his collar. "You're right. I'm scared out of my goddamn mind. And I don't know what to do about it."

Chapter Text

Bucky didn't know how to react to that. He was the source of Sam's fear - how was he supposed to comfort him? Was he even supposed to comfort him? Bucky wanted to say more. He wanted to apologize more. What he did wasn't right. It wasn't okay. He didn't know what was going through his head.

No, that's wrong. He did. He wanted to prove Sam wrong. He wasn't thinking straight, wasn't considering the consequences. Just like Sam, he thought bitterly. No. No, he couldn't do that. Not now. Later, when Sam wasn't shaking out of his boots.

He'd never seen Sam so afraid before. Even as the Soldier, Sam wasn't afraid - not like this, at least. This was pure. This was raw. Sam didn't back down then. Now, it was like he was a completely different person.

And then Bucky realized something else.

Sam wasn't a vulnerable person. Neither was Bucky, but Bucky had still spilled his heart out in the police station. Sam didn't; Sam remained stoic. This was the first time Bucky had seen Sam's composure break, revealing the difficult emotions he hid beneath. Bucky felt so fucking bad that he was the reason why. Looking down at Sam, Bucky felt too big. He was too loud, too fast, too strong. He remembered Sam's face when he held the man in his hands. Pure, unbridled terror. When a tiny voice yelled, Bucky hadn't thought - he'd just grabbed. It took him a moment to recognize the small figure in his grasp, even after he'd turned on the light. Bucky had admired Sam sitting in his palm, his jaw slack with awe and disbelief. Sam's voice was naturally quieter, but Bucky could hear him. Even when he muttered to himself, Bucky could put together the small sounds. It came with being a super soldier.

Bucky's leg ached to move, but he didn't dare. He didn't dare move a muscle. He remained still and silent for Sam's benefit. He watched the small man collect himself, sitting cross-legged with his hands in his lap. His head was down.

"What do we do now?" Bucky dared ask, voice low. He didn't miss when his raised volume had made Sam flinch earlier. He'd have to keep that in mind.

Sam sighed through his nose. "Honestly? I have no clue."

"We still have to catch that plane."

Sam's expression twisted in light of that unhappy revelation. "Shit. Torres is still waiting for us."

"I can get us there, but he's gonna ask questions. Specifically, questions about you."

"Yeah. Yeah. Shit. What do we do?" Sam looked up at Bucky, begging for answers. Bucky pursed his lips. Oh, he had an answer. But it wasn't one Sam wanted.

"I have an idea," Bucky said, slowly and carefully enunciating each syllable, "but you're not gonna like it."

Sam huffed. His expression said 'it can't get any worse.' "Lay it on me, Barnes."

Bucky inhaled. He stared at the headrest directly in front of him. "I can board and tell Torres you already got a ride from Walker, but I was too stubborn to accept it. He will likely call you, and you can tell him you're home, safe and sound."

Sam tilted his head, challenging him. "Yeah? And how will I do that?"

Bucky pulled Sam's phone out of his pocket. Sam stared at it for a few moments.

"We put it on silent," Bucky said, turning it over in his gloved hand, "and you answer. He won't hear you where you are. Not like I can."

Something was dawning on Sam. And he wasn't happy about it. "And where will I be?"

Bucky tapped his chest pocket.

Sam shot to his feet, one finger in the air and directed at Bucky. "Oh, HELL no! Not a chance, Buck-o. Not. A. Chance. Fuck that. No way am I doing that."

Bucky gave Sam a side-eye. "Alright. So give me a better idea." Sam didn't. Sam put his hands on his hips, defiant. Bucky twisted his wrist, a sassy gesture that he quite enjoyed. "I'm waiting."

"I. Don't. Have one," Sam bit out.

Bucky nodded. That was the plan, then. He took a moment to put himself in Sam's shoes. He tried to understand. He decided he'd put up a fight, too, if the roles were reversed. He didn't like the idea of being tucked away in someone's pocket, the more he thought about it. But they didn't have a choice.

"I need to move up front," Bucky said, hoping Sam would get the idea.

He didn't.

Sam moved to start the climb down. He's not sitting back here. No way.

"Sam," Bucky said with more force.

Sam lifted his face to Bucky's, annoyed. "I'm going, alright?"

"No, that's not what I meant." Bucky let his head hang, putting as much sincerity into his features as he could. "You can't sit back here by yourself."

Sam tensed. He's got it now. Bucky waited for the explosion, for the extreme denial, for the string of swears. But they didn't come.

Sam's shoulders sagged. "Fine," he said, defeated. "Just. . . no grabbing. I hate the grabbing, man."

"No grabbing," Bucky promised. He slowly raised his right hand, palm to the sky. He let it hover beside Sam. "Whenever you're ready."

He could see Sam psyching himself up as the shrunken hero continued to study the glove within arm's reach. Sam put his hands on the edge and stood there, processing. Then he jumped and heaved himself over, rolling into Bucky's palm. Bucky's face was grim as he opened the door. He kept a close eye on his passenger as he got to his feet. Sam shivered and hugged himself.

He's cold, Bucky realized, taking in the chilly night air. Bucky wasted no time settling into the driver's seat. Sam was clutching the leather of his glove like his life depended on it. Bucky set him on the centre console. Sam slid off, right into the cup holder. Bucky turned up the heat and pressed the power button on Sam's phone, only to be met with the lock screen.

"You mind?" Bucky said, holding the phone to the small man. Sam, visibly annoyed, started typing with the entirety of his hands, stretching to reach the letters on the digital keyboard. Bucky took a moment to note that Sam was shorter than the phone.

"There," Sam said. He pressed his back to the wall of the cup holder and sat down.

Bucky flipped the device around. Google Maps was up, the road highlighted blue. Bucky dropped the phone in the unoccupied cup holder and strapped himself in. He shut off the ceiling light, the interior of the car illuminated only by the meagre glow of the phone and the headlights. He placed his hands on the steering wheel. He looked at the console.

"You okay?"

Sam nodded, giving him a thumbs up. "Yeah, man. I'm good."

Bucky knew he was not good. But they had to get going and Bucky was emotionally drained. So he put his foot on the gas and did his second u-turn that night, following Google's commands to the air base.

When they arrived, Bucky shut off the engine and sat back.

"It's time, isn't it?" Sam said, his voice filled to the brim with dread.

Bucky hummed an affirmation. He reached for the console. Sam full-body flinched, ducking down. Bucky grabbed the phone, yet again feeling guilt worm into his heart.

"Sorry," he muttered. "Should have warned you."

"Nah, it's cool. We're chillin'."

Bucky looked at him. Sam's brave act fell to pieces under his scrutiny. That's what I thought.

Bucky needed to move on. They were both soldiers and plans of action were a language they understood. So, Bucky went over theirs.

"This-" Bucky wiggled the phone "-is going on silent. Both of you are going in my pocket. Try not to move too much. When it rings, answer and act like you're tired. You're already home, in bed, and about to fall asleep." Bucky unzipped his breast pocket and slid the phone in, screen facing out. His gaze flicked to Sam, who was trying to hide his uncertainty. "You got a ride home from Walker. I didn't. Just play annoyed and grumpy." Bucky let a smirk play on his lips. "Shouldn't be hard for you."

"Excuse me?" came the expected sputtering from the cup holder. "You a real bitch, you know that?"

Bucky's smirk continued to reign. "Yeah, I know. Come on." Bucky reached for Sam. He dipped his fingers into the cup holder.

Sam groaned his hatred for the situation, muttering "Why me?" as he crawled into the curve of Bucky's fingers. Bucky brought Sam over to the pocket and held him there. Sam peered over the edge, trepidation written all across his face. Bucky pulled the pocket open with his other hand.

"You're fine," Bucky reassured him. "It's just for a few hours."

Sam scoffed. "'Just a few hours,' he says." Sam scooched forward, letting his legs dangle.

Bucky tipped his chin down. Sam's nerves were getting to him. "Do you want help?"

"No! I've got it." Sam didn't move. Bucky blew air out of his nose.

"Let me help," Bucky said.

Sam eyed the platform he perched on uneasily. Then he eyed Bucky with the same amount of discomfort. "Okay," he said with no small amount of difficulty.

Bucky arched the heel of his palm above Sam's head and pressed his thumb against Sam's front. Sam's arms immediately wrapped around it. Sam made an incomprehensible sound of alarm as Bucky tipped his hand, leaving Sam hanging in the air with two fingers on his back and a thumb on his chest.

Sam kicked his legs, eyes darting back to Bucky's with panic. "Ay-yo! Don't drop me, man!"

"I'm not gonna drop you," Bucky muttered, putting all of his focus into applying just enough pressure so that Sam wouldn't slip, but not enough to hurt him. Bucky lowered the struggling man into his pocket, not letting go until Sam's feet touched the bottom.

Bucky peeked in. Sam was trying to stand without wobbling, the pocket resembling a hammock more than anything else. He gave up and sat next to the phone.

"That wasn't so bad," Bucky teased, light-hearted.

Sam shot him a wicked glare. "I know where you live."

Bucky released the pocket and Sam cried out when the space suddenly became a whole lot smaller.

"This isn't gonna work," came the muffled voice of Sam. Bucky could feel him squirming around. "It's too tight. And don't you make a fucking joke, I swear to god."

Bucky wasn't going to. He rolled his eyes. "Okay, well, I've had bigger stuff than you in that pocket. It's the only place the phone will fit."

There was muffled swearing. Bucky felt what might have been a punch aimed at his chest.

"Your man titty's too big, man! It's taking up most of the space."

Bucky resisted the urge to bash his head against the wheel. His level of sympathy was rapidly shrinking, being replaced by irritation. Still, he kept his tone even as he said, "We don't have time, Sam. I'm sorry, but you have to deal with it. Look, I can take you out once we're on the plane, alright? You can hide in the other pocket. Where there's-" Bucky growled, unable to believe this was actually happening "-where there's no 'man titties' invading your space."

Silence. Stillness.

"Fine," Sam reluctantly agreed. He found the most comfortable position and went on to sulk.

Bucky, glad they'd reached an agreement, left the rented vehicle. He walked up to the plane sitting on the tarmac, nodding at the soldiers he passed. Bucky thudded up the steps, internally wincing when he imagined Sam's situation. He found Juaquin Torres napping in the cargo hold. Bucky woke him up with a firm nudge to the shoulder. With the man awake, he irritably asked where Barnes had been. Bucky explained that he was in jail. Then he explained Sam's situation, just as planned. Torres groaned, voicing his annoyance at being left hanging for so long.

Bucky asked if he wanted to call Sam.

"Nah," Torres said, waving a dismissive hand. He yawned. "Guy's probably asleep. I'll rib him in the morning. Where are you headed?"

Bucky, ignoring the undoubtedly fuming Sam in his pocket, said, "Brooklyn."

Torres mock saluted and walked off. "I'll wake the pilots."

"That's promising," Bucky muttered to himself once the other man was out of earshot. Half-asleep pilots? No, thank you. Bucky took a seat on a bench in the cargo hold.

A tiny fist smacked against his chest.

"Ow," Bucky mono-toned. He zipped open the pocket. "Shit doesn't always go as planned, Sam. Don't take it out on me."

"Shut up," Sam said, digging his elbow into Bucky. "Let me out."

Bucky took one cursory glance around before reaching into the pocket. He pulled Sam out and set him on the bench. Sam violently fixed his jacket with a heated glower directed at Bucky. Bucky was just glad that Sam's confidence was back up to ridiculous levels.

"Look who got over his fears," Bucky appraised. "All it took was one ride in a pocket."

Sam's annoyance dissipated. All of it morphed into something else. Sam laughed. It was the fakest laugh Bucky had ever heard and the abrupt shift in attitude was jarring. "Oh, you bet I'm over it. You're just a big ol' teddy bear."

A lump lodged in Bucky's throat. Sam wasn't over it. Of course not. How could he expect him to be? The familiar banter, the back and forth - it was easy to forget just how out of place in the world Sam was. And just how fragile he was.

Bucky scanned the cargo hold with cautious eyes. He had a strong urge to pick Sam up and hide him. Sam wasn't safe out in the open like this. All of the nervous glances, the flinches, the subtle hesitations, the forced confidence - it all piled up in Bucky's mind and formed the image of a terrified man who was just trying to find some sense of normalcy with his new worldview.

"You're staying with me," Bucky said, leaving no room for argument. "Until we can get whatever this is fixed, I want you within shouting distance."

Sam whipped around.

"You can't convince me otherwise." Bucky fixed Sam with an intense stare, hoping it conveyed his concern and his own fears. "You don't have to like it. But that's how this is going."

Emotions flickered across Sam's face, too quick for Bucky to decipher. After a moment, Sam settled on acceptance. "I think that's our only option. Obviously, I can't take care of myself. Sarah would take me in, but I wouldn't survive her." He made a face and shuddered. "No. She would never let me live this down. And she'll worry too much. Once again, you've proven to be right."

Bucky stewed with that phrase, coming full circle back to their most prominent issue. Once again, I'm right. And I'm right about the shield. Bucky shook off the bitter smugness invading his mind. He couldn't be bitter at Sam while he was like this. Sam was reliant on him for so many things: food, shelter, safety - Bucky was his only solid footing in a raging storm. And Sam knew it, too.

Hell, Sam knew it far better than Bucky.

Sam was aware that this was how things would go the instant he recognized Bucky as the giant in the car. He had to trust Bucky. Bucky was - loathe as he was to admit, for obvious reasons - his shield against everything. Against the *world.* Sam's wings were physically and metaphorically clipped.

Oh, fuck. Wings!

"Bucky," Sam hissed, urgent. "My wings. They're still in the trunk!"

Bucky snapped to attention. He looked around, watching for any other people. "Good thing you remembered now." Bucky laid his hand on the bench without thought. It took Sam a second to register what he'd done. Sam steeled his nerves and stepped on. He might as well get accustomed to traveling via hand sooner rather than later. Bucky held him up to his waist pocket and Sam crawled in. Bucky went to the cockpit. He peered out of the glass. Torres was walking back with two other military people.

Bucky flew down the steps and booked it to the car. Sam held on for dear life. His teeth rattled in his skull. He clung to the silky material around him, afraid he was going to fly out.

Something touched his foot. Sam's head whirled around. There was a gloved hand behind him, effectively blocking the exit. Sam mentally thanked Bucky.

Bucky opened the trunk with one hand, the other stuffed in Sam's pocket. He grabbed the only bag - a duffel - and swung it over his shoulder. He shut the trunk and ran back to the plane. He met Torres and the two pilots at the steps.

"Forgot something," Bucky said casually, as if he hadn't just sprinted across the air field. Twice. Torres nodded and ushered him inside. The pilots took their seats and Bucky reclaimed his spot in the cargo bay. He laid the duffel on the bench beside him. "How're you doin'?" he asked.

"Brains are thoroughly scrambled," a winded Sam replied. "That - whew - was some crazy shit, man. You should go Olympic; those legs could win first, second, and third."

Bucky huffed out a chuckle. "Nah. They'll think I'm on the strongest steroids on the market."

"Noo. Just tell 'em you're one of them, uh-" muffled, Sam snapped his fingers "-mutants. BAM - you're all set."

Bucky shook his head. His exhaustion was catching up with him. He could feel his eyelids weighing down. The plane took to the sky and Bucky started to nod off. He caught his chin falling into his chest on several accounts, startling awake each time. He reclined his head on the jittering metal of the aircraft. His eyelids fell shut. A few minutes wouldn't hurt. . .

"Up and at 'em, Barnes. You're home. There's a taxi waiting for you at the gate."

Bucky awoke to Torres' face. The man moved and Bucky got up, in a daze. He grabbed the duffel and stumbled his way off the plane. He mumbled a sleepy "Thanks for the ride" and walked off. He made it to the taxi without incident and was pleased to find that the fare was covered. He gave an address and slumped into the backseat.

His eyes were drifting shut once more when something occurred to him. His eyes snapped open. Sam.

Bucky stuck his hand in the pocket and let out a relieved sigh. A tiny form was curled up inside, sides slowly rising and falling. He let his hand sit there for a few more minutes, just focusing on Sam's breathing. He wondered what it would be like to feel Sam without a glove standing between them. What would it feel like to have small boots walk over his skin, or a small body laying in his palm?

Bucky shook off those thoughts and withdrew his hand. He shouldn't be thinking that. It was inappropriate. He needed to help Sam adjust, not ogle over him. Sam wasn't a toy or an experiment. Bucky knew what it felt like to be under the figurative microscope. He was determined to ensure Sam didn't feel like that in his presence.

"Your stop," the cabby driver said. Bucky left, slinging Sam's bag over his shoulder. It was a very light bag, he noticed. Those wings must be hollow, like a bird's bones. Maybe Sam's flight suit was made with that in mind. He wouldn't put it past Stark to take full advantage of the Falcon's namesake.

Bucky made sure he wasn't being followed as he walked the four blocks to his apartment. He had been careful not to give the taxi driver his actual address.

The apartment was dark. Bucky carefully deposited Sam's duffel on the floor. Sam hadn't roused during the entire trip. If Bucky wasn't so tired, maybe he would have been astonished. Bucky gently prodded Sam with one finger until he jolted awake.

"We're here," Bucky said, voice crackling with exhaustion. "I need to change."

Bucky held his hand outside the pocket. Sure enough, a body fell into it. He carried Sam to the couch and laid one of the throw pillows flat on its cushion. He deposited Sam on the pillow.

"I'll get you a blanket," he said. Sam nodded, scratching his neck and yawning as he accustomed himself to his new bed.

Bucky retreated to the unused bedroom. Normally, he would just sleep in his boxers. But he didn't want to make Sam more uncomfortable than he had to. Bucky threw on a tank top and fuzzy pyjama pants. He grabbed the smallest towel he could find - it was fairly soft, too; it felt nice on the skin - before returning to Sam.

"Too bad you cut your hair," Sam said when he spotted Bucky. "Could have braided it while we painted each other's nails."

"Har-har," Bucky said without a trace of humour, dropping the towel. It landed perfectly on top of Sam. The man struggled to free himself. He did, after several moments of floundering.

"That was just unnecessary," Sam grumbled, getting himself comfy.

Bucky ignored him. His knee popped as he lowered himself to the floor beside the couch. Bucky laid in his spot, covering himself with his thin blanket.

Sam's voice drifted from the couch, saying, "Wait, what are you doing?"

Bucky was tired. He was grumpy. He was emotionally and mentally drained. "Sleeping," he growled into his pillow.

"Look, man, when you said 'shouting distance,' I didn't think you were serious. I'm fine. Go to bed, Barnes."

Bucky exhaled, thoroughly irritated. "This is where I sleep, Wilson. Shut up before I decide I need something to cuddle."

No more comments sprouted from the couch. Bucky relaxed. After several minutes of restless thoughts racing through his mind, he succumbed to his exhaustion. He dreaded it because he knew what awaited him in sleep. He had no choice but to fall prey to it.

Chapter Text

"Bucky? What are you wearing?"

The Soldier stopped in his tracks. His eyes dropped to the floor, straying on the tiny man standing there. The Soldier blinked. He crouched down and the man stumbled away. The Soldier's mask obscured his quizzical expression. He extended his metal arm. The man's face twisted with fear and he bolted. The Soldier easily caught him, bringing him up to his face as he stood.

The man's dark skin shone with perspiration. He pushed at the titanium fingers around him, but they didn't budge. His struggle was futile. The Soldier tilted his head. He'd never seen anything like this before.

"Bucky," the man gasped, voice quivering, "wh- what are you doing? Let me go, man. Wake up."

Another voice whispered in his ear. It was unfamiliar, an amalgamation of many voices into one, but it held weight. Weight that the Soldier recognized. "Your target is Sam Wilson," it whispered.

"Wake up, Bucky," the man in his grasp pleaded.

In that instant, the Soldier knew that this tiny person was his mission. "Who the hell is Bucky?" the Soldier rasped.

Then he began to squeeze.

"WAKE UP!"

Something tapped his nose.

Bucky jolted, instinctively slapping his hand over the nuisance. His head jerked up. His chest heaved. He was drenched with sweat. His eyes darted around the room. Sam. Where's Sam?

"Sam?" Bucky croaked, lifting his hand. The man was laying on the pillow, where he'd pinned him. Sam was missing his jacket and shoes. "Shit, I am so sorry. Did I hurt you?"

Sam flipped over and sat up, holding a reassuring hand out. "No, no. I'm good. Just shook. Are you alright? You were yelling in your sleep. And, well, look at you."

Bucky let his head fall back onto the damp pillow. Sam was sitting mere inches from him, all the concern in the world on his face.

"Just a dream," Bucky murmured.

Sam looked skeptical. "Some dream." But he didn't push. Sam was experienced with nightmares in survivors. He knew what trauma looked like. He knew what PTSD looked like. If Bucky wasn't going to tell him, he wouldn't force him. Sam would ask him about it in the morning, offer Bucky a supportive shoulder. An opportunity to vent or discuss it. It was an endeavour doomed to fail, but it was worth a try.

Sam settled on Bucky's pillow. Sam didn't want to leave him alone, even with the possibility of more nightmares. He just had to hope Bucky wasn't a sleep fighter. Being shoved down had startled him, but he knew Bucky didn't do it intentionally. Sam had slapped him; it was an automatic response on Bucky's part. He'd do the same, thinking it was a bug or some shit. At least it wasn't the vibranium arm; Sam feared he'd be one giant bruise with several cracked bones if it had.

Sam could see the dark bags under Bucky's eyes. There wasn't much distance between him and the other man's face, meaning everything was visible in great detail. He'd have to remember to tell Bucky about that forming pimple in the morning.

Sam could stick his arm out and touch Bucky's nose if he wanted to. Bucky was crossing his eyes to see him. Sam withheld a snort at the sight.

"What're you doing?" Bucky asked, genuinely confused.

"Uh, about to go back to sleep," Sam said obviously. "Sun's not even up yet." He punched the huge pillow, trying to make it more comfortable. He wiggled, finding a position that didn't make his spine sting. He sighed contentedly. He listened to Bucky's breathing and the dull flicks when the behemoth of a man blinked. Sam deepened his own breaths, mimicking sleep. Fabric rustled as Bucky shifted.

A presence laid over Sam. Sudden warmth washed through him, chasing away the chill that had seeped into his bones. He stiffened. He waited, but nothing else happened. He cracked his eyes open and tilted his head. It was a hand, radiating warmth and, yeah - even comfort. Bucky was using his hand as a tent. Sam looked at him. Big eyes flickered behind closed lids, a sign of restlessness so early into the sleep cycle. Sam let himself relax. Surely enough, he fell asleep.

When Bucky roused, he realized that there was something small and warm pressed against his face. He crossed his eyes to see a sleeved arm strewn across the bridge of his nose. He followed the arm, but his hand obstructed the rest of the body. He tilted his hand up and shut one eye to see Sam underneath, peacefully curled up against his cheek. Bucky couldn't hold back his smile. There was no tension on Sam's face, only peace. His face scrunched when the sunlight hit him and Bucky covered the shrunken man once more. He laid there in deep thought, refusing to move in fear of disturbing Sam. Even when tiny fingers pinched him, Bucky didn't move. A socked foot kicked his face and he grunted, brows furrowing. His upper lip curled in distaste. Sam just had to be a kicker. One more thing about him to get on Bucky's nerves.

Now, Bucky could deal with the little motions - even the kicks. A hand filling his vision and yanking on his eyelashes, however, was too far. Bucky grunted again, not standing for a second more of this. He pushed the grabby appendage down with one finger.

"Sam," Bucky said, patience thoroughly tried, "get up."

"Five more minutes, man," was the grumpy reply.

"You've lost sleeping in-privileges, asshole. Up."

Sam released a long-suffering groan and rolled onto his back. He stared up at the fingers arching over his head. Sunlight filtered in through the cracks, illuminating the pale skin above with a reddish glow. Sam stretched all of his limbs, letting out a satisfied grunt when his back popped. His head rolled around his neck with more satisfying cracks.

As his head rolled, he couldn't help but notice the all-too-close shnoz up in his business. He squinted at it. His gaze shifted to the right.

"Ho- SHIT," he exclaimed as a result of the huge, piercing blue eye staring directly at him. "I did not see you there." He put a hand to his chest. "Whew. Too close, man. Personal space."

The eye crinkled in amusement. "Last I checked, you're the one who decided to sleep there. What are you feeling for breakfast?"

Sam rubbed his eyes. "I'll have whatever you're having, man. I'm not picky. And I can't even eat one whole serving, so. . ."

Bucky hummed. Sam felt it through the pillow, buzzing right into his bones.

"I think I have waffles," Bucky said, distracted. "I'll go check." He stood, pausing to roll his shoulders before heading to the small kitchen. Sam shivered, rubbing his arms in lieu of a heat source. His jacket and boots were still up on the couch.

Sam peered over the pillow - the fall wasn't that high - and dropped down. He landed on the sheet that Bucky used as a bed. He tripped over wrinkles as he trailed after Bucky's far larger strides. The hardwood wasn't slippery at his new size, but the gaps between boards were wide enough to catch a foot in. Sam broke into a jog, pleasantly noting that this counted as his morning run. He jumped over each crack in his path.

Looking back on it, Sam should have realized why Bucky was sleeping on the floor. He'd had that exact conversation with Steve and so many veterans before him. Shit, he'd faced the reality of it himself. Sam gave himself a mental kick in the ass for being ignorant. And I had the audacity to assume it was for my benefit. GOD.

"So there's waffles," came Bucky's booming voice, echoing throughout the apartment, "but no butter. Or syrup." Bucky blew out a breath. "I'll have to get some later." Sam heard the freezer door shut. Vibrations shook the floor, rumbling inside of Sam and leaving him with a fuzzy sensation all over his body. It took him a moment to put together that each vibration was paired with a loud BOOM that rattled his skull.

Footsteps, Sam registered in his mind. Fe-fi-fo-fum, my ass. They should hire me for the next Jack and the Beanstalk movie.

Bucky stepped around the half wall and Sam came to a screeching halt. His life flashed before his eyes as he craned his head back, looking up, up, up to take in Bucky's entire form. His neck ached, with how far back it had to bend. Holy shit. Sam hadn't seen Bucky at his full height from the floor. It certainly put a new perspective on things.

Such as the fact that Bucky was headed straight for him. And he wasn't looking down.

"Oh, hell naw," Sam said, gunning it to the side. He wasn't about to be that idiot who ran along the path of incoming danger instead of just moving to the side. He got the hell out of the way and watched a foot slam - BOOM - right where he'd been standing.

Bucky stopped, staring at the empty pillow. "Where- SAM!" Bucky's head went on a swivel, searching all over the apartment.

Sam waved his arms like he was flagging down an aircraft. "Bucky! AY-YO, over here!"

When Bucky spotted him, the scowl on his face was enough to cow the miniature superhero. "That was a stupid move, Sam." His tone was dark; stern. "You can't just walk around - that's how you get yourself killed."

While Sam understood, Sam was also full of pride and spite. His confidence was on a joy ride after snugg- waking up beside Bucky. If he could do that and come out no worse for wear, he could do anything. With Bucky, that is, seeing how determined Bucky was to preserve his bejewelling. That was evidenced right here, with how ruffled his feathers were about Sam being within stomping range.

"So watch your step," Sam shot back.

Air left Bucky's nose in a harsh breath. "That's- no. No, Sam. You can't make a habit of it - not everyone knows to watch their step."

"Yeah, so I can walk around just in your apartment. No biggie." Like I wasn't about to become a spicy pancake two seconds ago.

"You-" Bucky made a fist, then pinched the bridge of his nose. "You are so- urgh. Fine. You wanna walk around? Be my guest. Don't come crying to me that your legs are tired." Bucky stomped back to the kitchen. The waffles popped.

So. . . Sam mayyy have made a mistake putting up a fight there. It took him several minutes to get here and he wasn't even halfway to the kitchen. He was a regular, downsized human. He didn't have super speed or super stamina. He didn't have a pet ant to fly him where he needed to go. He didn't have his wings. All he had was the Bucky Express, and he'd just cancelled his ride.

Sam threw his head back with an irritated groan. He started jogging.

He was out of breath when he reached the half wall, stooping over with his hands on his knees. He dropped his head as he attempted to catch his breath.

"So," Bucky said, deepening his voice, "you ran several football fields because of a stupid comment."

"Don't pull that shit," Sam said, huffing and puffing and wagging a finger at the other man. He leaned against the half wall, panting. "Not the PSA voice. Nope. Nuh-uh."

"Are you going to admit that, yet again, I'm right?"

Sam glared. Then he pouted.

Bucky sighed. He clicked his tongue. "Well, that's as good as I'll get." He pushed his chair back and dropped to one knee beside Sam, hand out. Sam climbed on, becoming mush as he flopped onto Bucky's palm. Sam didn't move, laying as limp as a doll with his chest heaving until Bucky put him on the table.

While Sam recovered, Bucky plated the waffles.

"Take what you want," Bucky said, gesturing to their breakfast. Sam ripped two squares from one waffle and munched away while Bucky cut his into bite-sized pieces.

Sam really tried to ignore that those 'bite-sized' pieces were only a bit bigger than himself. He pushed it into the deep recesses of his mind. It resurfaced when he happened to glance Bucky's way, a forkful of waffle disappearing into his mouth. Sam forced down his breakfast that threatened to make a guest appearance and turned away.

Bucky went to speak and Sam whipped his head around. Sam's eyes narrowed to thin slits. "You better not talk with your damn mouth full," he threatened.

Bucky's mouth shut. He resumed chewing. Sam leaned against the decorative centrepiece - a tall candle with ornate patterns on the side - and picked at a chip in the wood tabletop. It was so small, he'd never see it at normal size.

There was a clatter as Bucky dropped his fork and knife. Now was a good time, Sam decided.

"So, last night," Sam said, carefully choosing what words to say next.

Bucky took the ambiguous topic starter and ran with it before Sam could continue. "Listen, I don't care. I don't care what you find comfortable - it's not a big deal. I'm sure we could arrange something less awkward, but if you want to-"

"What?" Sam looked at Bucky like he was crazy. "No. No, that's not what I meant. I'm talking about your nightmare. I'm saying I'm here - I'm willing to listen if you need it. You can lay it on me."

Bucky stared. Sam waited, sincere and patient. Bucky made a mouth shrug, shaking his head. He sat back, swishing his hand back-and-forth through the air. "No. We're not talking about this."

"Buck-"

Bucky's arms crossed, face darkening. "I said no, alright? No. I don't want to talk about it. So just- drop it. Please."

Sam nodded, pursing his lips. He didn't expect anything different, but he had been hopeful. He scrubbed the back of his head. He shot Bucky a contemplative look. "So do you mean it about that arrangement?"

Bucky scoffed, followed by a brief chuckle. "Sure. Whatever you want."

Sam went quiet, then he piped up with, "Oh, by the way, you've got a pimple on your nose."

Bucky gave Sam a dirty look. "I changed my mind. You're sleeping in a shoe."

Chapter Text

"-but now, I'm not so sure. You're not exactly fit to defend yourself at the moment."

"But you are. You can go in, talk to him - I won't make a peep."

Bucky's hands were clasped, elbows perched on the table. He supported his chin with his thumbs. His eyes darted to the side, a telltale sign of uncertainty or falsehood.

"What's the problem now?" Sam asked, hands on his hips.

"I had a plan," Bucky said, "but this puts a wrench in that."

"Oh, and what kind of plan would that be?" Sam snarked. "One you wouldn't tell me about until it was already in motion? Hm? Because it sounds the hell like it."

"You know, I think I miss quiet Sam." Bucky swept a hand through his hair with a harsh sigh. "Let's just go. It's not important."

Sam was about to object - he felt it was very important - when a familiar ringtone reached his ears. Bucky left to fetch Sam's phone, silent mode turned off in preparation for that very call. Sam was displeased with the timely interruption. He had a sneaking suspicion that Bucky was avidly avoiding the subject of his 'plan'.

Sam heard Bucky speaking. His ears strained, but couldn't make out the words. The volume and clarity of the one-sided conversation increased as Bucky approached. He turned the corner, phone to his ear.

"-eah, he's not feeling well," Bucky said, leaning against the half wall. He met Sam's gaze. "I'm taking care of him. Babysitting, more like. The man can't even make his own food. Say 'hi', Sam."

Bucky held the phone out. Sam walked up to it, fixing Barnes with an acidic glare.

"'sup," Sam said, giving his voice an extra gravelly quality.

"Hey, Sam," said Joaquin on the other end. "Sorry to hear about your cold. Get well soon - can't have my favourite Avenger under the weather."

"Well, with Barnes' homemade chicken soup, I'll be up and kicking ass in no time." Sam smirked, staring directly at Bucky. "Did I ever tell how you much of a mother this guy is? He's treating me like royalty, man. Makin' me breakfast, tuckin' me in-"

"And that's enough of that," Bucky said, yanking the phone out of Sam's reach and back to his ear. Sam didn't hear Torres' reply, but it made Bucky's cheeks go pink. "No. It's not-" He went quiet, listening. "I can't. I need to follow up on those people in Munich. He'll be fine for the day - I've prepared a bunch of my special chicken soup-" Bucky glared at Sam, who looked smug as hell in return "-and chucked enough blankets at him to make a fort. Hey, can I ask for a favour? I need a ride to Berlin. Yeah, we're onto something, but I'm the only one who can actually function at the moment. Do you think you could- thanks. Thank you, man. I really appreciate this. See you then." Bucky hung up, putting down the phone.

"So?" Sam prodded.

"He'll get us a ride to Zemo."

Sam was only a little sarcastic when he said, "Fantastic."

Sam once again went into a pocket. Bucky wore a different jacket this time, promising the pockets were more roomy. And they were: Sam was no longer pressed flat when he entered the space - of his own accord, might he proudly add. He'd dropped down from Bucky's fingers and landed inside without help. Ungracefully, yes, but that wasn't his fault - it was the damn pocket's.

The jacket was denim, but the inside was not. The inside was silky smooth and the material reminded Sam of a sleeping bag. A seam dug into Sam's behind, but it could be avoided if he sat on one side. With the flap shut, Sam was left in darkness, scant light filtering in through the material. He could still see his hand, but only vaguely.

"All set?" Bucky's voice rumbled around him, sending buzzing sensations up his spine. Sam shivered.

"Let's get this over with," he called up. And they were on the move.

Sam was alone. Alone in the sense that he felt disconnected from Bucky. With no exchange of words between them, Sam felt like he was in his own world. A world where the steady ba-bump, ba-bump, ba-bump of a giant heart filled the silence. Sam shut his eyes, finding himself relaxed by it. He could hear enough air to fill a blimp rushing by in waves and he felt each time the gigantic chest expanded. Sam realized that he could meditate to the passive sounds of Bucky just being alive. Strangely enough, it didn't unsettle him.

Sam laid back, resting his hands on his stomach. He matched his own breaths to Bucky's and listened to his heartbeat.

"I didn't mean it, you know," interrupted his meditation. "About missing 'quiet Sam.' Makes me think you're scheming when you go quiet."

"Maybe I am," was Sam's reply, teeming with sass.

Bucky chuckled. Sam didn't hear Bucky laugh often, if at all. He committed the sound to memory. "What, to poke holes in all my socks?"

"I just might," was Sam's cryptic reply, tinged with an audible smile. "Man, imagine if I had my wings. I'd be like a lil' wasp, buzzin' 'round your head."

"Yeah, more like a mosquito."

Sam gasped, an idea suddenly hitting him. "Dude! I could ride Redwing! Aw, that's so sick." Sam's mood dropped to something sad and disappointed. "If only he wasn't broke."

"Go find a real bird and tame it. Pigeons around here are already domesticated."

"No shit?"

Bucky scoffed. "No, Sam, you are not riding an actual bird. That is way too dangerous."

Sam heard jangling from below. Did Bucky have a ride he wasn't aware of? He queried that exact thing and Bucky said, "What, you think I taxi everywhere? I have a bike."

The first thing that came to Sam's head was Nice. The second was That's going to blow out my eardrums. The third was Wait, he didn't grab a helmet.

Sam voiced all of these things.

"Don't need one," Bucky said. He settled on the motorcycle. "And you're fine. You've flown next to jet engines."

"Uh, yeah, with earbuds."

"There's pocket lint in there, right?"

Sam had to sit and process the bullshit that just came out of that man's mouth. He had to be joking. He had to. On the off-chance he wasn't, though. . .

"I'm out," Sam decided, jumping up and hooking his arms over the edge of the pocket. The seat wasn't that far down and it was cushioned. He could parkour the rest of the way down to the cement and then walk back to Bucky's apartment. He could probably fit under doors if he crawled. Sam, with the full intent to carry out this plan, hoisted his leg over the pocket rim. He eyed the distance between him and the seat, deciding that if he slid down Bucky's front like a steep cliff it wouldn't hurt as bad.

Something pinched his jacket and Sam was suddenly airborne. An intense spike of fear swept through him.

"AY," he protested, flinging his arms up to hook them around Bucky's fingers, "what'd I say about the grabbing?"

There was humour on Bucky's face. He smothered it with neutrality. "First off, sorry. Second, I just stopped you from making a very bad decision. You're welcome. Third, it was a joke."

"Didn't sound like one," Sam grumbled, aiming a very pointed kick at Bucky's nose. He missed, but only because Bucky moved him away before the hit landed. Sam promptly thrust his arms downward when he realized they were slipping out of their sleeves. He crossed them over his chest. "So then what? Any way to lessen my chances of going deaf?"

Bucky's eyes drifted away from Sam as he considered it. Sam tried not to think about the amount of empty space below him as he hung in the open air by two fingers he trusted to hold his jacket. Honestly, he'd feel better if it were Bucky's metal arm: there was less of a chance of his grip slackening.

Bucky squinted and his nose wrinkled, clearly displeased with whatever struck him. "Yeah, I've got something."

'Something' turned out to be walking to the nearest motor shop and purchasing a sleek, black helmet with a face shield. Sam didn't ask about it until they were back in the parking garage, only the two of them occupying the space.

Sam was standing on the seat of the bike where Bucky had deposited him. He watched Bucky slide on the helmet and lift the visor. He gave Sam a cheeky smile. "Sound's a lot quieter in this." He rapped his knuckles on the helmet. "And there's room for two."

Sam just sighed and hung his head. The pocket was one thing. He had his own space, where he could forget he was four inches tall. This was another. This was intimate, like sleeping right next to the man's face. Sam didn't hate the idea, per se, but he sure as hell wasn't comfortable either. He was never comfortable at this size. He always felt like he was in danger. The one time he didn't was waking up under a giant hand that covered him like a tent. He felt safe. When he was in the pocket, he felt secure, out of sight and out of danger.

Sam knew this was not going to feel like that at all.

"I already regret this," Sam said. Bucky held his hand out flat and Sam boarded. He still wasn't used to the feeling of walking on an honest-to-god person. He wasn't sure he ever would be.

Bucky stuck his hand into the helmet, scrunching his fingers to fit. Sam crawled over them and onto Bucky's shoulder. The hand withdraw and shut the visor, sealing him in. Sam searched for a good place to sit. He opted for behind Bucky's neck, pressed between the collar and the skin. Sam wished Bucky's hair was still long enough to grab.

"You good?" Bucky asked, tilting his head just a bit to the side.

"Oh, yeah," Sam said, fighting the urge to give a thumbs up that he knew would go unseen. "All set."

"Try not to fall. I'm not stopping."

And Sam regretted picking the spot he did, trying to wedge himself against the collar so he wouldn't slip under it. The helmet didn't sit in a way that created a seal, so he just had to hope and pray.

The engine of the motorcycle roared to life, thankfully not destroying Sam's eardrums. Sam jolted as they took off. He pressed himself to Bucky's neck to fight the momentum, squeezing his eyes shut and pretending he was somewhere else as peach fuzz prickled the side of his face.

"I'm on a nice, private beach," he muttered to himself, forgetting that he was well within Bucky's hearing range. "Sunny skies. Warm air. Sipping a fancy cocktail while dolphins or whatever the fuck leap outta the water."

"Sounds like a date."

Sam jumped. He hunched his shoulders, pushing down the sudden heat in his cheeks. "Shut it, Barnes."

Chapter Text

They loaded Bucky's bike into the plane. Jaoquin greeted him and politely requested a rundown of what Bucky hoped to achieve.

Visor already up, Bucky said, "I need to ask an inmate about those new super soldiers. He has knowledge about HYDRA and may have leads about where they got the serum."

Torres was satisfied, thankfully not asking for any more specifics. He did, however, ask about Sam. Bucky told him that Sam would be out for the count for a bit. Bucky was so glad that Jaoquin didn't notice the inconsistencies in their cover story. Or just didn't point them out.

He left shortly after - Torres wasn't tagging along to Germany - and Bucky shucked his helmet.

"Too stuffy," Bucky said, regarding the helmet with distaste before putting it away.

"Yeah, how do you think I feel?" snapped an annoyed voice just below his ears.

Sam was generally unhappy about a lot of things in his current predicament, but sitting in the stifling confinement of a motorcycle helmet was the new number one on his list. At first, the high temperature had been a welcome change - he was all around very cold, too small to keep himself warm - but then it became too much. Bucky radiated too much heat to be contained in that small of a space. The man was like a damn furnace.

"I'll try to take it off sooner," Bucky said, apologetic and keeping his voice low. "Was it bad on the road?"

The heat wasn't as bad; it was manageable. Sam told him that.

Bucky reached an arm over the opposite shoulder and let his hand hover behind his neck, waiting for Sam to make a move. Sam leaned into Bucky's palm and Bucky curled his fingers over Sam's legs, wrapping him in a very loose fist. Sam internally thanked Bucky for not just grabbing him and letting him make the decision. It made Sam feel warm and fuzzy inside, knowing Bucky listened to him and took his concerns seriously. Especially being reduced to the size of a mouse. Sam was so used to his voice going unheard that it became routine, but lately, when he was quite literally at his smallest, not with Bucky.

If only Sam had the courage to tell him about the shield. He had a feeling that Bucky would listen.

Bucky opened his hand, holding it level with his chest. Sam remained seated, afraid he might go flying when either Bucky or the plane moved. "So how are we supposed to communicate in public?" Sam asked.

Bucky wordlessly rummaged through a case. The exact same one that Sam had fetched a comms unit from yesterday. The military kept small tech on the plane for emergencies or just in case someone forgot theirs. Bucky put in one of the little earpieces and gave Sam a self-satisfied smile.

Sam shrugged with his mouth, nodding. "Good point."

The ride to Germany was long. Sam was bored out of his mind. Bucky had put Sam's phone in the pocket alongside him, but Sam could only handle so much goddamn Candy Crush. He and Bucky talked - if playful arguments could be considered 'talking' - but Bucky wasn't much for long-winded conversations. Sam's anxiety told him Bucky was getting sick of him, and so Sam shut up. He reasoned that that wasn't true, that Bucky wasn't irritated from constantly looking after him, but there was always that voice in the back of his head telling him otherwise. And Sam usually trusted that voice, so he clamped his mouth shut and had a nap.

Sam woke up to Bucky speaking to a prison guard. He was groggy, but he recognized that Russian words were being exchanged. He couldn't understand them, but he knew Russian when he heard it. He stretched, extending all of his limbs inside the pocket. His feet didn't touch the other side. He was in Bucky's chest pocket, which meant Bucky had relocated him. Sam was disconcerted with how easily he could be moved. How easily Bucky could handle him without even waking him.

A door opened and shut. And then another. Sam patted Bucky's chest, letting him know he was awake. In return, Sam felt a gentle nudge from outside. Sam rose to a sitting position, crossing his legs as he leaned against the solid wall behind him. Bucky's heart drummed faster than usual. And how ridiculous was it that Sam knew what Bucky's heartbeat usually sounded like?

Sam heard one, single Russian word from Zemo. And it was one word that made Bucky's heart pound even faster. More words followed. Sam didn't know them, but he got the jist of it: Zemo was trying to trigger the Winter Soldier. Again.

Sam tensed, looking up at the enclosed ceiling of the pocket. At his back, he felt the wall of muscles go taut.

"Those days are over," Bucky said, cool and calm. He sold the unbothered act, but Sam knew better. Sam put what he hoped was a reassuring hand on Bucky's chest.

"I know," came the voice of one Helmut Zemo. "I just wanted to see how the new you reacts to the old words."

Bucky's heart raced. His breath hitched. Sam didn't know why until he heard a tongue click. Much closer than before, Zemo said, "Something's still in there."

Sam startled at the voice, so close yet so far, separated by a thick barrier.

"At least you were not conscious during most of your imprisonment," the man behind the glass continued, bitter despite his seemingly aloof attitude.

"That time wasn't exactly a picnic," Bucky said. He tried to remain steady, but a note of emotion slipped through. Sam further pressed his back into the solid form behind him.

Zemo sighed. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry." He moved away from the glass. "It was never personal. You were simply a means to a necessary end."

And that was when Bucky decided they needed a swift and effective change of topic, informing Zemo of their new super soldier predicament.

Throughout the whole exchange, Sam felt a thick tension in the air. He didn't know where it came from, but something told him that Bucky was the source. It wasn't about the Winter Soldier anymore. There was something else that had Bucky on edge.

Inexplicably, Bucky switched to Russian. Sam frowned. He patted Bucky's chest, rapid and repeatedly, to get his puzzlement across. Why not English? Obviously, it was to prevent Sam from overhearing the subject matter. But why? They were supposed to be partn- ahem, working together on this. Hell, it was Sam's mission in the first place. He delivered one last slap - extra hard - before settling with his swiftly deepening frown.

Bucky bent down. Sam's eyebrows creased as he braced himself. The hell is he doing? Something slid across the floor. Bucky picked it up. What the fuck? What the fuck is happening? Sam itched to take a peek. So, he did. Very, very cautiously, Sam stood on his tiptoes and lifted the flap of the pocket just in time to see Bucky close a book and push it back under the glass, through the slot that a tray of food would go in. Sam's jaw fell. He slapped a hand over his mouth before a sound could escape. Bucky stood just as Zemo crouched to retrieve said book. Zemo's pale, piercing gaze swept up Bucky's form, right over Sam.

Sam locked eyes with Zemo.

Sam immediately ducked down, swearing into his hand. Did Zemo see him? No. No, he couldn't have. Sam was small, he was unnoticeable - he couldn't have.

They left. As they did, Bucky took out his notebook and pen and scribbled something down on a tiny piece of paper he'd ripped out. He rolled it up and kept it in a fist. The guard came and guided them out of the prison complex. The cafeteria was loud and Sam, covering his ears, had to wonder why the hell they were being led through the prisoners' communal area.

Bucky gave no indication it was safe to come out. He just kept walking. And then they were riding in a foreign taxi. Sam sat in anxious silence, just holding himself and staring into space. He couldn't chase away the dread rolling in his gut.

The memory of his eyes meeting Zemo's was stuck on replay in his head, that split second of staring into those sharp, intense blues. The minuscule twitch of Zemo's eyelids. The tiny, surprised part of his lips and the breath that followed.

Sam's anxiety prevented him from speaking up. He put his head in his hands. The one thing they didn't want was for anyone to know about him. The one thing. And he fucked it up because he was curious.

But Zemo was locked up. Sam calmed himself with that thought, repeating it in his mind and forcing it to overshadow the scene on repeat in his mind's eye. Zemo was locked up and couldn't do anything about it. He couldn't go after Sam in his newly vulnerable state. Sam's erratic pulse calmed. His anxiety receded and he took a big, refreshing breath.

Bucky crouched down. Sam heard the sounds of a lock being picked and then of a giant door squeaking open. Bucky clicked on a flashlight and entered the building he'd just broken in to.

"You're unusually quiet," Bucky mumbled to the air.

"Just thinkin', man," Sam said, voice thankfully even with his newfound fears successfully stamped down. "Where are we? Why are you breaking in?" Sam propped himself up, sticking his head out in the open. He was met with darkness, broken only by the blue cone of Bucky's flashlight that darted around as Bucky examined the space. "What is this place?"

But Bucky didn't answer him. "Zemo knows who could've made those super soldiers. Probably nothing more than a hunch, but it's all we've got."

"Hey, yeah, speakin' of Zemo." Sam's tone became accusing. Annoyed. "What was that back there? I understood half that conversation, so mind sharing with the class? Not all of us can speak Russian, comrade."

Bucky remained silent for a few moments, his footsteps filling the void as they echoed down the dark, ominous hall. Sam wondered if he would reply at all. Then the man spoke up. "Say I wanted to do something. Something that would help us in the long run, but seemed like a bad idea to certain parties." Bucky turned a corner, flashlight illuminating the interior of what Sam thought might be an unused garage. "Like, I don't know, say. . . breaking Zemo out of jail."

Sam's head jerked back, face contorting. "What are you talking about, you 'wanna break Zemo outta jail?'" Sam's voice rose in volume and intensity. "Where the hell are we, Buck? Have you lost your mind?"

"We have no leads, no moves, nothing," Bucky said, looking all around the apparently abandoned garage. His voice bounced back at him, revealing how big and open the place really was.

Sam's worry and fear shone through as he said, "Yeah, what we have is one of the most dangerous men in the world behind bars." We can't let him loose. Not after everything he's done. Sam shuddered, trying in vain to block out the memory of that calculating, predatory gaze.

"And we also have eight super soldiers that are loose," was Bucky's counterpoint.

Sam swallowed a lump in his throat. He pushed down every inch of fear, replacing it with what he hoped was a persuasive tone. "Zemo's gonna mess with our minds. Especially yours." Too late, Sam realized what he said and tacked on a rushed, "No offense" with an accompanying wince.

Bucky found what he'd been searching for. He raised an arm to switch on the fuse box and Sam could hear the power returning to the building with loud hums. Light filled the room, illuminating what was definitely an unused garage. Off went the flashlight.

"Offense," was Bucky's reply, stiff and bitter. Sam's shoulders hunched up to his ears. He screwed up. He knew it was a sore spot and dug anyway. Sam looked at the floor. He opened his mouth to apologize, but Bucky wasn't done. Keeping that same dark tone, Bucky said, "Super soldiers go against everything he believes in. He is crazy, but he still has a code."

Sam's voice was soft, pleading, when he said, "Yeah, and I've been on the wrong side of that code, Buck, and so have you." Desperation clung to his words, begging Bucky to listen. "He blew up the UN. He killed King T'Chaka and framed you for it." He could hear Bucky's heart pounding, nervous or anxious. The man was pacing. Sam hoped it was because his words were getting across. "Did you forget that? You think the Wakandans forgot about it?" His desperation took a sharp edge. "It was a rhetorical question. They didn't." Bucky stopped his pacing. He sighed. Sam reeled back the venom, knowing he was skirting on dangerous territory. He understood where Bucky was coming from, but what he was suggesting. . . it was insane. "I know how important this is to you, but c'mon - it's pushing you off the deep end."

Bucky's reply overpowered Sam's, shaking the air as his volume increased in his own desperation. "Sam, we don't know how they're gettin' the serum. We don't even know how many of them there are!"

Sam shook his head, looking off into the distance. How else could he convince Bucky this was a horrible idea? Nothing was working. He wasn't listening anymore. He wasn't considering the consequences or- or the dangers. Sam wasn't just thinking of himself, but it was hard not too when he barely stood up to Bucky's ankle. He was helpless, and if Zemo got loose, then. . .

Sam really didn't want to think about the 'then.'

"Look, let me just walk you through a hypothetical," Bucky said, calmer. He turned his face down to speak directly to Sam. "Can I walk you through a hypothetical?"

Sam's grip on the fabric tightened. "What did you do?" he asked, slow and full of suspicion. He wished he could see Bucky's face.

"I didn't. . . do anything," Bucky said, thoroughly unconvincing. His pulse skipped a beat. Sam placed both hands on his head, groaning to himself.

Bucky explained his hypothetical. Sam picked it apart and paid attention to every little detail. It was so specific. So fucking specific. It was so meticulously thought out, so well-planned. Sam's dread continued to fester. You only have a hypothetical that detailed if you actually plan on doing it. . .

A door opened. Footsteps cracked against the concrete, caught by Sam's new ability to hear and feel large movements. Something caught his eye and he stared at it. An approaching silhouette was cast on the plastic curtains hanging from the ceiling. Sam froze, watching it become smaller and smaller as the owner got closer and closer.

. . . or if you've already done it.

The curtains moved aside as a giant form pushed his way past, clothed in a security guard's uniform. Sam sucked in a quivering breath. His arms snapped back and he dropped into the pocket. He pressed himself flat against Bucky's chest. That face. Those eyes.

Sam's own squeezed shut. He seized fistfuls of fabric.

Zemo was out. And Zemo was going to fucking kill him.

Chapter Text

"No, no, no," Sam said. All of his anxiety, his fears, his worries, came crashing down on him. Like a cornered animal, Sam lashed out. "What is he doing here?!"

"No, listen," Bucky said, trying to reassure the smaller man and failing. "I didn't want to tell you because I knew you wouldn't let this happen, okay?"

"What did you do?"

"We need him, Sam."

"He's going back to prison!"

"If I may-" a new, unforgettable, terrifying voice started.

He didn't get a chance to finish because Bucky was pointing at him, booming a "NO" that had Sam covering his ears. Sam rubbed his palms back and forth over his scalp. He interlaced his fingers. His pulse skyrocketed. His breath came in short, quick waves.

"Apologies," Sam heard amidst his panic, low and sheepish and out of place coming from the criminal's mouth.

"When Steve refused to sign the Sokovia accords, you backed him," Bucky told Sam. "You broke the law and you stuck your neck out for me." Bucky gave a gentle nudge to the pocket, quick enough to be a gesture at himself, but lingering enough to snap Sam out of his spiral. Pleading, Bucky said, "I'm asking you to do it again."

"I really think I'm invaluable-" piped up Zemo.

"Tell him to shut up," Sam said through gritted teeth, reclaiming a fierce grip on the interior fabric. Bucky did.

In the silence that followed, Sam fucking considered it. He shook his head. Everything Zemo had done and could do plagued his mind. Zemo was a madman with little boundaries, if any. He could do anything, sprung from his cell. And it would be their - Bucky's - fault. Sam let out a shaky exhale. What could Zemo do to him? So many things. But all of them required him to get ahold of Sam and Bucky wouldn't let that happen. All Sam had to do was stay in his pocket, or at least on his person. Bucky was strong and he was determined to keep Sam safe.

"Okay," Sam said. "If we do this, he doesn't make a move without our permission. Tell- tell him that."

"You don't make a move without my permission," Bucky said, turning his head to Zemo.

Zemo nodded with a relenting, "Fair."

Sam inhaled, deep and calming. "Okay. Where do we start? Ask him." This game of telephone was already getting on Sam's nerves.

Zemo needed a change of clothes, which just made Sam's nose wrinkle when he realized he, himself, had been in the same clothes since yesterday. He needed a wash. Maybe even in the clothes, just to keep them clean. He could stand under a hair dryer or something to dry off.

The garage was much, much bigger than that one room. There were several rows of old, expensive cars. And they all belonged to Zemo because Zemo had pockets deep enough to find Narnia. Zemo also had a hobby of putting an end to anyone looking to create super soldiers. That wasn't news, but to hear how passionate he was about it put some of Sam's worries at ease. As long as Zemo stayed in line, he would, without a doubt, be vital to their mission.

It was just the 'staying in line' bit that was the problem.

Bucky and Zemo climbed into one of the vehicles. It was well-maintained - Sam could tell just by the purr of the engine. Unfortunately, said purr was deafening to his ears. He couldn't hear Zemo over it, just Bucky. From what he gathered, they were talking about the next steps in their investigation. Sam remained quiet, unsure if Bucky could hear him over the engine. And speaking of, well, speaking, Zemo had to know Bucky was 'talking on an ear piece' - the comms device wasn't hidden at all. In fact, it was pretty noticeable. Bucky had specifically chosen a bigger one, half-assed resembling a bluetooth ear piece. But if Zemo really did see Sam and realized that Bucky had a tiny pocket passenger, then it really didn't matter, did it?

Hopefully, he came to the conclusion that Ant-Man was paling around with Bucky Barnes. Reasonably, Sam had vanished so quickly and so little of him had been exposed that he could be mistaken for anything. And with the shadow of the flap? Maybe Sam had less to worry about than he originally stressed over.

They arrived at an airport - Sam had a peek to confirm it - and boarded a private jet that was fully prepared to take off. Zemo greeted his butler/pilot/friend and informed Bucky that he was, in fact, a baron - goddamn royalty. He was rich-rich.

He was also a good pickpocket.

When Zemo revealed the notebook in his possession, Bucky flew from his seat.

Sam swore as he was suddenly thrown forward. He laid on the front of the pocket, grateful he didn't go flying out of it. His gut coiled with g-forces. The material sagged under his weight as he scooched back to the secure bottom, hunched over from the low ceiling that was Bucky's jacket.

Bucky's hand clamped around Zemo's throat as he ripped the notebook out of Zemo's. Sam caught a glance of that scene, the latter far too close for comfort.

"Holy fuck," Sam whispered.

"If you touch that again, I'll kill you," Bucky hissed. Zemo gave a brief, firm nod. Bucky released the man and fell back into his seat

"I'm sorry," Zemo said. "I understand that list of names. People you've wronged as the Winter Soldier."

Bucky shot him a look. "Don't push it."

"That's Steve's book, isn't it?" Sam said. "He had it when he came out of the ice. "

Bucky made it a point to put a hand to his ear, where the small communication device sat. "Steve gave it to me."

"I told him to check out 'Trouble Man.' He wrote it in that book. Did you hear it? What'd you think?"

"I like 40's music, so. . ."

Sam was scandalized. "You didn't like 'Trouble Man?'"

"I liked 'Trouble Man.'"

"It is a masterpiece, James," Zemo interjected. "Complete. Comprehensive. It captures the African-American experience."

Sam nodded and jabbed his elbow into Bucky's chest. "He's out of line, but he's right. It's great. Everybody loves Marvin Gaye."

There was a significantly grumpier note in Bucky's voice when he said, "I like Marvin Gaye."

"Steve adored Marvin Gaye."

"I'm sure Steve did."

"Your partner must have really looked up to Steve," said Zemo. "But I realized something when I met him." He took a breath. "The danger with people like him, America's super soldiers, is that we put them on pedestals."

"Watch your step, Zemo," Sam warned, blessedly unheard by the man he was addressing.

"They become symbols. Icons. And then we start to forget about their flaws." Sam noticed a growing quality to Zemo's words, one that was being pushed down. If he looked at the man's face, Sam imagined he'd see him forcing back tears. "From there, cities fly, innocent people die. Movements are formed, wars are fought. You remember that, right? As a young soldier, sent to Germany to stop a mad icon."

Sam sometimes forgot that Bucky had honest-to-god fought in World War 2 just because he looked so damn young. Bucky sure as hell didn't forget.

"Do we want to live in a world full of people like the Red Skull?" Zemo said.

Oh. Sam wasn't thinking about that mad icon. But from what he'd heard and read in school, Red Skull was no small threat despite his more well-known ally. He'd mysteriously disappeared, presumably defeated by Captain America. Sam never got a chance to ask for the full story.

Sam asked Bucky to explain Madripoor - Zemo chimed in - and was given a short run-down of its history. Pirates? Hell yeah. Pirates were badass. Criminal overlords? Eh... less badass.

Bucky was required to dress and act as the Winter Soldier. Zemo showed off a black turtleneck and brown leather jacket he just had laying around. When Bucky, as Sam's mouthpiece, asked why, Zemo said he was prepared for anything. He even had a pair of scissors to cut off the sleeve, which Bucky did because his metal arm was the steadiest on a jet shuddering with turbulence. He examined the leather top, running his fingers over and through it. There were pockets on the inside, designed for hiding items: drugs and weapons and the like. Sam could fit, but it'd become too stuffy. If the helmet was hot, one of these pockets would be stifling. They weren't exactly designed with breathability in mind.

Bucky noticed Zemo's heavy gaze and wordlessly questioned him with a quirk of his brows.

"If that one is not suitable for you. . ." Zemo said, canting his head.

"'s fine," Bucky said. He looked back at the jacket. "No pockets, though."

Sam's inhale was sharp. Nowhere for him to hide.

"On the inside-"

"But there's none-" Bucky held up the jacket, flipping it around to make his point "-on the outside."

"Like I said, James, I can get you another if it isn't suitable for you."

There was a hidden note in Zemo's voice. One only Sam knew to look for. Sam rubbed his knees, trying to spend all of his nervous energy. Zemo knew exactly what Bucky meant by 'no pockets.'

Bucky's breath left him in a slow, steady wave. How could he make do with this? He wracked his brain, running his fingers over the leather.

"Pants?" Sam weakly suggested.

"Uncomfortable," Bucky mumbled under his breath.

Zemo's eyes took on a puzzled squint. "Pardon?"

"Nothin'."

The squint deepened. Zemo wagged a finger in the air. "I may have something." He got up to rifle through the cabinets piled with neatly folded clothes. His eyes lit up. "Ah. Here." He pulled it out. It was a belt of pouches, like one usually seen on any hero or villain needing more room for storage. "This should do. Perfect for keeping small things safe, hm?"

Sam covered his mouth to muffle a choked sound.

"A phone will fit perfectly. You don't have to worry about it jostling around, getting damaged."

Sam bit his knuckle.

Bucky took the belt with an appreciative nod. He gathered up the tops and Zemo laid a pair of pants in his arms as he walked past. In response to Bucky's scowl, Zemo gave an innocent smile. Bucky stepped into the bathroom. His scowl darkened. Of course his jet's bathroom is luxurious.

When a hand invaded the pocket, Sam had a mere few seconds to compose himself. He put on a neutral face and clambered into the curve of Bucky's fingers. Bucky put him on the countertop. Sam looked around, whistling.

"Damn, this is nice. Is that a gold trim?"

Bucky grunted. He made a circle gesture with a finger. "Turn around."

It took Sam a few to understand. When he did, he whipped around. He fiddled with his fingers and tried to ignore what was going on behind him. His gaze traveled around his limited view of the room. It caught on the reflective metal faucet. He averted his eyes, cheeks growing warm. Bucky wasn't indecent, but he was shirtless. Sam shook the image out of his head, but it stuck there, lingering at the edges of his conscious mind.

Sam could admit when a man looked good. Why shouldn't he? He'd had his fair share of boyfriends and crushes. He had fond memories of hanging out with his sister, both of them pointing out the hot people and giggling to each other. Sarah knew before anyone else. Probably because Sarah had a girlfriend before he did and man, did that wound his pride.

He got her back, though, when he could brag about being the first to sleep with a guy.

He wasn't blind and damn, he couldn't deny that Bucky was fine as hell. Sam had a habit of crushing on super-powered white boys from the 40's and there was a distinct lack of those around.

Sam pointedly ignored the sounds of Bucky undressing. Nope. Nuh-uh. He was not going there. It was already awkward enough - he didn't need to add a crush to the mountain of garbage. He could tackle that once he was back to normal and they got this new super soldier shit figured out. And after they handled the new Captain America situation. And after-

Damn. He really was trying to put this off for as long as he could.

Bucky had just finished dressing when there was a knock-knock-knock at the door.

"James," came Zemo's voice from the other side, "I've just remembered there isn't a towel in the bathroom. It would be smart to wash up."

Bucky looked at Sam. Sam didn't need to be told twice - he ducked behind the fancy shampoo dispenser. Bucky cracked open the door. Zemo thrust forward a hand towel. Bucky took it with a nod and shut the door, making sure the lock clicked loudly.

Bucky locked eyes with Sam and lifted the soft towel with a pointed gaze.

"No better time than now," he said.

"Yeah, okay. Can you-" Sam sighed. "Can you fill up the sink? To, like, an inch."

And so Bucky plugged the basin and filled it with a little over an inch of warm water. He added a dollop of soap, just enough to create small clouds of bubbles.

"I'm gonna keep an eye on Zemo." Bucky's eyes hardened. "Don't drown."

"I can take care of myself, Buck. The concern warms my frozen little heart, it does, but I can take a damned bath by myself. I'm an adult." And like an adult, he crossed his arms and pouted.

Bucky muttered "You sure about that?" and walked out, shutting the door behind him. Zemo wouldn't come barging in, not without a super soldier getting in his way.

Sam did his best to unfold the towel. It was still double-layered, but at least it wasn't so thick. He shed most of his clothes and climbed down the chain of the plug. He made a face when his socked feet touched the water. They needed a wash, but still.

Sam took off his shirt and gave it a scrub. He wrung it out before hucking it onto the counter. It landed with a wet slap.

Maybe he did actually need a hairdryer.

He did the same with his socks, wringing them out and throwing them over. He washed himself and took the opportunity to soak, pretending everything was back to normal and he was taking a dip in a hot tub. The water was a splendid temperature. He laid against the pristine porcelain and sighed, content.

Meanwhile, Bucky was examining his outfit, trying to appear unbothered. It looked good, but it was missing something. The staple of his attire as the Winter Soldier was how many goddamned buckles there were. HYDRA had made it physically impossible for him to take off himself unless he wanted to saw off the straps with a knife. Which he did.

"I know what you're thinking," interrupted his examination. "And I did find a piece. Yes, you can put it on yourself. I am not so cruel."

Zemo tossed him a mess of straps and buckles. Bucky held it up. The straps were arranged to sit over and under his shoulders, emulating the style of the Winter Soldier. Face solemn, he slid it on, clicking the buckles together.

"It really brings the whole outfit together," Zemo said, nodding his approval.

Bucky tightened the straps till they were snug. Why did Zemo have this just laying around? All of the clothes, for that matter. The jet was stocked with various styles and sizes of clothing. What could he possibly- oh. Of course. Disguises. Zemo was infamous for blending in to his surroundings, passing through without turning heads and emulating other people.

Bucky reclaimed his seat. Zemo was minding his business, tucked into his book and looking all too peaceful. Bucky imagined he was happy to just be free. Zemo sipped his fancy wine and popped what appeared to be a chocolate square into his mouth. He caught Bucky staring and gestured to the plate, eyebrows quirked. Bucky took one. Just to keep up appearances, of course. It was good. Bitter, but good. European chocolate tasted different than American. He hadn't had either in quite a while. He savoured the rich morsel.

"There's something else," Bucky said when the last traces of chocolate disappeared. He regretted the words as soon as they were out, but he needed whatever else information Zemo may possess. Zemo perked up, interest piqued as he lowered his book.

"Something you forgot to mention?" Zemo asked, poorly hiding his curiosity with sass.

Bucky didn't deign that with a response, powering through to just get the conversation over with. "Those super soldiers. When we fought them, they had a gun. It wasn't a normal gun. Someone got shot and. . ." Bucky took a breath. He blew it out. "They were shrunk. Physically shrunk."

Zemo's features hardened. "They what?" His voice was stone cold, sharp as ice. Alarm bells went off in Bucky's head. He reconsidered telling Zemo about all of it - but it was far too late now.

"We think it's a dart of some kind, but we didn't find the administrator."

Something clicked in Zemo's head. His gaze sharpened. "Who was hit?" His eyes widened a fraction. "It was Mr. Wilson, wasn't it?"

Bucky's jaw clenched. He wasn't supposed to know who. "How did you-"

"The two of you are bound to be attached at the hip, considering, well. . . you know. You are fighting together and that's who you're talking to." Zemo tapped a finger on his own ear. "You spoke his name before we boarded and you bicker the same. How is he?"

Bucky glared. "Why do you care?"

"I hold no ill will towards Sam Wilson. He had no part in destroying Sokovia and its people. Is he well? It's good that you're still looking after him, even so far away."

Bucky fidgeted with his hands, uncomfortable with this information coming to light. He was putting Sam at risk. Hell, Sam was at risk just being with him. But now, with a murderous criminal on their team? He didn't care if Zemo 'held no ill will towards Sam' - that hardly soothed Bucky's anxieties.

"He's fine," Bucky said. "Adjusting."

Zemo leaned forward, an unknown gleam in his eyes. "Tell me. . . how small?"

Bucky glowered. His vibranium fingers tightened into a fist. Zemo's hand flew into the air in surrender.

"Apologies," Zemo said. "That is none of my business. I wish him a speedy recovery, I do. But. . . might I suggest he visit Dr. Hank Pym? He has specialty in the affairs of miniaturization, no?"

He was right. They could go to Scott for help and Dr. Pym. Pym would want to know of any rival shrinking tech - or if it was his own tech that was stolen. If they went while in Zemo's company, Zemo would instantly know that Sam was on the plane. They had to wait. But how long, exactly? Sam couldn't stay small forever. Even a week was too much. Sam was in danger everywhere he went and Bucky needed his frie- part- coworker back, especially considering who - and what - they were dealing with.

"I'll tell 'im that," Bucky said.

Zemo hummed. Bucky thought that would be the end of it, but then Zemo set aside his book. Bucky went on alert. Zemo started for the bathroom.

Fuck.

Bucky was on his feet in an instant.

"Wait!" Bucky reached for him, but it was too late. Zemo grabbed the handle and pushed.

Chapter Text

Sam climbed up the chain after a satisfying time spent marinating in the warm water. He took hold of the chain and pulled. The vacuum seal of the plug released with enough force to send him flying backwards, landing with an "Oof" against the wall. He muttered under his breath as he trudged over to the towel, leaving puddles with each step. Water was weird at four inches tall: the droplets were the size of his hands and he wasn't actually that wet after most of them slid off. Unfortunately, the same couldn't be said about his soaked boxers.

He climbed into the towel and wrapped himself in the first layer. It was a welcome change from the chilly air. He rolled around in it and made a cocoon. He snorted and unraveled himself, beginning to gather up his clothes.

He had just grabbed his shoes when he heard the distant thudding of footsteps. He froze, listening to the rhythm. He knew what one giant walking sounded like and this was two. He might not have panicked if one of the pairs wasn't sprinting. But one was, and so he flew to action.

Sam bolted for the towel. He tucked his clothes between the folded layers and quickly followed suit, laying himself flat inside the rolled material. He focused on his breathing.

"Wait!" a voice boomed.

The handle turned. Sam tensed, gripping the small balls of fabric that made up the towel. The door opened with a loud, daunting creeaak.

Thud. Thud.

"What is it, James?" thundered a voice that made Sam's heart pound in his ears.

The walls around him caved. He sucked in a breath. His jaw clamped shut, teeth clenched so hard they hurt.

Sam made a mad grab for his clothes before they could go everywhere. He tied the shirt and pants around his legs and pulled on the socks, all while being lifted into the air. Something supported the underside of the towel, ensuring he didn't fall to his death. A massive hand, he knew, but loathed to admit.

His shoes were on. Everything was secure. He secured himself next, looping his arm around a loose string. Fingers the size of tree trunks curled all around him. The gap leading to open air was completely squished, leaving him with little to no light. The space was cramped and already getting hot with CO2. Sam seized control of his breathing and prayed to every god he'd ever heard of that Bucky knew what he was doing.

Bucky brushed past Zemo, hoping beyond hope to get to Sam first. "I have to. . ." Bucky trailed off. He scanned the counter. Nothing. The sink was empty, drained of water. There was no sign of Sam. He snuck a glance behind the soap dispenser. No Sam, just minuscule puddles of water leading to a now-empty spot on the counter. That meant-

Bucky's gaze snapped to the towel scrunched up in Zemo's hands. Just like that, Bucky knew he had to get it back.

"I have to wash my face," Bucky said. Zemo's brows arched. "Do you want me going to Madripoor with a dirty face? And my arm is dusty." He rolled his vibranium arm for emphasis. "Can I borrow that? I won't take long." His hand outstretched, expectant.

Zemo looked at it, considerate. Then he eyed his own hand. Bucky's heart dropped. He wasn't gonna throw it in the wash, was he? Did- did the jet have a washer and dryer? No, it couldn't. The hamper? The garbage? One towel couldn't be so important. One would think Zemo was hoarding gold with the way he clutched it. Bucky didn't think Zemo would give it up.

Zemo shrugged. "Fine. But be quick." He surrendered the towel and Bucky gently laid it on the counter. He could still feel eyes on him.

Bucky turned on the faucet and cupped his hands, letting the water pool inside. After actually washing his face because Zemo was still watching, he grabbed the towel. He buried his fingers into the material as he dragged it over his face. He dampened the towel under running water and proceeded to wipe down his vibranium arm. Finished, he dropped it on the counter and spread his arms as if to say 'There. Happy?'

Zemo grunted and Bucky left the bathroom. The door shut behind him and Bucky heaved a relieved sigh.

"I got you," Bucky murmured, reclaiming his chair. He felt a small punch to his side, through the pouch, and he huffed, amused and glad that Sam was unharmed

On Sam's side of things, Sam didn't expect Bucky's excuse, but hey, if it worked, it worked. There was movement before Zemo relented. A different hand wrapped around him and then there weren't any hands. Sam heard water running, presumably Bucky doing just as he said.

Sam bit back a yelp when he was suddenly traveling again. His stomach churned with g-forces. Something massive and protruding pressed into his body. Sam struggled against it.

"Don't move," said a muffled voice through the thick material, directly beneath him. The form buried in his side was Bucky's big-ass nose. He was tempted to kick it. But Sam wanted nothing more than to get out of this shit-show, so he went still. Something else touched him, rooting through the thick material as his whole world rocked like a carnival ride.

Cold, hard metal met his back. It was a shock to his system and he reflexively arched away from it. Vibranium fingers found him and pulled him into a fist. The grip was worse than the very first time, a glove no longer protecting him from the unforgiving vibranium. It pinched his skin and squeezed far more terribly than a hand of malleable flesh. Despite all of this, Sam remained still. He shut his eyes and braced himself when the hand went down.

And then he was free.

He landed in a room of fuzzy leather. The fingers disappeared past a flap above. He was in a pocket, but not like one he'd ever been in before: it was solid, with no give where he walked. It had to be one of the pouches from that belt. For once, the 'ex'-con did a good thing: Zemo inadvertently saved Sam from Zemo.

Bucky walked out and Sam had never felt more relieved during his time the size of a Polly Pocket. He collapsed against the pouch and began removing articles of clothing. While uncomfortable in a damp outfit, he didn't feel like waiting for them to dry. He was still in the process of dressing when Bucky sat down, the motion throwing him into an unforgiving wall.

"I got you," Bucky assured him. Sam pointedly jabbed his elbow into the wall behind him as he put his head through the shirt's neckline.

"Worst day of my fucking life," Sam bit out. He was cold, wet, and shaking with either fear or adrenaline. Actually, probably both. Sam laid onto his front with a groan. He just wanted to sleep through it all. His body was exhausted after that whole ordeal. He had a nap before the jet, but shit, was he drained. "Don't talk to me or touch me for, like, thirty minutes."

"Alright," was his reply. Pause. "You want some chocolate?"

Sam's eyes bulged. Maybe this day wasn't so bad. "Heck yeah, I do!"

A crumb of chocolate dropped in, the size of Sam's fist. He grimaced when he first bit into it, but he adjusted to the taste. Chocolate was chocolate, man. He needed some heavy dopamine right now. Then he could recover via a long nap, where he could pretend he wasn't four inches short.

Sam went to grab his jacket to use as a pillow, but he noticed something. A very alarming something. His hands were frozen in a patting motion. He looked around, but that only confirmed his fear: his jacket was missing. He knew exactly where he'd left it: beside the towel, in clear view for someone to spot and take. He knew that if he told Bucky to go back and look, he wouldn't find it.

Sam didn't have that nap he oh-so desperately craved. He was too anxious to try.

They landed in Madripoor hours later. Sam took a peek and found himself admiring a bridge leading to a beautiful cityscape of colourful lights and towering skyscrapers. The sky was dark and layered with clouds and smog. He knew the bright city would not be so impressive in the daytime. Sam turned his head to catch sight of Zemo. He was dressed in the same maroon shirt and long coat with fur around the collar. His hands were covered with thin, flexible gloves. Sam swallowed. Zemo had his jacket. He just knew it, deep in his bones. Hell, he probably kept it on him. With bitter humour, Sam made up a game of guessing which pocket it was tucked into.

"No matter what happens, we have to stay in character," Zemo said. "Our lives depend on it. There's no margin for error."

A black car rolled up on them.

"High Town's that way." Zemo nodded to the far side of the island cityscape. "Not a bad place if you wanna visit, but Low Town's the other way."

Bucky and Zemo took their seats inside the car. They were on the road for a short time before the sounds of other engines reached Sam's ears. He could see nothing out the window from his position. He'd say they were either an escort or enforcement. There wouldn't be police here, but someone might've sent a group of muscle to check them out. Motorcycles, by the way they seamlessly manoeuvred around the car. The motorcycles pulled away, and before he knew it, they were walking across a person-sized bridge into Low Town. Sam stared at the city and people with wide eyes. This was something you'd see in a futuristic video game or movie, like Cyberpunk. Despite going unseen and lacking any other clothes his size, he felt severely underdressed and out of place in this colourful world.

Zemo led them into a building. The neon purple sign overhead portrayed a screeching monkey's face. The inside was packed with bodies. Almost too many. Sam ducked down enough to see but not be seen. That was a positive about being hip height: most people's eyes did not naturally rest that low.

"Here we are," Zemo said as he led Bucky through the crowd. He said something in Russian. Sam only recognized the word 'soldat'. And just like that, people were whispering, taking notice of the man with the metal arm.

They stopped at the bar. The bartender approached them. "Evening, gentlemen," he said, giving the stoic Bucky a look before turning his attention to Zemo. "What brings you here?"

"We have business to do with Selby," said Zemo. The bartender eyed him up and down.

"Drink?" he asked. Zemo nodded and ordered. He accepted the small glass, downing it in one go.

Bucky's head was on a swivel, keeping an eye on the patrons who were taking interest in their presence.

A man walked up to Zemo, saying, "I got word from on high. You ain't welcome here."

Zemo hummed, hiding his discomfort. He clicked his tongue. "I have no business with the Power Broker, but if he insists, he can either come and talk to me-" Zemo turned, gesturing to Bucky.

The man studied Bucky and said, "New haircut?"

Bucky looked him dead in the eyes.

"Or bring Selby for a chat," Zemo finished, a tad smug. The man gave another cursory glance at Bucky before walking off.

"A power broker?" Bucky said, keeping his voice low. "Really?"

"Every kingdom needs its king," Zemo said, turning back to the bar. "Let's just pray we stay under his radar. In Madripoor, he is judge, jury, and executioner."

Another man bee-lined for them, his intention quite clear on his face and in his stride. Zemo wasted no time, ordering the Winter Soldier to attack. The man clapped a hand on Zemo's shoulder. Zemo flinched.

Instantly, Bucky seized the man's wrist and twisted. He whimpered as Bucky pushed him into the centre of the room. The crowd cleared a wide space for them. They already knew what was about to go down, some of them pulling out their phones and hitting record.

Bucky pulled the man in and completely fucking decked him, sending him to the floor. The stranger clutched his shoulder, crying out. Zemo smirked.

A second man ran in from the crowd, fist pulled back for a swing. Bucky sidestepped it and caught his fist. He proceeded to deliver blows till the man was bent over, groaning. Bucky released him and kicked him straight into an incoming opponent behind him, knocking both down like bowling pins.

A fourth man tried to vault a table, aiming to take Bucky by surprise. Bucky dropped down and kicked the leg out from under it, scattering dishes and sending his opponent to the floor. Bucky was on his feet before the man could recover. With a fierce kick to the chest, Bucky sent him crashing back into the fallen table.

The bartender put his phone to his ear as Zemo shoved a fifth contender into Bucky's path. The guy pulled a knife. Bucky expertly blocked it and seized the blade, throwing it into a new opponent's leg before he could even do anything. Bucky hit the knife's owner with two consecutive punches that had him literally spinning into the stabbed man. They both fell to the ground.

Another came. Bucky landed hit after hit until the man was airborne. Bucky kicked him into a pillar of crisscrossing metal bars. One more tried his shot and ended up with what had to be a broken nose and at least a minor concussion, groaning on his side and cupping his nose.

The very first guy was on his feet again, ready for round two. Round two didn't last very long. Bucky wrapped his vibranium hand around his throat and lifted him into the air, slamming him onto the bar counter.

The clicks of guns cocking filled the air. Bucky didn't move, staring down the pinned man struggling to breathe.

Zemo issued a command in Russian. Bucky slowly backed off the gurgling man, looking up to find the bartender and his horrified expression.

"Selby will see you now," said the bartender, impressively under control.

"Thank you," Zemo told him. Bucky let his poor victim drop to the floor.

A henchwoman came to guide them to Selby. Bucky laid his hand over Sam's hiding spot, whispering, "Sorry about that." There was no reply. Bucky withheld a sigh. Sam was no doubt pissed. All of that action would have been uncomfortable at best. The pouch wasn't a pocket - it was hard leather and completely hollow, as opposed to pockets that prevented any knocking around. He needed to check on Sam as soon as possible - hopefully, Sam didn't hit his head. Oh Lord, what if he was unconscious?

The henchwoman pointed them to a room and Zemo walked in. Bucky followed. He couldn't check now. He risked exposing himself and ruining their cover. He just had to hope Sam was ignoring him on purpose. He knew Sam and that was a very real possibility.

What Bucky didn't know is that Sam wasn't ignoring him. In fact, Sam wasn't in the pouch to begin with: distracted by the fight, Bucky never noticed when Sam flew out of the pouch and landed somewhere in the chaos.

Someone else noticed, however. And Sam was currently trapped in their pocket, hoping they weren't planning on hurting or selling him.

He didn't have much hope to go around.

Chapter Text

It happened when Bucky kicked out the table leg.

He moved so quickly. Too quickly. Sam weighed nothing, was attached to nothing, and when Bucky dropped down low, Sam was left behind. Or left in the air, as it were. Coupled with the intense motion from the kick itself, Sam flew from the pouch. He sailed through the air and had only a moment to twist himself in a position that wouldn't crack his head open or break his kneecaps.

Sam's left foot hit the wood first. He followed through with a roll, but it wasn't enough to prevent the sharp, throbbing pain that shot up his leg. He hissed through his teeth and took in his surroundings. Broken glass and bits of food were scattered everywhere, making him look not so out of place. An unconscious body lay a couple feet away. The most alarming thing he took in was the amount of giant shoes all around him. Adrenaline masked the pain in his ankle. He didn't know where to go. Back to Bucky? He couldn't. Bucky was all over the place and too wrapped up in combat that he didn't even notice Sam going missing, let alone see him on the floor. Sam didn't want to risk being spotted by a stranger or getting caught underfoot. At least in the crowd, everyone was still, too enraptured in the fight to walk around or look down.

Sam started jogging. His leg dropped deep into a limp, but the pain was a non-issue at the moment. He needed to get out of the open, find a place to hide. His neck burned with that itch, that urge to run and get away. He listened to it this time. He wove through a forest of towering legs and footwear the size of trucks the same way he would on a battlefield.

A high heel slammed into his path. Sam didn't falter. He went straight past the heel, under the arch. He grinned, imagining how badass that would have looked from another angle. The grin disappeared with a yelp when a shoe stomped in front of him. He went around it.

He didn't know where he was going. All he could see were legs and glimpses of Bucky's titanic form moving beyond them. With every footfall, with every body that hit the floor, Sam had to fight to maintain his balance. It was a challenge just to keep himself from sprawling on the hardwood. He remembered his argument with Bucky about not wandering on the floor. It was terrifying and fucking sobering. Sam's reality crashed down on top of him as he avoided a wedge heel. He was so used to Bucky carting him around, keeping him hidden, he didn't truly comprehend how much danger he was in just being this height. Bucky protected him and for good reason. On his own, Sam was. . . well, he was useless. His pride stung, but it was the truth.

Sam was fragile. His ankle served to remind him of that. He went unseen so easily, which was both a blessing and a curse. If someone did see him. . . Sam didn't want to imagine it, but he couldn't stop his brain from conjuring images of being sold like a priceless artifact or an expensive animal. He would become an experiment to some very bad organizations. A human shrinking? Scott needed a suit. Sam was perfectly fine without. Something had been done to him, something that a lot of people would want to get their hands on.

Sam wished he had his jacket. His lack of body heat was a major problem and he didn't have Bucky and his super soldier physiology to rely on at the moment.

Cold, alone, hurt, and afraid. The best combination. He was just missing thirsty and hungry to make it a full package deal.

His stomach growled. Spoke too soon. Sam had noticed how much more frequently he needed to eat recently. He didn't want to be any more of a bother to Bucky and didn't mention it, but it was weird. The chocolate staved him off, but not for long. It had to be a tiny thing. He'd do some research when he got the opportunity. If he got the opportunity. Bucky used a flip phone, for Christ's sake, and Sam didn't feel like operating his own phone.

Sam made it behind a giant fish tank, completely enveloped in its shadow. It would be a great place to take a break, but he couldn't stop. He picked up the pace. The crowd was growing thinner. He'd jogged all around the clearing where Bucky was still fighting. The adrenaline was wearing off and his ankle was throbbing. His limp worsened.

A shadow fell over him. Sam didn't even look before he was throwing himself forward and somersaulting out of harm's way.

BOOM.

A shoe landed just where he'd been. Sam blew out an anxious breath. He picked himself up and moved on. Only a few seconds passed before a polished boot fell in front of him. Beyond his fear, Sam was tired of this almost dying shit. He skirted around it. To his confusion, it spun around. Both boots did, the matching pair twisting in place as if following him. That was eerie. Sam shook it off.

Yet again, the same boot placed itself in front of him. Sam's anxiety reached a boiling point. He didn't like this. He broke into a sprint, clenching his jaw through the pain shooting up his leg.

BOOM.

Sam ran straight into a solid wall and bounced back, falling on his ass. Shit. It was the same goddamn boot. There was no doubt in his mind now: this person was trying to stop him. Sam scuttled away, only to have his back hit a second wall. The other boot. He was blocked in.

Sam scrambled to his feet and made a mad dash for the empty space behind the giant, between their legs. He was met with a boot sliding into his path, scraping the hardwood with a loud, terrifying sshhhkk. Sam looked up.

A gloved hand filled his vision. Sam barely made it two limping steps before fingers encircled him. Sam struggled against them as he went up. A second hand joined the first, completely caging him in like one would with a small animal. Ocean waves filled his ears as he was held close to the person's chest.

"BUCKY," Sam screamed at the top of his lungs. Overpowered by the ongoing scuffle and muffled by hands, he knew Bucky couldn't hear him. "Oh, fuck me. No no no. Fuck." Sam pried at the gloved fingers. They didn't budge. He slammed a fist into the leather. The hands twitched and he toppled over.

An index finger shifted, revealing a sliver of the outside world. Sam scrambled for the opening, but it instantly shut. And then opened again. The finger was tapping. Sam stared at it. He didn't understand. Then he recognized the pattern.

Tap-tap-tap. Pause. Tap-hold. Pause. Tap-tap-hold-tap. Pause. Tap. Repeat.

Sam squinted, turning the pattern into letters in his head. He awaited another round before he was confident with his translation.

SAFE.

Sam had no reason to trust this person. He didn't know who they were or what they aimed to achieve. His heart pitter-pattered in his chest. He inhaled and started relaying his own message, slapping a whole fist down for each tap and hold.

OK.

But what else could he do? He couldn't escape, even without a bum leg. He had to hope and trust that this person wasn't going to hurt him. They were firm with the grab, but still gentle. They didn't put pressure on his leg and were careful manipulating his limbs. If Sam had to take a guess, he'd say they were a man: the hands were square and the fingers thick. He had no other information to go off of apart from the fact that this person knew Morse code.

Sam decided to ask.

WHO, he tapped out with his fist. WHO

The giant stilled, broken only by the uncontrollable twitching of their fingers, but made no effort to reply. Then Sam was going up again, leaving his stomach behind. The hands opened. Sam tried to catch a glimpse of the face. He only made out a pale chin before he was being flipped around and pinched between several fingertips, just like Bucky had done in the past to put him in his pock- oh.

The fingers released him and he fell into a deep pocket. He kept himself as far away from the man as he could. Ba-bump. Ba-bump. Ba-bump. It wasn't Bucky's heartbeat. It didn't relax him; it only made his own pulse race.

BANG.

Sam jumped at the noise, so close in his ears. Like something slamming against wood. He knew that sound all too well from dodging shoes. He grabbed the inner lining of the pocket.

The giant man's chest rumbled as he spoke, the words not in English. Sam's grip tightened as dread coiled in his stomach. Familiar words in a familiar voice. It all painted a picture that had Sam reeling and his gut churning.

"No," Sam said, horrified. "No. Anyone but you. BUCKY! BUCKY, IF YOU CAN HEAR M- MMPH."

An outside force pressed Sam flat against the man's chest and held him there. Zemo thanked someone and began walking. He kept his hold firm. "Quiet," Zemo hissed, angling his head down. "You would be a stain on the floor had I not saved you."

With that, the pressure disappeared. Sam sat up, catching his breath. "What, you want a thank you?" Sam snapped. Zemo didn't reply - either he didn't hear Sam or chose not to.

Sam sat on the far side of the pocket, where he wasn't touching Zemo. Maybe he was exaggerating. There were certainly worse people to find him. Zemo, at least, would be within Bucky's proximity and Sam could get his attention. Sam kept coming back to the Morse code. Safe. Could he trust that? The answer seemed obvious, but Sam had doubts. He recalled every moment that Zemo taunted him. Nothing he said or did was malicious. It was almost playful. The undertones in his voice that only Sam knew to look for, the hidden meanings of his words - they flew right over Bucky's head because Bucky couldn't know what he didn't know. Sam never told him. Bucky had no reason to look out for those little taunts that freaked the fuck out of Sam. He should have told Bucky. He should have. He was scared how Bucky would react.

It was a childish excuse. Bucky would never intentionally hurt him. Sam's subconscious was not aware of this fact and insisted that everything was a threat. Which was true, for the most part: Bucky was one hundred percent a threat - just not to Sam. Not if Bucky could help it.

"You should know, Baron," said a woman with a British accent. "People don't just come into my bar and make demands."

"Not a demand," Zemo said. "An offer." He sat.

Sam hated the way Zemo's voice thrummed through his body. Bucky's was a comforting rumble; Zemo's made the hair on his neck prickle.

"A lot has changed since you were here last." Selby paused. "By the way, I thought you were rotting away in a German prison. How did you escape?"

"People like us always find a way, don't we?" Zemo said. He may have outwardly masked his nerves, but Sam knew the skip of an anxious heart when he heard it. "I'm sure you've already figured out what I'm here for."

"What's the offer?"

"Tell us what you know about the super soldier serum." Sam held on as Zemo stood, long strides carrying him across the room. "And I give you him, along with the code words to control him, of course."

Sam was so close. Bucky was right there. Just a few inches away. If he called out now, Bucky would hear him. But if Sam did call out, it may break Bucky out of character. His composure could shatter and ruin their cover. They'd be trapped in the heart of a venomous snake pit.

"He will do anything you want."

Sam saw red. The way Zemo said it made Sam's blood boil. He felt sick. Bucky was being pawned like an object and Zemo's inflection revealed just how fucked up people were. It made Sam sick. He didn't want to think about it.

"Now that's the Zemo I remember." Selby was almost giddy when she said, "I'm glad I decided not to kill you immediately. Yeah, you were right to come to me. Arrogant, but right."

Zemo returned to his seat. Sam buried his elbow into Zemo's chest, bitterly hoping he received the message. Sam was not fucking happy.

"The super soldier serum is here in Madripoor," Selby continued. "Dr. Wilfred Nagel is the man you wanna thank. Or condemn, depending on which side of this you're on. The Power Broker had him working on the serum, but things didn't go as planned." She smiled, releasing a chuckle.

"Is Nagel still in Madripoor?" Zemo asked.

"Oh, the bread crumbs you can have for free," she stood, "but the bakery's gonna cost you, Baron." Selby prowled closer. "And before you get all cute, don't think you can find Nagel without me."

Zemo nodded. His breath shifted as he went to speak.

Bzzzzt. A phone was going off, garnering the attention of everyone in the room. All heads turned to Bucky. Zemo's pulse spiked. Bucky kept his composure.

"Tell him to answer it." Selby was suspicious. She looked at Zemo.

That was Sam's phone. Sam squeezed his eyes shut.

Zemo nodded at Bucky, speaking a command. Bucky pulled out the phone. He read the caller ID. Sarah. Who was Sarah? The name was familiar, but he couldn't place why or who she was to Sam.

"On speaker," Selby insisted.

Bucky accepted the call, praying she was a military friend.

"Hey, um, we need to talk about this situation. It's- it's been drivin' me nuts."

"The situation is under control," Bucky monotoned. Selby stalked over to him, eyes narrowed. He tracked her movements as she circled him.

"Hold up, who is this? Where's Sam? Are you one of his work friends? Tell him I need to talk to him."

"Who's Sam?" Selby hissed, eyes darting between the two men.

"A code name for his usual handler," Zemo reassured, holding out a soothing hand. "He could not be here."

"Sam is unavailable," Bucky said.

"Wait. Are you Bucky? He kept talkin' about a mission with Bucky. I'm gonna beat his ass, I swear to god. Cass! What'd I say about the Cheerios? I don't have time for this! Bucky, I'm gonna have to call you back. Tell him to pick up his damn phone and not make his friends do it."

Sarah ended the call.

"Bucky," Selby said, shooting the man in question a look as realization dawned on her face. She looked to her guards. "Kill them!"

Glass shattered. Blood sprayed as a bullet buried in Selby's chest. Her body dropped to the floor.

Bucky whirled around and grappled the gun out of a henchman's hands, knocking him out cold with a left hook. He shot the other guard's hand and the man dropped his gun with a cry. Bucky dashed over and knocked him out with a knee to the face. Bucky retreated to Zemo's side, aiming his newly acquired rifle into the building.

"They'll pin this on us," Bucky said.

Zemo exhaled, keeping his voice level as he got behind Bucky. "We have a real problem now, so leave your weapon and follow my lead."

Bucky did. They marched out of the bar at a harried pace. The street was alive with the sounds of phones dinging around them, faces aglow as they read the messages.

"This is not good," proclaimed Zemo, eyeing all of the people who were taking sudden interest in their presence.

A man pulled out an automatic rifle and started firing at them. They both ducked and took off in different directions. Zemo slipped into an alley while Bucky ran down the street. A woman jumped out with a handgun and Zemo pounced, wrestling the gun from her grip. He hit her over the head with it and she fell, unconscious. He ran down a side street, hoping to intercept James.

Meanwhile, Sam was holding on for dear life in Zemo's coat pocket. "HOLY SHIT," Sam yelled, lurching every which way with each hurried stride Zemo took.

"You're fine," Zemo said. He checked corners and alleys, searching both for bounty hunters and James. "Just don't fall out. I won't catch you."

"Oh, that's reassuring! 'Safe,' huh?"

"You really want to discuss this now?"

"Will there be a better time?"

Zemo went quiet, broken only by the cracking of his shoes hitting pavement and the noises of the city.

"I have no intention of hurting you," Zemo said. "I never did. I apologize if it felt that way - I was just teasing."

Sam scoffed. "Yeah, like cat and mouse."

Zemo smiled, amused. "Without the killing and eating part, I assure you. I did catch you, though, so I win."

"I didn't know this was a game. You didn't win because I wasn't playing."

"We can start over, give you fair chance."

Sam shivered. "Nope. Too much for me, thank you." Something occurred to him, something that had been nagging at his mind for a while. "Did you know? In the cell?"

"I didn't know what I saw. Or who, rather. It wasn't until the garage that I realized you weren't my imagination. Then on the jet, all of the pieces clicked. That's when I knew. I truly am sorry that this happened to you. That weapon is too dangerous to be in the possession of those super soldiers."

"You know how it happened?"

"James told me. Not in so much detail - just that someone had the misfortune to be hit."

Sam's grip on the pocket lining slipped when Zemo flattened himself against a wall to avoid being seen by a speeding motorcycle. Sam bounced and grabbed new handholds, reciting a colourful string of curses.

"I just can't catch a break," Sam complained. "It's one stupid thing after another." The chill of the night air had long sunk into his bones and he was starting to shiver. His shoulders hunched. "Can't believe I lost my damn jacket."

"Ah, that's what I was forgetting!"

Sam frowned as fabric rustled. Without warning, two fingers invaded his space. Sam backed into a corner, squashing himself into the flimsy interior.

"I believe you'd like this back," Zemo said. Sam squinted. Pinched between the fingers was his brown jacket. A startled laugh escaped him and he grabbed it. Zemo's hand disappeared as Sam slipped his jacket on, tugging the zipper all the way up. It was a small improvement, but better than nothing.

"Uh, thanks," Sam said. He definitely wasn't expecting that. He thought Zemo would keep it. But Zemo had no real reason to, did he? It was just a tiny jacket.

They were on the move again. Zemo checked the ammo on his gun and cocked it. He peered around a corner. At last, there was James, fleeing a gang of motorcycles. He was putting that super soldier speed to use.

Zemo noticed a man in front of him, effectively cutting off James. Zemo aimed. Before he could pull the trigger, a different shot rang out and the man was dead. Zemo spotted the shooter in the window as they also took out the motorcycle riders.

Zemo joined Bucky, lowering his gun. "You seem to have a guardian angel," he told Bucky, relieved.

"Well, this is too perfect," rang out a woman's voice in the empty street. Zemo turned, arms already spread. A blonde woman strutted out of the shadow and fog, a gun pointed at them. She pulled down her hood. "Drop it, Zemo."

"Sharon?" Bucky blurted. Zemo placed his gun on the pavement.

"Sharon?" Sam echoed out of surprise. Zemo hummed an affirmative.

"You cost me everything," she said, stone cold as she closed the distance between them. Zemo's hands were in the air. He hoped she wouldn't shoot for the heart - Sam would be caught in the crossfire.

"Sharon, wait," Bucky said, holding out his arm. He stepped in front of Zemo. Sharon kicked the gun away. "Someone recreated the super soldier serum. Zemo had a lead. He's been helping me."

"That explains why you guys are here," said Sharon. She had yet to lower her firearm. "And Selby's dead."

"So, what are you doing here?" Bucky asked.

"I stole Steve's shield, remember?" she snarked. "So that your friends could save your ass-" she leveled the gun at Bucky "-from his ass." It returned to Zemo. "Unlike you, I didn't have the Avengers to back me up." Her arms fell to her sides. Zemo relaxed a smidgen. "So, I'm off the grid in Madripoor. "

Bucky took another step toward her. "Listen, Sharon, we need your help."

The disbelief was written all across her face. She chuckled, hanging her head.

"Please," Bucky pleaded.

Sharon sighed. She shook her head and looked over the pair. "This isn't over." She motioned back the way she came. "I have a place in High Town. You should be safe there for a while." Sharon started in that direction. Bucky and Zemo trailed after her.

"James-" Zemo said, keeping his voice low. He watched Sharon, wary.

"Not now," Bucky shot back.

"Yes, now. Listen to me-"

"Wait till we get to Sharon's," Bucky said, annoyed.

"James, the pouch is empty."

Bucky faltered. He whirled on Zemo. "What did you say?"

Zemo's head tilted. "Awfully quiet lately, isn't it?" He put as much sincerity on his face as he could. "Don't worry - he's safe."

And there was the vibranium hand around his throat. Bucky pushed him up against a brick wall. He checked the pouches around his belt, features twisting with panic and anger.

"Where is he?" Bucky spat.

"I said he was safe," Zemo choked out. Bucky released his throat and took two handfuls of his coat, lifting him off the pavement. Zemo made a noise in alarm. His eyes went wide. "James, be careful." Bucky froze. He slowly set Zemo down, releasing his coat. Zemo reached inside, locating a certain pocket sewn on the inside. He held his fingers in a curved position. Sam required no coaxing to climb on.

Zemo lifted Sam out into the open for Bucky to see. Bucky's eyes locked onto the tiny figure seated on Zemo's gloved palm.

"How. . ." Bucky's mouth was dry. He couldn't finish his question.

"During the fight," Zemo said, knowing full well what he was asking. He looked down at Sam. "You're very lucky I was the only one to see you."

"Yeah, well, I don't feel very lucky," Sam said with a scowl. He twisted around to face Zemo. "Can we switch now?"

"Aw, Sam. You don't like my company?"

Sam crossed his arms. "I don't, actually, if that's so hard to believe. Can we hurry up? Sharon's coming back."

Bucky held his hand beneath Zemo's. Sam hopped down and Bucky put him back in the pouch. Bucky made double sure it was latched this time. How could he not notice? During the fight. . . so Sam had been with Zemo the entire time. Selby, running away - and Bucky hadn't known. He was supposed to keep Sam safe from harm.

At the very least, they had one less problem now: Zemo didn't want to hurt Sam. He'd saved Sam, making that one more person willing to protect Sam. Bucky didn't know how far that protection went and how genuine it was, but Zemo seemed to care. If it was an act to gain Bucky's favour, it was a damn good one.

"What's the problem?" Sharon demanded, eyeballing the pair.

"Misunderstanding," Zemo offered with a shrug and a quirk of his head. Sharon turned to Bucky and Bucky nodded.

They piled into Sharon's car, Bucky and Zemo in the backseat. Sharon seemed amused, glancing in the rear-view mirror every once in a while with a poorly concealed smirk.

"You should know, he hurt his leg," Zemo murmured, leaning close to Bucky.

Bucky closed his eyes. Guilt further wormed its way into his heart. Sam was hurt because of him. If he'd just paid more attention-

"How bad?" Bucky whispered.

"A visible limp. The fall did it, I suspect. You'd have to ask him yourself." Zemo straightened and stared out the window. Bucky sighed.

They arrived at Sharon's place. Sam admired the honest-to-god original artworks on display in the glass cases. Sharon offered a change of clothes and left them alone. Bucky ensured Sharon was gone before placing Sam onto the wooden table.

"How bad is it?" Bucky asked.

Sam glared at Zemo, spitting out a, "Snitch" before making an attempt to walk. Sam winced. He favoured his left leg. "It's not that bad," Sam claimed.

Bucky didn't believe him, folding his arms over his chest as he sat on the bright yellow couch. "I don't want to risk pain meds."

"Ibuprofen crushed into powder, perhaps," Zemo suggested. He addressed Sam, pressing the pads of his index and thumb together. "Just a pinch."

"And how much to kill him?" Bucky snapped with a glare.

"James, it's very difficult to overdose on Ibuprofen. He'll be fine. He isn't made of fine china."

Sam groaned. "Now I've got two of you." He didn't even need something for the pain - he could make do without.

That got a chuckle out of Zemo, who shed his coat and neatly folded it. "Don't think I'll stop teasing just because he knows now, Sam. I'm not going to coddle you."

"Wait, because I know?" Bucky was reasonably confused. He looked back and forth between the two. "What does that mean?"

Sam shuffled his feet. The rich wood beneath him was suddenly the most interesting thing in the world.

Zemo took note Sam's hesitation and seized the reins, piping up, "I knew before tonight, James." Bucky's brows knitted together. "In my cell, I saw him. He peeked out at the exact wrong time. Then again in the garage. Yes, I knew he was in the towel - that was an impressive rescue, James. I also gave you the belt for him. Your outfit has no other suitable pockets."

"Sam knew that you knew?" Bucky kept his tone level.

"Of course he did. I gave vague hints. 'Perfect for keeping small things safe.'" Zemo chuckled. "Speaking of, you really should change into something better suited for transportation. Perhaps if had a sewing machine, I could make a pocket just for Sam. Handholds really are a must. Maybe a tiny seatbelt."

Sam was uncomfortable with how Zemo's eyes roved over his form.

"You should find a toy store," Zemo added as an afterthought. "You can't live in those clothes. There are toy makers who craft high quality doll clothes."

"Is there one in Madripoor?" Sam asked, dreading the idea of wearing doll clothes. He was trying to avoid Bucky's intense stare. He could see it in his peripherals.

Zemo set his coat on an end table. "I've never looked." He strolled over to the standing rack to browse through the options, occasionally humming to himself and effectively putting an end to their conversation.

Sam continued to inspect the table's surface. Footsteps thundered closer, stopping in front of the table. A shadow fell over him. Sam sighed.

"You didn't think to tell me about this?" Bucky said.

Sam's shoulders hunched. "I did. I didn't know how you'd react."

Bucky grabbed the edge of the table with both hands. Against his will, Sam flinched. Bucky crouched down till he was level with Sam. Sam felt so vulnerable out in the open. He wanted to hide away from Bucky's searching gaze. He didn't look up from the tabletop.

"You can't keep something like that from me," Bucky softly but sternly said. Sam bristled, feeling all too much like a reprimanded child.

"I didn't want to," Sam said through gritted teeth. He reiterated, "I didn't know how you'd react."

He didn't know what else to say. He didn't want to give the real reason. He was supposed to be over it. He admitted it once and that's all he ever needed. Bucky expected him to be over it and saying it. . . Sam was afraid of how that would make Bucky feel. Bucky tried so hard to be accommodating. Sam would hate to see the pain on his face when Bucky realized it wasn't working; that Sam startled when Bucky moved too quickly or spoke too loud; that Sam had to fight the primal urge to run from a gigantic threat. Sam was getting a lot better at masking it.

Bucky brought his hands together. He pressed his mouth to the backs of them, nose peeking over his knuckles. Sam would have laughed at the sight if the moment wasn't so solemn.

"What's this really about?" Bucky asked, low and sincere.

Sam's leg ached. He eased himself down onto the wood, sitting crisscrossed. He glanced up at one of Bucky's eyes and then studied his hands in his lap.

"Nothing," Sam mumbled. He was a lying son of a bitch and Bucky had a built-in polygraph.

"Are-" Bucky's breath caught. He took another. "Are you afraid of me?"

Sam buried his head in his hands, eyes scrunched shut. Look at him. Tell him no. Tell him it's not true. Sam did - and he couldn't say anything because it would be a lie.

What hurt Sam the most wasn't the pain and rejection on Bucky's face. It was the utter lack of any emotion at all.

"I'm sorry," Sam said, so small. "I don't want to be. I don't. It's-" he inhaled, brows furrowing "-I'm trying not to be, but I- I can't. I didn't tell you because I thought. . . fuck, okay, I've got this little voice in my head." Sam put a finger to his temple. "It's this little fucking voice telling me to get away from you. From everything. That's the only way I can describe it. Like anxiety, but it's got one goal: it's so focused on making me afraid. You know the fight or flight instinct? It's all flight all the time." Sam swallowed thickly. He wrapped his arms around himself. "I get intrusive thoughts. 'bout what'll happen to me. I try to block it out, but I can't control them or make them go away. It's all this fear - it makes me picture all the bad shit that people could do to me." Sam swallowed again. He took a quick peek at Bucky and just as quickly looked away. "It's, um. Sometimes, it's. . ." Get it out, Wilson. ". . . you."

Sam tucked his knees into his chest. He folded his arms on top of his knees and hid his face in them. It was such a relief to get it out. But just as much as it was a relief, it was a regret: he had yet to know Bucky's feelings on the matter. There was nothing Sam could decipher on his face: it was entirely blank.

Why were Sam's eyes stinging?

Shit, since when was a tear running down his cheek? He leveled his breaths, going slow in and out. Sam wasn't a big crier. He also wasn't much for sharing emotions. He and Bucky really were the perfect pair, weren't they?

"Sam," Bucky said, then thought better of it. A warm gust of air rolled over Sam's bare skin.

A hand the size of a mattress curled around Sam's back. That broke the dam and Sam was biting his cheek. Big, slow tears trickled down his cheeks and dampened his jeans. His back heaved with shuddering breaths. Fingers wrapped around his front and Sam latched onto one, pulling it close and laying his forehead on it.

"I'm sorry, Sam," Bucky whispered. His hand twitched. A thought popped into Bucky's head. He considered it, and then did it: Bucky pulled Sam toward his face. Sam didn't put up a fight. He didn't object. He slotted in right next to Bucky's nose, fitting perfectly in the curve of his cheek. Sam pressed into his face, taking full advantage of the soft skin that squished under him like a giant pillow. Stubble prickled his jacket. He hugged the finger close and it bent to embrace him in turn.

Bucky sighed through his nose. Sam spilled his guts, now it was Bucky's turn. And Bucky knew exactly what to say. "In my dream - alright, in my nightmare - I was him. The Winter Soldier. Just walking, and suddenly, there you were. I picked you up. You kept telling me to wake up. Begging me. And then this. . . legion of voices tells me-" Bucky swallowed with difficulty. "They tell me 'Your target is Sam Wilson' and I just-" Bucky's eyes clamped shut. His metal hand dropped under the table, out of sight. It clenched into a fist. "Squeezed. Then you woke me up. I didn't want to tell you. I didn't want you to see me differently."

Sam tightened his grip. He nodded, not trusting his voice. It was a supportive nod, substituting any words of comfort he could utter. He understood perfectly.

"I know what it's like to have a voice in your head," Bucky said. "It just wants to tear you down, make you think of everything that could go wrong, that no one can be trusted. I can't give you any advice or anything, but. . . thank you for telling me. I know it's hard, letting people in. Jesus, I don't even talk to my therapist." Bucky dipped his chin, closing his eyes as he nudged the much smaller man with his cheek. "We're in this shit together, Wilson. We'll get through it. Don't listen to those thoughts. I would never hurt you. Sure, you're an annoying little shit sometimes-" that got a laugh out of Sam "-but we're partners." Bucky rubbed Sam's back with his thumb. "And I'd like to think we're. . . friends, maybe."

"I'm bawlin' my eyes out in the weirdest hug ever and having a genuine heart-to-heart with you, Buck," Sam said, his words crackling with raw emotion. "I think it's safe to say we're friends."

The corners of Bucky's eyes crinkled. A real, genuine smile spread across his face and he treasured it, hiding it behind Sam. He gave Sam another gentle nudge. "Good. And don't worry - I won't tell anyone. We're just acquaintances."

"Oh, barely acquaintances," Sam countered. "Co-workers, even. Who's Bucky? I don't know - some beefcake with a gruff attitude and metal arm. Never met him."

Bucky's brain screeched to a halt. Cogs were turning. Sam had casually thrown it out there, but Bucky was hung up on one of those words. Did Sam think- no, not the time to consider the implications of a word with multiple interpretations. The worst time, actually.

"Feelin' better?" Bucky asked, ceasing the motion of his thumb.

"Tons," Sam said. There was a raspy, watery quality to his voice that wouldn't be going away in the near future. "Could use a nap. I'm drained."

Sam cleared his throat and withdrew from the embrace, releasing Bucky's middle finger and scooching back. He wiped his face. Bucky didn't move; he was loathe to admit he already missed the physical contact. Bucky's features softened as he stared down at Sam. Bucky felt nothing but empathy for him, stuck in a situation where he had no control. Sam was just so small. Bucky needed to keep him safe while also ensuring Sam didn't feel incompetent or like he had zero control. Sam didn't ask for much - and that was a problem. Before, Sam demanded. Now, Sam shut down.

"You can definitely have a nap," Bucky said. "I'll find something with good pockets."

"No need," said the third wheel in the room.

Sam and Bucky whipped their heads around. Zemo was still at the rack, a sizable pile of clothes draped over his arm.

"I forgot he was there," Sam moaned, leaning his head back and dragging his hands down his face.

"You won't speak a word of what just happened," Bucky threatened, further curling his hand around Sam in a protective gesture.

Zemo looked for all the world like the cat who got the cream. "I don't know what you could possibly be referring to, James." He threw the clothes over the back of the couch. "Here. This is all that I've found with suitable pockets."

Bucky shot Sam a look before rising to his full, immense height and strutting right past Zemo towards the clothes rack. Zemo's face conveyed just exactly how dead Bucky was to him. Sam sputtered out a laugh.

Bucky quickly realized that nothing would fit or didn't have what they needed. He slowly wheeled around. Zemo thrust his hand at the clothes he'd picked, expression stony. Bucky plodded over and searched through Zemo's selection. Sam grinned the whole time. His puffy eyes faded by the time Bucky finally made a decision. Bucky took it into the next-door bathroom.

"Don't touch him," Bucky growled, aiming a metal finger at Zemo. Zemo raised his arms and Bucky shut the door.

Zemo waited several moments before he crossed the room to claim a chair not quite aligned with the table - just next to it. Sam grimaced at the proximity.

Casually, Zemo said, "Do you think he knows?"

Sam was tired. He didn't feel like speaking, especially to this fool. "What are you talking about, man?"

"Well, I think it's quite obvious. A shame if he doesn't put it together."

"What? You didn't answer the question. You're just. . . talkin' in riddles and shit."

Zemo chuckled. He met Sam's scowl, head tilting. "Do you even know?"

Sam was getting frustrated. "Know what? Jesus, just answer the damn-"

"You're not very subtle." Zemo clicked his tongue. "The looks, the body language, the slip-ups, Sam. You're more obvious than a blushing school girl. As if I wouldn't notice."

Now Sam was getting it. He felt himself closing off, becoming defensive. He made himself smaller, tucking in his limbs. He averted his gaze. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"So you do know. Oh, please, don't even try to deny. He's vulnerable with you. He trusts you. And you give him that in turn. It's new, but it's quickly growing, isn't it?" Zemo leaned back, perching his foot on his knee. "The question is: will he reciprocate?" Zemo smirked, a teasing glint in his eyes. "We shall see."

Sam couldn't wait to be rid of this fuckin' guy.