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❝ he is a weapon, a killer / do not forget it / you can use a spear as a walking stick, but that will not change its nature ❞
⎯ madeline miller, the song of achilles
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INSIDE THE JET, as the plane is flying over Munich, two men are having a staring contest.
Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes, now in full gear, have been sitting across from one another for what feels like eternity. They watch each other's movements, barely lifting a finger, waiting for the other to make a move. The man with the metal arm is having his mind split in two. A part of him regrets leaving a certain tempered girl at the airbase, the other relieved to know she's safe.
Though he can't get her face out of his head; the disappointment, the pleading in her eyes. His left eye twitches, and he continues to glare menacingly at Sam. The Falcon looks back at him amusedly.
No one speaks. No one moves. Everything is silent.
CRASH!
"Oh shi-'' a small and squeaky voice erupts from near the floor panels on the other side of the room. Bucky jerks his head up, meeting Sam's eyes. The two suddenly have alarms going off inside their heads, and in his fury, Bucky doesn't even come to the conclusion that he knows this voice.
They both get up simultaneously, standing beside each other, then peer down to the floor. A flash of red makes Bucky's eyes widen. Sam is about to say something, probably along the lines of wait or let's be careful, but the puzzle has been solved, and Bucky's eyebrows knit together, his face growing dark.
