[ it's an argument they've had before, and it's one they'll continue to have, if this elongated existence is anything to go by. sam doesn't know what to do with it, with this years and these powers, with the feeling of becoming something entirely other pressing down on him.
and maybe that's the worst part - sam, who has always known who he was even if he struggled at times with who he wanted to be. who he needed to be. but this? all of this? felt like he was being forced into someone else, something else. zemo had once asked him if he'd have taken the serum, if given the chance, and sam had known without hesitation he wouldn't have. wouldn't have considered it.
over the years, it's become clear to sam that he was never given the chance to say no to this, and it's possible that's the worst part.
or - rather - it's now tied with the way steve looks at him now. the way his voices hitches. sam reaches up, his fingers curling around steve's forearms and despite the conversation, despite the way he feels unsettled, feels himself fading and snapping back, sam can't help but focus on how cool steve's skin feels. always tends to feel, these days. ]
I don't want this. [ because whether or not steve speaks the words aloud, sam hears them. knows what he's asking without asking. ] But I can't sit and let all this just happen to us, either. You know I can't.
[ sam holds steve's eyes, though it's hard to tell how much of that time is spent with his fading, with the flickering of his form reflected back to him in steve's eyes. he can see it there, can see each twitch, each shot of pain. sam tries to squeeze his hand around steve's forearms, but even that doesn't feel solid enough to get a good grip.
he takes a breath - shaky, thick with fear, but an attempt to settle them both all the same. steve is scared, it's something sam has seen before (though not often), and without thinking about himself, sam reaches with one of his hands to wrap it around the back of steve's neck, trying to be comforting when he knows he's the source of it. ] I'm not going anywhere. There has to be something else we can do.
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and maybe that's the worst part - sam, who has always known who he was even if he struggled at times with who he wanted to be. who he needed to be. but this? all of this? felt like he was being forced into someone else, something else. zemo had once asked him if he'd have taken the serum, if given the chance, and sam had known without hesitation he wouldn't have. wouldn't have considered it.
over the years, it's become clear to sam that he was never given the chance to say no to this, and it's possible that's the worst part.
or - rather - it's now tied with the way steve looks at him now. the way his voices hitches. sam reaches up, his fingers curling around steve's forearms and despite the conversation, despite the way he feels unsettled, feels himself fading and snapping back, sam can't help but focus on how cool steve's skin feels. always tends to feel, these days. ]
I don't want this. [ because whether or not steve speaks the words aloud, sam hears them. knows what he's asking without asking. ] But I can't sit and let all this just happen to us, either. You know I can't.
[ sam holds steve's eyes, though it's hard to tell how much of that time is spent with his fading, with the flickering of his form reflected back to him in steve's eyes. he can see it there, can see each twitch, each shot of pain. sam tries to squeeze his hand around steve's forearms, but even that doesn't feel solid enough to get a good grip.
he takes a breath - shaky, thick with fear, but an attempt to settle them both all the same. steve is scared, it's something sam has seen before (though not often), and without thinking about himself, sam reaches with one of his hands to wrap it around the back of steve's neck, trying to be comforting when he knows he's the source of it. ] I'm not going anywhere. There has to be something else we can do.