Title: One Fell Swoop
Fandom: Captain America (Movieverse)
Pairing: Sam/Bucky
Rating: PG
Length: 459 words
Content Notes: Set after Captain America: The Winter Soldier.
Summary: Sam's always got Bucky's back.


Sam sets Bucky down, maybe a little harder than necessary, but dude’s tough, he can take it. He barely even stumbles, and Sam’s not gonna feel guilty for the less-than-graceful landing, damn it. Not when Bucky’s the one taking stupid risks, not when Sam’s the one having to swoop to the rescue.

He’s glad Bucky’s back on their side, of course he is, but he gets enough exercise keeping Steve from falling to his doom, and now he has to deal with another idiot who jumps first and asks questions later.

Sam lands beside him, panting a little because he was pretty much holding his breath up there, desperately trying to get to Bucky in time. He braces his hands on his knees, takes a few nice deep breaths, looks up in time to see Bucky wipe blood off his chin with the back of his hand.

The blood isn’t Bucky’s, which is always a good thing.

“You okay?” Sam asks a little gruffly, because Bucky’s doing better these days, so much better, but sometimes he needs to be reminded to check in, to check himself. All the years of working alone, of putting the mission before himself, it’s hard to shake that off.

Bucky blinks at him, like he’s coming back into focus. But it’s not the bad kind of drifting, not him falling into the cracks inside his mind. He’s just distracted, by the fight, by whatever’s up with his leg, because he’s definitely favouring his left foot.

“Yeah, I’m okay.” Said with a sharp nod, gaze travelling back up to the smoking top of the skyscraper, not really looking at Sam.

“Good to know,” Sam sighs, shoving his goggles up over his forehead. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

He’s never gotten exact measurements, but he thinks Bucky might be even heavier than Steve. Must be that metal arm. Sam’s shoulders are killing him.

At least Bucky actually looks at Sam then, and he’s not exactly sheepish but there’s a twitch at the corner of his mouth. “Thanks for catching me,” he says, tone nice and dry, because everyone in Sam’s life is a sarcastic asshole.

He wouldn’t have it any other way.

At least he manages to take Bucky by surprise when he grabs him by the collar and hauls him in for a kiss. Bucky exhales against his lips in something that’s maybe laughter, getting a firm hold on Sam’s bicep and his hip, and Sam slows the kiss down, makes it softer, more fond than exasperated.

“Should buy you a parachute,” he mutters when he steps back. “Make you save your own ass.”

Bucky smirks at him, fingers of his metal hand flexing. “You’d still come flying after me.”

He’s right, Sam totally would.