Read their relationship how you want. I think I prefer them as friends, they don't seem ready to be more than that.

"Sam?"

"Huh?" The wings swivel back from their protective cocoon around the aforementioned man. "Oh, Bucky, what's up?"

"What are you doing?" Bucky frowned, slightly confused. He glances around, but his previous judgement was accurate - there are no dangers around, not in Sam's neighborhood.

"I'm just preening." Sam flicked a dirty cloth lightly in Bucky's direction. The explanation only served to deepen Bucky's previous confusion.

"Isn't that a thing birds do?"

Sam huffed, stretching out the wings once more. "I don't know if you've noticed, Buck, but I kind of am a bird."

"You know what I mean." Bucky sighed, watching Sam wipe carefully under some feathers. "You're not exactly a feathery ball of tiny creature - well, maybe you've got 'tiny' down."

"What?" Sam paused, glaring at Bucky. He stabbed the cloth at the other threateningly. "Say that again, I dare you."

"I'm not saying you're short, but you're… small."

"That's it." Sam tossed down the cloth and rose to his feet, mantling his wings as he did so. "I'm gonna kill you."

And with that, he lunged. Bucky caught him easily, but Sam was expecting that. He wrapped all his limbs around the metal limb and threw his wings out, dragging them both to the ground. Bucky was angled to land on top, but Sam twisted, flipping their positions and using his wings to shove Bucky into the dirt. Bucky's vibranium arm caught Sam's right wing, immobilizing it, and tugged down. Sam slipped slightly with the unexpected shift in balance, and Bucky took advantage of that to flip Sam into the dirt beside him. Bucky shifted to press one knee to each wing and a forearm under Sam's chin, effectively pinning him in place. Sam activated his jetpack, dragging both of them over the ground. Bucky's pin faltered in his effort to keep from falling, allowing Sam's wings enough space to slip free and reverse their positions once more. Bucky rolled with the flip and kicked Sam over his head, leaving him windless in a patch of grass. Bucky sighed, letting his head drop back into the dirt. Sam twitched, half-dedicated to continuing the fight, but he seemed to realize Bucky had stopped, and let himself relax as well.

The two lay panting for several long moments. Sam finally broke the semi-silence first. "You know... I'm only, like, an inch shorter than you, right? If that."

"Still smaller…" Bucky answered.

"Asshole." Sam chuckled. There was a shuffling from his direction, then a soft series of clicks and whirs only a supersoldier would be able to hear that indicated Sam was folding the metal wings back into a resting position.

Bucky frowned at an unexpected grinding from the wings. "What was that?"

"What was what?" Sam replied distractedly.

"That sound."

"You're gonna have to be more specific." Sam frowned.

"Your wings," Bucky clarified. "They sound… off."

"Probably because you rubbed dirt back into all of the crevices, jerk." Sam complained. "All of my hard work, down the drain. Thanks, I appreciate it."

"Sorry." Bucky muttered half-heartedly. He sat up, looking back at his friend partner co-worker. "Is that what the… 'preening' was for?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Yes. And," he added, picking up the cloth from the ground and tossing it to the Winter Soldier, "You are going to help me do it again."

"I-" Bucky caught the cloth, surprised. "Sure, whatever. Uh."

Sam sat back on the ground, slowly moving his wings into position. "Hop to it, then."

Bucky knelt down outside of Sam's left wing, hesitant to touch it. Sam began working on the inside of the right wing, easily wiping away the brown dust that had settled there. The man paused when he realized Bucky hadn't moved.

"Alright, what is it?" Sam asked.

"Is…" Bucky paused, unsure how to ask. "Is it… alright for me to help you preen?"

"If it wasn't, I wouldn't ask you to."

"You didn't ask me in the first place."

"Same difference."

"What I mean is," Bucky pressed his lips together, thinking. "Isn't preening something personal?"

"Sure, for birds." Sam replied. "And, as you pointed out earlier, I'm not a bird."

"But you-" Bucky huffed. "Nevermind," he muttered, pressing the cloth to the wings. He rubbed at the grime, but it only served to smear it around. He frowned and pressed harder.

For whatever reason - maybe he felt a shift in balance, maybe he was just that in-tune with his wings - Sam immediately jerked the wing back. "Gently, gently!" he squawked. "This is delicate machinery, you could break it!"

"Sorry," Bucky apologized. "Uh… how do I do this without breaking it?"

"Like this," he shifted the wings so that Bucky could see what he was doing. "You move in circular movements, and wipe along the veins."

"Like wiping a knife."

"Exactly. Make sure you get under the other feathers, too." Sam pointed. "That's where the grime hides the most."

Bucky tried to copy his movements and found it really was almost exactly the same as wiping a knife clean. He snorted at the idea of knife-wings. He knew the things packed a punch when necessary, and hitting them felt like hitting a block of concrete, but he's never been cut from them. He wondered if Sam had been holding back with him, or if it just wasn't possible. Maybe he'd just gotten lucky.

He slid a finger - a flesh one, not a metal one - along the edge of one of the feathers, curious. A cut didn't appear until he got closer to a tip. Bucky inspected the cut, vividly remembering the few times the wings had plunged into the cement ground to anchor Sam to the ground when he was fighting against a stronger opponent.

So, yeah. Definitely could cut people.

Bucky supposed they'd both held back against each other in their friendly spars. Bucky was a trained assassin, and he knew his arm could easily twist Sam's wings into an incomprehensible mess. Sam, in turn, had his knife-wings and could very easily drag Bucky as high as he needed to and drop him.

Bucky was drawn out of his musings by the sudden movement of Sam throwing an arm over one of his wings. The wing shifted slightly, allowing Sam to reach all of the little feathers in and around the slits in the backpack-like case on his back. It looked like an uncomfortable position.

"Why do you wear them?" Bucky asked.

"Huh?" Sam hummed distractedly.

"Why not take them off and clean them at a table or something?" Bucky clarified. "It would be easier, wouldn't it?"

"I guess." Sam muttered. "But like this, I can move them around. It's easier to reach than at a table. Plus, we don't own any large enough tables, and we definitely can't afford one."

Bucky nodded in understanding. It was probably like when he cleaned his arm: it was easier when he was wearing it. He could support it easily and rotate when needed. It was just simpler like that.

They continued cleaning the wings until the sun was setting behind the ocean. Sam finally threw down his cloth with a satisfied sigh. Bucky tossed his down as well.

"That took a while." Bucky commented.

"Would've taken longer without you, Mr. Super Soldier." Sam replied. "Thanks, man."

"Sure." Bucky grinned. "Let me know if you need help again."

"Of course."

It's really hard to properly characterize Bucky. He never talks (and we love him for it).

Anyway, I finished watching The Falcon and the Winter Soldier and immediately started writing. During the whole relaxing-and-fixing-the-boat thing, I started thinking about Sam's wings, and if they needed preening or not. I figured he'd need to clean them at some point.

I've never cleaned a knife. Or preened metal feathers. Or preened at all. Idk. We're not here for accuracy.

Anyway.

Thanks for reading! Appreciate you all! ~BP