Chapter Text
When Sam’s phone comes back to life he has 42 missed calls from Bucky. And 30 texts (which is shocking because the old man wasn’t much for texting). It would be more but at some point he switched to texting and calling Joaquin who has half as many messages before Bucky switched to calling fucking Scott of all people.
“I thought my phone was going to blow up,” Scott says, as Sam gapes at his cell. He’s almost scared to read all the messages. “I answered because I was freaking out that the Winter Soldier was going to break into my house and beat my ass if I didn’t but I swear I didn’t tell him anything! Just that you were uh... on a real important mission. Deep cover. No phone.”
“Did he believe you?” Sam asks absently, working up the courage to scroll through the texts. When he does, most are all some variation of 'where are you?’ or ‘answer your fucking phone’. Going missing for a week and the media questioning 'Where's Captain America?' would be a problem.
"He threatened to break my kneecaps if I was lying and then hung up."
Well. It’s a little comforting that Bucky is still worried about him. Even when that last phone call about the government-sanctioned New Avengers went so… poorly. Just thinking about it makes wish he could go up to that fucking tower and shake Bucky by his super soldier shoulders till he tells him whatever it is that has changed his mind on trusting the government. Because every excuse he's given so far is bullshit and Sam can tell.
Sam shifts, unsticking his bare thighs from the metal table underneath him. He’d really like to get out of this stupid open backed hospital gown and when Bruce gives him the all clear he’s going to change and bake the biggest pan of cornbread so he can wipe his tastebuds free of that shit the Serpent Society scientists tossed at him that might have been cornbread. Drier than the desert and as tasteless as cardboard.
Criminal. Truly villainous in all ways. Not just mercenaries and mad scientists but also terrible chefs.
If he hadn’t been in excruciating pain at the time he would have given them an earful his mama would have been proud of.
Truly, it has been a shit week.
Sam’s back twinges, no longer excruciating, but he feels the urge to stretch. The way he does after sitting at his desk for too long and his back desperately needs to pop. Something else itches as him, an urge that is a little more familiar, but he’s able to push that aside for now.
“I’m not done with the scan, Sam. Please don’t move them yet,” Bruce says, big hand holding him still as he runs some device over his spine. It’s cold. Sam grits his teeth and holds still. It’s so fucking weird. Bruce’s hands shouldn’t be touching anything.
He glances into the ghost-like reflection of himself in the lab’s window. Yet there they are. Clear as day. Big ol’ feathery wings sprouting from his back like they belonged there. Each bone and feather is as real as his limbs and skin.
Because that is just Sam Wilson’s life these days.
He shakes his head and sets his phone down. He’ll deal with Bucky later.
“Well, you’re taking too long, man! I need to get out of here and into some real clothes!”
The hulking man sighs. “You’re somehow worse than Joaquín about this. And his frontal lobe hasn’t even finished developing. If we have any hope of undoing this, I need to be thorough.”
“It’s a shame you didn’t collect more files from the lab,” Scott says, sitting in the corner and twisting back and forth on a stool. “They would have more info on the experiments they did.”
Sam rolls his eyes. “Excuse me if it wasn’t high on our priority list while trying to get the fuck out of there after growing real wings! We’re lucky Shang-chi was able to get us out without being blown up or getting mind-controlled by… I dunno fucking ska music.”
“Or Marvin Gaye. You could never listen to Trouble Man ever again.”
Sam chucks a roll of bandages at Scott. “Don’t even joke about that, Tic-Tac. Marvin is a treasure.”
“It would be nice if you didn’t blare him throughout the Compound gym when you’re training,” Bruce says stepping back and tapping something into his computer. “Alright, I’m done. You’re free to go.”
“Finally!” Sam hops off the table and stretches. His arms go up over his head and his wings follow. He can feel the foreign stretch of new muscle and bone with faint queasiness. White feathers, tinted a warm cream, brush the lab ceiling with long primaries. According to Bruce each wing measures about 7 feet.
“Wow,” Scott says in slight awe. “I know this isn’t ideal, but I have seen kaleidoscope realities yet somehow this is almost one of the prettiest unethical experiments I’ve ever seen. Usually they’re…” He glances at Bruce. “… Well like you. Or worse. No offense.”
Bruce pinches his nose and Sam thinks he’s going to press a permanent divot if Scott keeps hanging around the lab.
“Thanks, Scott. I’ll remember that next time I look in a mirror and think, 'Hey I don’t look half bad today for being caught in a radiation accident'. Bruce watches as the wings shiver in their stretch and then come back down to fold up along Sam’s back. “I do admit it is nicer than what usually ends up happening. For what it's worth your vitals are healthy... and they are pretty.”
“And I’ll remember that when I clip the doorway with these pretty things for the hundredth time,” Sam says. He doesn’t think it’s worth mentioning that the birth of these wings came with an explosion of membranous gore and blood as they burst out of his back. Doesn’t mention that the pain of them growing under his flesh like a swelling tumor. The skin on his back is still tender and raw around where the wings protrude.
There isn’t any point in dwelling on that. Sure. They look nice. Sam should consider himself lucky compared to others.
And to a certain extent, he does. He saw The Leader. Knows what Bucky and dozens of super soldiers went through with all that Hydra did. Saw the same thing that happened to him happen to poor Joaquin as his wings burst out in a way that would make John Carpenter blush.
So why dwell on it when this could have been way worse?
That thought doesn’t loosen the tension in his jaw or shoulders, though.
“I can’t be Captain America like this,” he says, facing his teammates and folding his arms. Does he look like a leader right now with his bare back open to the world? Probably not, but he’s going to do his best and schools his face into something serious. “Bruce, how long do you think it will take to fix this?”
“If,” Bruce says with emphasis. “If I can fix this it will take me time. Even based on what you described with the injections and such I have no idea how they managed this kind of genetic manipulation…” He looks back at his screens and scratches at his thick neck. “Lang’s right. Having their files would make this way easier.”
Scott perks up. “I’m sorry, can you repeat that? Lang’s right? Can you put that in writing for me and sign it? If I show that to Wong then maybe he’ll stop ignoring my theories on Hot Tub Machine.”
“Do not put that in writing,” Sam says, pointing at Bruce, who just looks at him as if to say 'duh'. Sam looks at Scott. “I’m so sick of you picking that fucking movie every movie night.”
“We only have movie night once a month!” Scott exclaims, throwing up his hands.
Sam purses his lips and taps a finger against his bicep as he considers his options. He won’t consider the possibility that this is permanent yet. That this is just what Sam will be like for the rest of his life. If he thinks about it too hard… Nope. He sets that aside for now.
They’ve kept his and Joaquin’s situation under wraps from the public and addressed their brief disappearance as a "tough mission". Joaquin had the smart idea of posting a video on Instagram of themselves with their wings kept out of the shot to help settle any fears. The last thing anyone needs to hear is that Captain America and the Falcon have become the newest victims in a line of human experiments. As far as the world knows, they’re on siesta after a tough mission. Which is fine now that Sam officially announced his members of the actual Avengers. They can handle things in the field for now.
“Lang,” Sam grins. “Would you be down for a little heist? Do you think you could retrieve those files from the Serpent Society labs to speed up Bruce’s research? Keep it discreet?”
Scott’s eyes light up instantly. The man is like an overexcited annoying dog. “Yeah, I can totally do that! That’s like… my thing!”
“I know that’s why I asked.”
“Hell yeah!” He pumps a fist. “You got it, Cap! I can get those files no problem!”
Then he’s up and out, running from the lab like someone shook a treat bag somewhere.
“You know it’s your fault he’s even on the team,” Bruce says to break the following silence with an amused smile.
Sam shakes his head with an answering smile. “I’ll take ownership of that. He keeps up with Joaquin’s energy which is nice. I kind of wish I was able to find more people his age to join. He keeps whining about being surrounded by old people.”
Bruce chuckles. “Now you're sounding like his mom.”
“Shut up.” A wide yawn pops Sam’s jaw. He can feel the way the wings droop, heavy and pulling at his back. It is strange how… emotive they are and he isn’t sure if he likes it. But it is how he feels. He hasn’t had much sleep since they broke out last night and it currently, he checks his phone, officially been 24 hours since then.
“You should get some sleep,” Bruce says. “The recovery rooms are already made up for you and Joaquin. I’ll cover things around here and make sure Scott doesn’t do anything stupid until you’re up.”
“I’ll take you up on that.” He pauses as he heads for the door. “Do you know where Jay went?”
Bruce checks his computer. “According to Friday, he’s in the kitchen area.”
“Thanks, Bruce. Wake me if you need me.”
Sam stops to change into the spare clothes he’s left here (from his experience, it’s a smart thing to do rather than having to schlep to his condo in his suit) only to realize he can’t get the shirt on with the wings. Instead, he pulls on just the sweatpants and heads for the kitchen.
He sees Joaquin’s wings before he sees Joaquin. The kid has a pair of large downy brown wings, almost as large as Sam’s. Currently, they’re loosely drooping off his back, feathers water falling across the floor from where Joaquin sits, slumped in a kitchen barstool with his head on the counter. A whole tub of Baskin-Robbins ice cream (thanks, Scott) sits open with a spoon jammed in it on the counter.
The kid is snoring. He’s still in his hospital gown.
“Well, don’t blame him,” Sam says as he pads over. He’ll make real food, cornbread included, tomorrow for the kid. Not tonight though because Sam can barely keep on his feet at this point. Its starting to take some effort to keep his wings tucked up and keep them out of the way.
He puts the tub of All New! Captain America Stars and Stripes back in the freezer. For the record, they didn’t even ask but Sam isn’t about to get into litigation with the CIA and Baskin-Robbins.
“C’mon, kid,” Sam says, gently shaking Joaquin's shoulder. “You can’t fall asleep here.”
“Muh?” The kid says tiredly, unsticking his cheek from the counter. His wings flutter as he wakes. “Oh shit. Sorry Sam. After Bruce did his scan I was hungry and then just… so tired.”
Sam smiles and pats his shoulder. “I get it. Me too. It’s been a shit week.”
Joaquin rolls his eyes. “That’s an understatement.” He sits up and wrinkles his nose as he pulls his wings up against him. His dark curly hair is a mess and the shadows under his eyes are thick. Sam’s heart twinges and pulls his hand back.
He should have done a better job protecting his partner. He could have brought along a third to back them up. The kid shouldn’t have to be dealing with this.
Shoulda, woulda, coulda, he can hear his mama say.
Sam just shakes his head. It doesn’t change anything. Serpent Society got the jump on them in that mission and knocked out Joaquin with one jab to the neck. Sam wasn’t leaving him, wings and shield defending them from the circle of armed men. Then they sent out… well Sam doesn’t know what the fuck it was but it was big and snarly and it went bad after that.
Next thing Sam knew, they were in a cell.
“Bruce will figure it out,” Sam says. “He’s smart like that. Until then, we’ll stay here.”
Joaquin nods and then smiles. “You know I've been thinking-"
"Oh, that's scary."
"You think we can fly with these?”
Sam bites back an answering grin and the rush of giddy eagerness that floods him. As if that hasn’t been a twitching urge under his skin since he sat his ass on Bruce’s cold metal table. As if that hasn’t been the same kind of adrenaline-fueled excitement that fundamentally changed his brain chemistry the moment he saw the EXO-7 Falcon wings all those years ago and thought:
I want to fly.
He suspects that if he suggests it right now, both he and Joaquin will happily throw themselves off the roof to find out.
“Go to bed, Jay,” he says instead. “For now, we can relax.”
And of course the universe just likes proving Sam wrong at every turn. The Compound alarms start to blare throughout the facility. Both Sam and Joaquin’s feathers fluff like startled cats.
“You’ve got be fucking kidding me!” Sam shouts. It’s followed by a boom as the metal security doors crash down on the windows.
“Intruders in the front lobby,” Friday’s pleasant robotic voice says. “Defenses compromised. Deploying offensive protocol.” Gunfire echoes through the building. Sam hears yelling. “Captain Wilson, Dr. Banner is requesting that you and Falcon take cover somewhere.”
“Like hell!” Sam shouts as he runs to where he left the shield by his gear.
“Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit,” Joaquin panics, hot on Sam’s heels.
To Sam’s dismay, these wings aren’t exactly great for moving fast on the ground. It feels like he has a giant parachute on his back, the drag hindering him. He’s suddenly painfully aware of them as more than just a nuisance or just an uncomfortable growth on his body. They’re flesh and bone and feather. They can’t bounce a bullet back or slice through metal. They’re a liability.
Sam glances at Joaquin, still looking exhausted, but his eyes are focused and right on Sam, ready to follow his lead. If Sam goes in Joaquin will too.
Shit.
“Stay out of sight,” Sam orders.
He grabs the shield. Joaquin grabs a handgun from his suit.
“Friday, who are they?” Sam asks as he goes down the hall.
“Facial scans confirm at least one is a member of the Serpent Society. Highly likely others have similar alliance based on their clothing. Armed, dangerous and have what appears to be a giant monster with them.”
“Shit,” Joaquin whispers as they stop to look around the corner of the hall and check for intruders. Sam can now hear the sound of Shang-chi’s rings and the hum of Wong’s magic. Bruce is yelling something, almost a roar, that is answered by a real roaring snarl. It sounds like they’re still in the lobby, thankfully.
“Are they fucking insane?” Sam says as they make their way through the halls. “Attacking the Avengers Compound out of nowhere?”
“It is highly likely their goal is you and Falcon.”
Sam just blinks at that. Somehow putting Sidewinder in prison has just made these assholes more bold.
With the coast clear, Sam and Joaquin make their way down the hall. Suddenly boots are coming from around the corner and oh fuck-
Sam raises the shield and tucks Joaquin behind him and backs up just as the bullets fly. They ping off the shield, and judging from the sound and force, they’re not regular bullets. Sam’s heart pounds as he looks over the shield.
Three armed Serpent Society men start to thunder down the hall, somehow having slipped by the other Avengers. Joaquin fires from behind Sam, clips one in the shoulder, but then they retreat back around the corner, pinned but probably happy to wait out Joaquin’s bullets.
“We’re going the other way,” Sam says, stepping backwards down the hall, shield raised. “We need to get down to the basement and find cover.” He looks up. “Friday! I need backup.”
“Wong is on his way, Captain.”
Just as she says it Joaquín runs out of bullets. His gun clicks uselessly. And the men come charging at them again. Sam frisbees the shield at the wall, where it pings off at an angle to smack the lead Serpent in the back. He goes down, and the shield bounces off to the second guy, who catches it in the face. Sam doesn't get the third combo but thankfully Wong is already there, running to them on circles of magic under his feet. He leaps over the bodies, snatches the fallen shield, and lands to protect Sam and Joaquin with another ring of magic as another spray of bullets fly. One of the guys gets back up again.
"Wong!" Sam says. "Are you guys alright?"
"Nothing we can't handle!" The sorcerer grunts. "But they have a monster. A very, very bad one too. You need to go. Bruce is certain they're after you two."
Wong tosses Sam the shield and a sling ring. When he first recruited Wong, he asked him to teach all of them how to use it. Just in case. The only one who couldn't was Bruce. His fingers were too big. Sam wasn't too shabby with it, and as he slips it on and faces the wall he focuses on where to go. But where to go?
Somewhere safe. Somewhere Sam would know that he could protect Joaquin. A place he can trust. A few options go through his head (some more appealing than others) and as he starts to rotate his hand he tries to pick just one. Sparks of magic twinkle like the spark of a lighter.
"Sam!" Joaquin shouts, clutching Sam's wing.
"Shit!" Wong swears.
Sam looks, and four more Serpents are coming down the hall in the other direction. Their guns are raised and oh shit Sam really doesn't have time to fuck around about this! The sling ring portal forms and before he can even second-guess it he grabs Joaquín and shoves themselves through it.
It's dizzying and the next thing Sam knows they're both crashing down onto a coffee table in the middle of the Watchtower living room. Joaquin's elbow is jammed into his ribs and the wind has been knocked clean out of him. Sam wheezes and tilts his head back, wings protesting their awkward fold against the wood, and Bucky Barnes and his cool blue eyes are gaping down at him with a face that might be funny in any other scenario. He looks like someone just banged him over the head with the Infinity Gauntlet.
Also, five other pairs of eyes are staring down at the two winged men on their coffee table. It appears they've interrupted something.
Sam swallows. "Hey, Buck."
"What the fuck?!" John Walker blurts, throwing his hands up in the air.