Sam’s heart is rising in his throat like it wants nothing more than to choke him. And maybe he should have sooner resigned himself to explosions and super soldiers throwing themselves out of planes and buildings. He hasn’t and that’s a mistake he can’t reverse.
Dusting ash from his hair and fingering a hole in the elbow of his uniform, Steve is telling Sam that Bucky’s fine. Smoke inhalation and a third degree burn. It was a fifteen story drop he says like he’s proud, and Sam can just imagine Bucky dropping like a stone, metal hand going out to cushion the fall and carrying the momentum into a roll. Sam turns on his heel in the middle of Steve’s sentence and makes his way down sterile white hallways to the med wing.
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