Work Text:
An explosion.
Joaquin falling, one wing burning, another flapping like a dead weight, like a twisted caricature of Icarus. Flying too close, not to the sun, but to the explosive warhead beelining for the warship. Splashing into the ocean, broken helmet, eyes closed.
Joaquin falling just like Riley, not again not again not again not again-
Sam, turning, taking down the last rogue plane.
Joaquin getting lifted out of the ocean, remaining wing hanging down as the helicopter carries him to the ship.
Sam, waiting outside the operating room, watching his heart stop. Watching the doctors restart it. Watching them operate, seeing the burns, seeing what he couldn’t prevent.
The heart monitor goes flat, screeching, screaming, why aren’t they saving him, why isn’t he waking up, why-
Sam is woken up by a vibration arm on his shoulder. He jolts, the sight of Joaquin’s lifeless body slipping away and melding into the image of his sleeping body in the hospital bed. Sam looks to his right, seeing Bucky’s worried face. He stands, stretches, looks back at the sleeping form of his beautiful, reckless, amazing boyfriend. He’s alive. He’s healing. He’ll be alright, and he’ll get the best training Sam can find to prevent this from happening again.
Because neither of them will ever stop fighting, not when there are lives on the line.
Sam wishes they could.
Sam wishes he could walk away from it all, take his boyfriend into his arms and hide them both from the world.
But Joaquin would hate him, and Sam would hate himself.
So he waits.