this kind of RELIEF ( & this kind of reservation, because though he puts steve up on the mantle of heroes to be admired, there’s no pleasure or glory in standing solo at the top of the pillar, in managing the collective grief & weight of the entirety of the population ) : slipping away from the world in which real, battling stakes could hinge life or death, is a rare, sunbaked surprise. a raucous puzzle of giggling surges up from the onlooking kids all decked out in their polyester blends of iron man, black widow, ant-man. bucky plays up the gig, drawing another foam arrow from the quiver that barely fits its way around the round of his bicep.
“ c’mon, wilson. ” he hollers, voice comedically kicked up a notch. “ come out, come out wherever you are! ”
his stalking step is not for gaming ; it’s all lupine predator peeling the fletching back so that it situates itself on the metalline cusp of his shoulder. the cresting curls under the clip of his knuckle, poised to loose whenever he gets eyes on that glistening, summer sheen of sam’s skin makes even a slivering appearance from his haven.
the problem ( the inherent, diseased PROBLEM ) is that he can’t divorce his instincts, the steady drum of his heart ruddering against his chest, from the toying of it all. there’s nothing light about what they’re doing even if the weaponry is spare & plasticine. it hitches an old, calming adrenaline that channels through his veins & bursts in a victory march when he lets the next shot fly free toward the trajectory of sam’s temple.
“ big difference is now i’ve gotta load another one up. ” the container hosting the remainder of the fake darts jostles, clumsy under his thick fingers. it’s enough time that if sam makes a run for it he can get a decent amount of space. bucky shrugs into a half trot while plying one up. “ —- waste of time. ”
❝ captain america never surrenders ! ❞ the gaggle of avid fans, some no higher than his hip or bucky’s elbow, have formed a rapt amphitheatre to their display. even those pretending they’re too cool to care cast their eyes in a chalantly nonchalant manner. their ‘civilian’ attire was enough to keep their cover at first glance but the shield and shooters give them up quickly. not that sam minds, least no one’s bothering him for his autograph when he’s under siege.
though he wouldn’t mind if everyone were to delete the picture of him taking a dart to the brain panel mere seconds in. he’d really appreciate that.
pride impeeded but not broken, sam takes the ultimate faux defense in hand as he slips to the left and away from the immediate line of fire. one ( unnecessary ) barrel roll over coney island’s weather worn wooden slats has him out of view and back in the game. up and up, just like he’s wearing his wings. over the boundaries between one stall’s trash and another’s, he embarks on creeping up behind bucky’s shoulder.
practising moon, noon and night has shown sam just how easy it is for any object to become america’s symbol of peace and freedom through out the known world. one well timed flick has the plastic schucking its flimsy way through the air to clip bucky’s fingertips that bare another arrow. ❝ really? barton makes it look so easy. getting slow, old man? ❞
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