Sam/Sky/Steve
Sam's born with the words, "on your left" curled across his hip, in neat old fashioned writing that his great aunt preens to see for the same cursive style she grew up learning in the schools of Brooklyn. The words on his chest, written across his ribs in precise school teacher letters, "I have you relax," come later, when he's seven and already heard the first set three times from playground buddies. He lets the words be a promise, when the gangs take Elijah and jail grind him back up and Sam enlists in the army to get away from the feeling that he should have done more to protect his brother. Never mind that Elijah's holding up the sign when he debarks for the last time, the words a promise that Sam needs to take the people around him and hold them, like someday he's going to get held himself.
On your left resolves itself into being the craziest week of Sam's life, and he's counting the last week of senior year in that (graduation, prom, cousin Micah's wedding, and basic). Steve, who keeps running even after Sam said his words back, after spending too long trying to come with with the breathless reply, and who comes to him when there's no one else to turn too. Steve, who tries to take the couch but who turns into the clingiest little spoon Sam's ever dealt with after being forced into the bed.
Steve, who keeps disappearing to be an Avenger without so much as a five minute warning until Ultron happens and Sam puts his foot down and moves in.
Steve's words are on his leg and chest respectively, and sometimes when they sleep, Steve's leg over Sam's hip, shared words brushing, the words on their chest will line up. It never feels right, never complete, there's a third person meant for that space, but it's nice to see exactly where they'll fit. The heart between them. Surrounded by them, wrapped up in what is Steve's furnace of a body.
Sam wouldn't be human if he wasn't jealous of their third for getting that.
"What do you think she's like," Steve asks one evening, his fingers tracing lazily over the letters on Sam's chest.
He flicks an eyebrow. "She?"
"What, you think there's another guy out there who can handle me?"
Sam smacks Steve's chest, wincing when his hand can't handle the muscle under the skin, and leans in to swallow up the shit eating grin on that silly soldier face.
"My apologies, Captain Rogers, but there is a call you should take."
Steve groans, and Sam flops back on the bed, tempted to flip the ceiling the bird for interrupting, but FRIDAY is just doing her job. No reason to get annoyed.
The call turns out to be Coulson, reaching out for help after, "fucking two years, he didn't say anything, Sam," because Hydra is still pulling the multiple head shit and Sam's already got his wings on before Steve finishes his rant. Wanda and Nat are waiting with the Quinjet, with the confirmation that Rodney and Vision have flown ahead.
They land in the middle of a firefight.
Coulson's team, bigger than Sam would have thought for a still rebuilding SHIELD, is pinned down, and yeah, good thin Stark's spent plenty of time fiddling with the new wings. Sam jumps out of the Quinjet with Steve following him right away, much to Nat's amusement.
"The eastern block," Coulson screams in his earpiece. "That's where the majority of their computer banks are. We need anything you can get."
Wanda holds her hands up, and Sam kicks off with his arms wrapped firmly around her. Bullets fired at them bounce harmlessly off a half bowl of red energy under them.
"Thanks."
"I wouldn't want you to meet your soulmate and have you bleed out on her, Samuel."
He doesn't really get a chance to think about that before she's running ahead, into the building with her fingers crackling under the energy around her hands. He sighs, puts the words into the spot of his head that just to be quite small, things that he meant to deal with later like "build a shed in the back for gardening", and was now almost a dominating portion of his brain, with thoughts like "help a ninety year old POW figure out microwaves" and "scientifically prove if Wanda can actually see the future." He really needs to get better hobbies.
He kicks off, hearing those terrible screams as Wanda unleashes the worst of her power on the Hydra agents she finds inside the building. "Girl's got a grudge."
He's twisting in the air above the choas, looking for the next area of trouble (Steve, it's always Steve), when there's a crack, and the wings turn into dead weight on his back. He's falling, turning head over heels in the air as the ground grows large in a blur below him, and he can hear Riley screaming at him, sees the burning helicarrier above him. There's a voice yelling in his ears, but the words aren't loud enough to pass Riley's death call, and he can't feel air in his lungs at all.
He hits a wall like a weight, slamming into it, but the ground is still ten feet below him, and it's hovering, but the wings are crumpled up around him.
"I have you, relax."
The air in his lungs, rushing in now that he's no longer on a death spiral to the ground, is burning in its sweetness, and he holds his hands out, turning his eyes to the young woman beneath him, her outstretched hands coming up as he slowly falls to the ground. She smiles at him, and his pulse s a spinning whirl in his head. He misses the ground beneath him coming up, and lands face first in the dirt, coming up sputtering with a mouth that tastes like blood and grit.
"Ah, why'd you have to do that, Skye? I was gonna console a grieving Captain America."
She throws a middle finger at Hawkeye, and Sam feels his heart flip over once, twice. He struggles to his feet, and she holds out a hand. He can't stop himself from taking it automatically, and the tingle over his skin is something that he knows comes from just more than the pretty smile on her face.
"Okay, Falcon?"
"Thanks to you, wonderful wonderful woman."
He feels her fingers dig into his skin, and her face is a picture of shock, and he can't help but to laugh at it, because it's so perfect, it's everything he wanted. She lights up like the sun. "Oh, but- You- But you're with Captain America!"
"We got room for a third."
He can see Steve, coming up behind them, stutter, then start racing forward again. Of course the bugger heard it. Spoils everything, that super hearing.
"What's this about making a sandwich?"
The troll. The utter complete troll. Sam locks eyes with Skye and they've both got sad grins on their faces, and he knows what that look means. Steve may be the biggest troll to ever come out of the last century, but Sam has a partner now, and that just about makes up for it all. Skye barely looks shocked now, as she turns around and shoves Steve in the chest, hard.
"Go make your own sandwich, grandpa."
Sam gets the first kiss with their girl, and it's everything he'd dreamed. There's the three of them, and Steve's on his left, and Skye's got him, and he wraps his hands around both their waists, and smiles, feeling his heart soar.