Author's Note: As usual, I found this Sam chapter challenging to write, and thus I've been putting it off for too long. (It was originally going to be chapter 33, so that should tell you something—I had to write three Winter chapters before I could dredge up enough inspiration for this one! XD) I'm nowhere near as awesome of a person as Sam is, nor am I that humble, so it's always hard for me to figure out how to write this selfless guy just being himself. I certainly wouldn't be reacting to these events like he does!
This chapter takes place in Make Me Whole chapter 3 ("Withdraw"), 7 ("Cross the Distance"), and 10 ("Into the Inferno").
Life hurts and there's no warning
Lightning strikes, my heart is storming
The rain is a blessing in disguise
The flood's coming and it's drowning all the lies
...
I will face everything and rise
Never gonna quit until I die
Angels keep falling from the sky
I'll take the broken wings and learn to fly
I will face everything and rise
- "Face Everything and Rise" by Papa Roach
Requested by a guest on AO3
There were some things Sam had been prepared for when he tagged along with Steve and Winter. Things like hiding out in a remote cabin and coming up with a cover story when they went into town so that no one would suspect who they really were. But there were also a lot of things Sam would never have expected in a million years—things like starting awake in the middle of the night to the sound of a delirious man in a bandanna pleading at the top of his lungs in Spanish. (Sam didn't know a whole lot of Spanish, but he at least knew what whimpering cries of no and por favor meant.)
As the days dragged on and Winter's withdrawal progressed only at a snail's pace, both Sam and Steve could feel the stress wearing them down. They took six-hour shifts at Winter's bedside, making sure they were on hand to tend to Winter's needs immediately. That meant neither Steve nor Sam were able to get more than a few hours of sleep at a time, in between going to town for groceries, fixing food for themselves, and at least attempting to keep the rest of the house from turning into a pigsty.
Rather than complaining or regretting his choices, however, Sam felt a deep satisfaction he'd rarely felt except when he was patching up someone's wounds. It wasn't exactly contentment or happiness—bandaging a dozen bullet wounds before a soldier bled out was nerve-wracking at best, as was trying to restrain the Winter Soldier when he was so out of it that he thought you were a Hydra agent. But when he dabbed at a feverish soldier's forehead with a damp cloth or helped him sip cool water and gently assured him he was going to live to see the sunrise...he knew he was where he needed to be. Whether in the desert or in this bedroom, this was the right place for him.
And, especially once they'd figured out their routine, there were plenty of quiet hours too. Times when Winter would sink into a deep, healing sleep without the muttering and restless movements. Times when Sam would venture into town and get to enjoy a long ride through the twisting mountain roads, either in silence or with the windows rolled down and his favorite tunes playing. And when he discovered that Steve had never heard of cardamom or lemon grass, he also started going all out in the kitchen. After all, it was more fun to cook for other people than just for himself.
A few days into their little adventure, Steve found the used bookstore. Sam would never have pegged Steve as a bookworm, but he soon discovered how wrong that assumption was. It seemed that whenever Steve had a spare moment to himself, on his own or while sitting at Winter's bedside, he was doing one of two things: drawing or reading. Sam had to laugh when he realized this little detail that every history book had neglected to mention: Steve Rogers was a total nerd.
Then Steve started reading The Lord of the Rings to Winter. Not the first choice Sam would have made for an ex-assassin who was mostly incoherent these days and probably had no idea what to do with high fantasy. But Steve seemed to be enjoying himself, at least.
Sam had never read the books, though of course he'd seen the movies. He'd always been a little disgruntled that the character who shared his name was a chubby little gardener—and there had been a few years where he couldn't so much as look at a potato without all of his friends telling him to boil 'em, mash 'em, stick 'em in a stew! But...well...he liked listening to Steve reading those books. Even if he had to put up with the amused looks Steve sent his way whenever Samwise Gamgee came onto the page.
When listening to some of the earlier chapters, before Frodo had even left the Shire, Sam was surprised by a sudden affinity he felt for Frodo's friends. "You can trust us to stick to you through thick and thin—to the bitter end," Steve read, smiling at Merry's loyalty. "And you can trust us to keep any secret of yours—closer than you keep it yourself. But you cannot trust us to let you face trouble alone, and go off without a word. We are your friends, Frodo."
Interesting. Sam had never thought of Steve resembling Frodo before. Not that he'd spent much time comparing the people he knew to the characters in that story. If he'd stopped to consider it, he would have expected Steve to seem more like Aragorn—someone noble and brave, a strong leader who was nevertheless humble and kind. But here at the beginning, at least, he could definitely see Steve in the way Frodo had naively thought he could sneak off on his dangerous quest without anyone to help him.
"If you have to go, then it will be a punishment for any of us to be left behind, even in Rivendell. We have come a long way with you and been through some stiff times. We want to go on."
Sam smiled to himself. Maybe it wasn't so bad after all to share a name with a Hobbit. Even if he was described as an excellent fellow, and would jump down a dragon's throat to save you, if he did not trip over his own feet.
Sam had just emerged from the bathroom, yawning and scratching an itch on his back, when he nearly ran into Winter. "Oh, sorry," he mumbled, stepping around him. He was barely awake—it was 5:45 when nature called this morning.
"I, um..."
Something in Winter's tentative whisper halted Sam in his tracks. He squinted over his shoulder at Winter, taking in his posture. Winter stood next to the railing around the stairs, hugging himself and darting furtive glances up at him. Sam turned to face him fully, his brain sluggishly waking up. "Yeah?"
Winter looked down at the floor and mumbled something indistinct, but Sam caught the word running. Then he noticed the way Winter was using his right arm to pin his metal one tightly against his chest, as if it might reach for a knife on its own if he didn't.
"You wanna go for a run?" Sam said. "Sure, just let me change real quick."
With a grateful glance up at him, Winter nodded. "Okay."
As Sam changed into his running clothes, he tried not to think too hard about his sore muscles from their run the day before. And the day before that. And the day before that... Not to mention how much weight he was losing. He hadn't been fat to start with, but even though he tried to make a point of eating extra these days, he couldn't keep up with the number of calories he was burning off by all this running.
It sure would be helpful if Steve could chip in with helping distract Winter from his cutting problem. Steve took much longer to tire than Sam did, and his enhanced healing abilities would probably leave him without any aches and pains afterward. But...Winter had specifically asked him not to tell Steve what they were doing. As much as he longed to get Steve in on the plan, he couldn't go back on his word.
Sam opened the door to his room again and found Winter standing exactly where he'd left him, fidgeting impatiently with his right sleeve. He practically leapt for the stairs as soon as he saw Sam, hurrying down them and making a beeline for the front door. The urge to cut must be pretty bad this morning. Sam wondered how long Winter had been resisting it before he'd gone for help. Or if he'd been waiting until he finally heard Sam get out of bed.
As they were putting on their hats, shoes, and gloves by the front door, Steve came down the stairs after them and strode into the kitchen. Sam eyed him, half-wishing Steve would come right out and ask them what they were doing. Instead, he just puttered around the kitchen, getting the coffee pot going and studiously not looking in their direction. He looked like a puppy who had to stay in his kennel while everyone else in the house went for a walk.
And then it hit him. He couldn't tell Steve about the plan to help Winter cope, but he could still recruit his help.
"Hey," Sam whispered in Winter's ear, nodding over at Steve. "You mind if I ask him to join us? He just looks really left out, you know?" Winter looked alarmed at this suggestion, so Sam hastily added, "I won't tell him why we're doing this unless you want me to. But I think he'd enjoy it."
Winter's eyes darted between him and Steve. Then slowly, reluctantly, he nodded.
Sam tried not to let the triumph and relief he felt show on his face. "Hey, Cap, we're heading out for a run. Wanna join us?"
Steve's expression immediately cleared as he looked over at them. "Okay," he said, a grin splitting his face.
It only took a couple more minutes for Steve to get ready and join them, and Sam did his best to engage Winter in conversation during the wait, to get his mind off his arm. But soon, they began their slow jog across the lawn and up to the main road. Once there, Steve naturally took the lead, setting the pace to one that Sam immediately knew he wouldn't be able to keep up for long.
Steve was in the middle, with Winter on his other side, so Sam couldn't see the other man's face. But suddenly, with no warning, both of the others shot ahead like human missiles, their arms and legs moving so fast they were just blurs. "Aw, c'mon, no fair!" he gasped after them.
After a few paces, Sam staggered to a stop and bent over to catch his breath. It was just like when he'd first met Steve...except now there were two of them.
Sam couldn't suppress a smile as the cold mountain air stung the back of his throat. He still wasn't entirely sure why Winter had been so adamant about keeping the reason for these runs such a secret, but he hoped this was the beginning of a change for Winter. Maybe this would show him that Steve could help just as much as Sam, if not more.
Once he could breathe properly again, Sam turned and began a leisurely walk back to the cabin. As his sweat dried, the early morning breeze made him shiver. Maybe he should have put on another layer or two after all. Still, it was nice to just enjoy the scenery without gasping for breath as he and Winter jogged back. This really was a pretty place, with the snow-capped peaks and pine trees poking up against the brilliant blue sky. He'd have to remember this area for future vacations.
By the time Sam got back to the cabin, his nose felt like an icicle and his toes were numb, so he made a beeline for the shower. He lingered in the hot water, thawing himself out and soothing his worn-out muscles. But even though he took his time cleaning himself up and tossing in a load of laundry, the others still hadn't returned. So, obeying the rumbling of his stomach, he set to work getting breakfast ready. Two supersoldiers running full-tilt would probably be able to eat an elephant in one sitting.
Since they were fresh out of elephants, Sam just whipped up two big bowls of pancake batter—one with blueberries and one with chocolate chips. He set the table, put three mugs next to the coffee machine (with a packet of hot cocoa mix next to one for Winter), and put milk and maple syrup on the table for anyone who wanted them.
Hmm. Still no sign of the others.
He wasn't sure how fast Steve and Winter had been running, but at that speed, they could be miles away. After considering for a moment, Sam pulled on his coat and got into the car. He drove in the direction they'd gone, keeping his eyes peeled for any sign of his friends. Hopefully neither of them had broken a leg due to their insane speed on this winding mountain road. Had Steve taken his phone with him?
Thankfully, it didn't take too long before he rounded a bend and spotted them, walking towards him. Steve had an arm slung casually around Winter's shoulders, and Winter didn't look tense or uncomfortable with the proximity. Sam's heart lifted to see that.
There were no other cars around, so Sam just slowed to a stop in the road and lowered a window to say, "You know, I oughta just let you guys walk the whole way after leaving me behind like that."
Steve opened his mouth to banter back, but Winter beat him to it. "It's not our fault you're a slowpoke."
Sam stared at him. Had he...made a joke? Really? Mr. Doom-and-Gloom had discovered humor? Steve started to chuckle, and Sam let out a surprised laugh as well. It wasn't a very funny joke, but just the thought of Winter joking at all cracked Sam up more than anything. He and Steve shared a look as they laughed helplessly, more for joy and relief than anything else. And the look of consternation on Winter's face only made them laugh harder.
Chuckling and wiping tears of mirth from his eyes, Sam said, "Come on, let's go home. It's getting cold."
Back at the cabin, Sam shooed the others off to take showers while he got the griddle going and spooned out the first few pancakes to start cooking. He'd just finished the first batch and slid them onto the serving plate when he heard footsteps descending the stairs. Already?
He smelled Steve's sweat an instant before Steve's arms wrapped around him from behind. "Hey!" he cried, wriggling out of Steve's grasp and grimacing. "I told you, no breakfast until you wash up!"
But when he turned around, he saw that Steve was beaming at him, his eyes sparkling like a kid at Christmas. Instead of responding to Sam's protest, he said in a hushed voice, "Sam...he wants to quit."
"What?"
"He gave me his knives. All of them. He's...going to try to stop!"
Wow. Sam had been hoping the experience of running with Steve would help Winter, but he hadn't expected the change to come so...abruptly. He grinned, feeling some of Steve's palpable euphoria for himself. "That's great!"
And Winter had given Steve the knives. Not Sam. That was significant. It meant that, despite whatever misunderstandings and resentments they'd been struggling with up to this point, Winter was willing to set them all aside, because he knew that Steve could help him.
Sam was so proud of them both.
Great. It was raining again. It had been raining, or at least sprinkling, nonstop for the past week. Now, the three of them stood on the porch, staring out at the steady drizzle drenching the already-soaked front lawn.
Sam hated rain. Well, mostly he hated lightning and thunder, of course—inevitably, it made him think of Afghanistan and a hundred things that had happened there he'd rather forget. But even when it was just a steady rainfall like this one, without even a single grumble in the sky, he felt antsy. Like there was an itch on his back he couldn't quite reach. When it rained, he always felt like he was tensing up, waiting for the first flash of lightning that would turn his day from lousy to downright miserable.
Such an unrelenting stint of rain had made things especially challenging. He always put in extra effort to stay cheerful (or at least to act cheerful) when it rained. Not only did it keep others from worrying about him, it helped his mood more than brooding and feeling sorry for himself did. That was all right for a day or two, but a week? Even he was finding it hard not to grumble and glower like a certain ex-assassin he knew.
As if he could tell Sam was thinking about him, Winter spoke up from where he stood between Steve and Sam. "April showers bring May flowers."
Steve glanced over, his glum expression brightening into a reminiscent smile. "My mother used to say that every time I complained about the rain. Even when it wasn't April."
Sam's mother had said that too. Or had that been his grandmother...?
It suddenly occurred to him what his mother would say if she could see him now. Keep frowning like that, Sammy, and your face will get stuck like that! Now, stop feeling sorry for yourself—it's not going to do anyone any good. Nothing will get better unless you get up and do something about it.
He couldn't keep back a small smile as his mother's familiar voice rang in his head. How many times had she scolded him like that? Gideon had never paid much attention to her lectures, and Sarah had told Sam once that she found their mother's blunt words more hurtful than helpful in the wake of their father's death. But Sam had always listened, and taken her wisdom to heart. Somehow, what she'd said had always made sense to Sam.
And now, he needed to put that advice into practice. He'd paid enough attention to his anxiety and gloom. There had to be a silver lining, right? That's what his mother always said.
As he gazed across the muddy expanse of the front lawn, he thought of another grassy yard from long ago. Not the cramped one at his mom's house, not the pitiful strip of weeds in front of their apartment building where they'd lived in the city. No, the big backyard at his cousins' house in the suburbs. They'd gone to visit during the summer, just a few months before his father had died. A big summer storm had rolled through, and he and all of his cousins had gone racing around barefoot, splashing in puddles and yelling like crazy. Sarah had been too young to worry about her hair, and it was before Gideon had drifted away and become a stranger.
It was one of his favorite memories, one that brought a smile to his face even now. He glanced sidelong at Winter and Steve, and wondered...
Well. No better way to find out.
With a loud whoop to psych himself up, Sam kicked off his shoes and socks, then bounded down the steps. The rain crashed over his head, harder than he'd been expecting. Colder, too. But he embraced it, holding out his arms and spinning in a circle just like he had as a kid. He tipped his head back, making sure every inch of him got as wet as possible. Mud squelched underfoot, sucking at his heels and splashing up onto his ankles as he danced around the yard.
It was like he was that boy again, racing around carefree and barefoot, with nothing to grieve and nothing to fear. He let out a laugh of sheer joy and called out, "I used to do this with my brother and sister when we were kids!" He looked over at Steve and Winter, who still stood on the porch. "C'mon, you old fogies! Jump in a puddle! Feel the mud between your toes!"
Steve was the first one to follow his advice. After sticking one sock into each shoe and neatly lining them up at the top of the steps next to Sam's hastily-discarded ones, he calmly walked out into the yard, squinting a little until he got used to the rain pattering on his head. "You're going to catch your death," he said, sounding even more like Sam's grandmother.
"And you're not?" Sam said, raising an eyebrow.
Steve puffed out his chest, his eyes twinkling with humor. "I have the immune system of ten men. You, my friend, do not."
"Yeah, yeah, we'll see who's laughing when you get a cold." Sam said this casually, then whipped his elbow out and jabbed at Steve's side. Steve slipped on the wet grass, grabbing onto Sam's arm to keep himself upright. Too late, Sam realized he was going down as well. But he was determined to take Steve with him. He grabbed at Steve's leg, laughing in triumph as Steve lost his balance and sat down right in the middle of a large mud puddle. Sam didn't care that he'd slipped down onto his back. That was half the fun of playing in the rain in the first place: getting as dirty as possible.
The surprise slipped from Steve's face as he looked over at Sam and joined in his laughter. He staggered to his feet and held out his hand to Sam. Sam grabbed it, trying to pull Steve back down, but Steve was ready for this and had his feet planted firmly on the ground this time. With a grin, he effortlessly hauled Sam upright.
They shared another couple of friendly jabs, trying to knock each other down without losing their own footing. Then Sam glanced over at the porch, where Winter still stood high and dry. "Hey, Winter, come on down here!" he yelled, beckoning eagerly. "You haven't lived until you've run around barefoot in the rain!"
It was too far for him to see Winter's expression, but he didn't move.
"It's all right," Steve said, still grinning. "It's not that cold once you get used to it. I think you'll like it."
Oh, right. Winter was probably thinking of that time he'd gotten snow down the back of his shirt and panicked. Sam felt a rush of deja vu, even though their surroundings looked completely different than they had on Christmas morning. Then, as now, he and Steve had run around the yard like little boys while Winter watched from the safety of the porch. Back then, they'd coaxed him down to join them, and it had ended with him screaming and flailing around in the snow. Would something like that happen this time too?
But almost four months had passed since that day. Winter sat down on the top step, taking off his shoes and socks with deliberate movements. Then he stood up and went down one more step. He stood, as if steeling himself, looking warily out at the rain.
"Come on, it's fun!" Steve coaxed. "Just try it!"
"I...I don't want to fall down..." Winter murmured hesitantly, his voice nearly lost in the rush of the stream out back.
Steve strode over to the stairs, holding out a hand. "Here, just hang onto me. I won't let you fall."
Winter's expression immediately cleared a little as he reached out and took Steve's hand. He ventured onto the next step, flinching when the rain finally found him. Sam found himself tensing up at the same time, waiting for screams to split the air. He inched closer, in case he had to help Steve restrain him or something...
"Can I hold onto Sam too?"
Sam met Winter's gaze, surprised. He wasn't sure how he could help, but he wasn't about to refuse. "Sure thing, man," he said, rubbing his hand over a less-muddy portion of his shirt as he walked over to join them. Sam grabbed Winter's metal hand, which was cold to the touch.
Winter looked from one of them to the other, then cautiously stepped down the rest of the way onto the grass. Winter's metal fingers were tight around Sam's hand, but he could tell that Winter was holding back his full strength. Very different from the times he'd hallucinated and tried to fight them.
For a minute or two, Winter just stood there, shoulders hunched, letting the rain beat on top of his head and soak him to the skin. Then his metal fingers slid from Sam's grip. He turned his hand over and over, holding it out in the rain as if to see its glistening surface shimmer in the light. Next he pulled his other hand from Steve's, cupping both hands together to catch the rain.
Slowly, Winter relaxed. Sam watched it happen—slowly seeping through him, like a litmus test in a science experiment. His head raised, then his shoulders lowered, then he dropped his arms to his sides and stood straighter. He tipped his head back, shaking sopping strands of hair out of his face, and closed his eyes as he let the rain wash over him. Then he slowly raised his arms over his head, as if to embrace the stormy sky.
When Winter started to spin in lazy circles, Sam and Steve backed away quickly, giving him room to move. Sam stood up against the porch, watching his friend spinning around the lawn just because he could. Watching Winter...he forgot about himself. His anxiety and gloom faded into the background, suddenly less important than the simple joy of a man finally letting himself free. The man who spun dizzily through mud puddles for the sheer sensory pleasure of it had been hiding inside Winter all this time, but only now had it emerged for the rest of the world to see.
Sam smiled. He'd found his silver lining.
Especially when both Winter and Steve fell flat on their faces and made complete fools of themselves, and the air rang with their laughter. Both of their laughter. Winter lay on his back, laughing up at the stormy sky.
Sam joined in, laughing till he could hardly breathe. Let the thunder roll.
Do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit, but in humility count others more significant than yourselves.
- Philippians 2:3