Archive of Our Own ^beta

"If we die," Steve says. "We're not gonna die," Sam says.

A hole. Somewhere in Finland. 1954.

“If we die,” Steve says.

“We’re not gonna die,” Sam says.

“But if we die,” Steve says again, pointed. “I want you to know that I don’t regret a single moment that we’ve spent together, even if it’s led us to this point.”

If Sam weren’t tied to Steve, back to back, dangling over a pit of evil, bloodthirsty octopi, he would’ve glared at him. As it is, he’s focused, trying to find a way out of death by poisonous, sticky tentacles. He looks to Zola, standing across the room, piggish eyes wide and excited as he stares at the Tesseract. His Nazi cronies hammer at the base of the Tesseract’s stone container and Sam can’t help but roll his eyes. Typical tenured professor. Can’t do any work for himself. Always gotta have some low-paid crony do the actual meat of the project, whether they’re graduate students or Nazis.

“Sam?” Steve asks. “Did you hear me?”

“Yes,” Sam says.

“I thought that deserved a response,” Steve says. “It was very poetic.”

Sam sighs. “I regret every moment we’ve spent together,” he says. “Now, on the count of three, I need you to pull your weight to the—“

“You idiots!” he hears Zola scream.

Sam looks up just in time to see a blinding blue light.

“Sam?” he hears Steve ask franticly behind him. “Sam, what’s happening?”

There’s a large crack like thunder, and the precarious rope holding Sam and Steve starts to shake. “Make it swing!” Sam yells. There’s mayhem below — the octopi are splashing, the Nazis are screaming, and he can hear Zola’s voice over everyone else’s, telling his crew to calm down and get to the Tesseract. Steve starts to swing, and Sam sucks in best he can and pulls his right hand out from underneath the ropes. “Keep going!” Sam yells, and after several trips across the pit of octopi, each time dropping a little lower as the rope coming closer to snapping, they reach the wall of the chamber. Sam stretches his free arm, reaching out for the rope ladder they used to climb down into the chamber.

He strains, leaning as much as he can, when the flaming torches keeping the chamber alight all go out at once. Sam grunts with frustration, feeling his body swing away from the ladder. “Shit,” he mutters.

Then, suddenly, there’s a gust of wind. The rope swings back towards the wall, and Sam feels him and Steve dropping lower towards the writhing octopi, seemingly even more wound up because of all of the shenanigans afoot. How rude these Nazis are for interrupting this group of octopi’s nap and making them hungry for a Sam-and-Steve-shaped snack.

“Sam!” Steve yells, but Sam ignores him, reaching out and finally, finally grabbing the rope ladder. Just as he grabs on, he feels the rope holding he and Steve snap above them, and he grunts as he carries his and Steve’s weight with just the one arm. But he manages, because not only is he the best professor in the goddamn world, but he’s also a professor who stays in shape. “Just drop me!” Steve says.

“You’ll break every bone in your goddamn body when you hit the ground and we’re tied together, you asshole,” Sam grits out, trying to figure a way out of this.

“Don’t call me an asshole!” Steve shouts.

“Don’t be so arbitrary!” Sam responds, craning his head so he can yell at Steve face-to-face when his grip slips. He doesn’t even have the time to swear when he and Steve start falling. Steve screams and Sam tries to grab for the rope again.

He doesn’t reach it.

They hurtle down the cavern.

Sam shuts his eyes. He survived the Great Depression, the worst war the world has ever known, and the tenure process just to die in some weird Norse tomb with a bunch of Nazis? No fucking way. This is not the way Sam Wilson is supposed to go.

But he doesn’t die.

Instead, he gets swept up by strong arms. When he opens his eyes, he’s staring up at a smiling face. “Hello,” a tall blond man says as they gently float to the ground.

“Uh, hey,” Sam says. Steve says something muffled from behind him. “Who’re you?”

The man’s smile fades into affront. “Are you not the ones who summoned me?” he asks as he lets them go. Sam stumbles a little, and the ropes attaching he and Steve fall off. Steve quickly walks to Sam’s side and takes his hand in his, giving Sam’s hand a squeeze.

“Uh,” Sam says again. “Think those assholes did,” he says, gesturing with his free hand over to where Zola and his cronies stand, seemingly frozen in time.

“But you are the warrior here,” the man says. “You are the only one worthy to wield the Tesseract.”

“If you say so,” Sam says.

“Either way,” the man says, straightening himself up with a grin. He’s holding a hammer in one hand, and raises it to the sky as he says, “It is I, Thor, God of Thunder” in a booming voice. Somewhere above them, lightning flashes.

“Oh,” Sam says. He looks to Steve, who looks back at him with wide eyes. “That’s nice.”

Sam should’ve never gone into academia.

Six Months Ago

Sam notices the man at the back of his classroom halfway through his lecture. It’s one of his bigger classes — an Introduction to Archaeology first-year lecture that a lot of students take as a course for their distribution requirements — so he doesn’t always pay attention to who attends the lecture. He’s got a TA who handles the attendance and checks for participation, so he just focuses on teaching the lesson the best he can, grading assignments, and ignoring the students the second row who fall asleep. So far, it’s worked for him.

But he knows that he would’ve noticed the blondie in the back row if he had been attending class during the whole semester First of all, he’s obviously older than most everyone else in the room, looking about the same age as Sam. Second of all, Sam would have noticed those muscles if they were in his class on a regular basis. He doesn’t ogle his students, so if this guy were his student, he’d ignore them, but since this guy isn’t his student, he doesn’t feel that a little appreciation is inappropriate.

So when he finishes up his lecture, Sam lingers. He chats with a few students who are trying to suck up to him, then makes a show of clearing off the chalkboard. Lo and behold, tall, blond and handsome comes up to him as he’s on his tiptoes to reach the highest part of the board.

“That was a great lecture, Professor Wilson,” blondie says.

“Thanks,” Sam says as he sets his eraser down by the chalkboard. “You’re not actually in my class, are you?”

Blondie chuckles, crossing his muscled arms across his wide chest. “No, I’m not. I’m Steve Rogers, the new classical art and archaeology librarian,” he says, walking to Sam and reaching his hand out. Sam takes it, shakes it, and appreciates the grip. If he takes an extra moment to also appreciate the way Steve’s chest fills out his shirt while he shakes, then that’s his own prerogative.

“Good to meet you, Steve,” Sam says. “What can I do for you?” he asks, going to his desk. There’s no reason he can’t neaten things up while they talk. It may distract him from the new librarian’s smile, at least.

“I was wondering if you could help me out with something,” Steve says.

“I’m listening,” Sam says with a smile.

“You know Professor Arnim Zola?” Steve asks.

Sam nods. “That whack job?” he asks. Steve looks at him with wide, surprised, baby blue eyes. “I can say that. I’m tenured. Went through a whole process to make sure they can’t get rid of my charming self, even when I insult the biggest assholes on staff.” Steve nods, and hides a sweet smile before biting down on his bottom lip. This guy’s gonna be the death of Sam; he can already tell. “What about the guy?”

“Now that I know your feelings on him, I feel a bit bad asking for help,” Steve says, not meeting Sam’s eye.

Sam shrugs. “I’m willing to help the new guy out,” Sam says, slipping a stack of papers into his briefcase. He’ll be spending most of the night grading them.

“Well, Professor Zola asked me for some help with some of his research on Norwegian mythology, but I ran into a few issues in some of the translations. My academic background isn’t in northern Europe and I told him that I didn’t know the language, but he asked me to help anyway. I heard around campus that you were the man to go to about that sort of thing. I understand if you don’t want to, but I thought I’d introduce myself and ask. Also… I just wanted to meet you,” he adds with a little shrug.

“Me? Why not Zola?” Steve looks up at the ceiling, over at the chalkboard, down at his shoes. In fact, Steve looks just about everywhere besides at Sam. “You don’t want to spend any more time with him than you have to,” Sam says, holding back a chuckle.

“I never said that,” Steve says, solemn, but he looks Sam in the eye again, then quirks his lip. Sam is totally right about this one.

“Promise I won’t tell anyone.”

“You’re a good man,” Steve says, finally allowing himself to smile in earnest again. That’s good. Sam likes that smile.

“You got time now?” Sam asks as he closes up his briefcase. “I’m between classes. We can go to my office and look through whatever it is that he’s having you slog through.”

“Would you?” Steve asks. “It’s an awfully big favor, but I’m at my wit’s end.”

If Sam didn’t know better, he’d think that this burly blond man in a too-tight shirt and fluttering his eyelashes is flirting with him.

“Let’s go to my office,” Sam says with a grin.

They exchange pleasantries while they walk, and Sam decides that Steve has just about the best laugh he’s ever heard. He’s not afraid to throw his head back and grin, exposing the nice lines of his neck. More than that, he’s smart and funny, and he can keep a conversation going. And by the time they get to Sam’s office, Sam thinks Steve is really flirting with him, and Sam finds himself flirting back.

When they reach Sam’s office, Steve pulls a stack of papers out from his leather messenger bag. It only takes a few seconds for Sam to see what it is that Zola’s studying and it makes him want to roll his damn eyes. “The Tesseract?” Sam asks, giving the papers a skeptical last look before turning his attention back to Steve. “You can’t seriously be telling me that Zola is interested in the Tesseract.”

“Seems like he is,” Steve says, hands resting on his hips. It really emphasizes the breadth of his chest and his thin hips, and Sam can think of things he’d much rather be looking at instead of the papers in front of him. “Says he’s going on an expedition to find it over the summer.”

Sam levels Steve with a look. “You’re joking,” he says. “There’s no way he got funding to go try to find this thing. It doesn’t exist. Smarter — and crazier — men than him have tried to find it. Like, I’m talking rich dictators with unlimited funds and crazy eyes digging through snow to try to find it.”

Steve shakes his head. “That’s what he told me.” He pauses, looks over at Sam. “What’s so special about the Tesseract?” he asks, frowning. “This isn’t my area of expertise,” he adds again, looking like it pains him to admit it.

“First of all, the Tesseract doesn’t exist, so wasting money on trying to find it is insane,” Sam says, leaning down to look through the pages again. The stuff Zola’s had Steve pull is arcane, even for his line of work, the kind of gobbledygook that Sam wouldn’t go near in his own research. It’s honestly surprising that Zola is looking into this direction in the first place, given that he’s a field archaeologist who mainly works on Aryan dig sites. To look at something so northern is out of his area of expertise and, frankly, a little fishy.

“So it’s fiction,” Steve says.

Sam nods. “I think it is. Most other Norwegian scholars do, as well. There’s no solid evidence that it exists, and even sources that do believe it exists don’t think it’s on earth, and I’m pretty sure Zola isn’t heading to Asgard any time soon.”

“Then what would Zola want with it?” Steve asks.

Sam shrugs. “I don’t know.” He traces the pattern of the Tesseract on one of the pages with his index finger. “According to legend, it’s one of the most powerful objects in the galaxy, but that’s just it: they’re legends.” Sam sighs. “Again, according to legend, it has the power to destroy worlds, shit like that. If it existed, which it doesn’t, anyone who could get their hands on it would have more power than anyone else on the planet, possibly the galaxy.”

“Seems like a lot of power for a little cube,” Steve says, frowning at the papers.

Sam chuckles. “It would be.” He pauses. “I meant it though. It doesn’t make sense that Zola’s research agenda is taking him in this direction,” he says. “Unless he has some kind of clue that the rest of us don’t,” he says, frowning. He picks up the paper in front of him and examines the illustration of the Tesseract again. It seems like a whole lot of trouble for a whole lot of nothing, and even if it were something, it seems like the sort of thing that no human should have their hands on.

“I’m sure that he’s just chasing dreams,” Steve says with a shrug. “And I doubt that he’d be able to find anything that you couldn’t,” he adds, cheeks going red.

“Is that so?” Sam asks, grinning.

Steve’s cheeks go an even brighter shade of red, and Sam wonders how far that blush reaches. “Sure,” he says. “You’re such a respected researcher in the field. I’ve… I’ve heard a lot about you, and what you did during the war, Professor Wilson. I’ve been a fan of your work for some time.”

“Huh,” Sam says.

“In fact, I uh, I wouldn’t mind talking to you some more about this, or about anything, really.” He looks down. “Sorry,” he says. “I’m not usually this forward.”

Sam raises an eyebrow. “You wanna finish this conversation over drinks?” he asks.

Steve looks up suddenly. It looks like it takes him a second to process what Sam said, and Sam can practically see the thought as it chugs through Steve’s head. Then Steve smiles, shy and sweet. “One drink,” he says, still blushing.

Steve spends the night at Sam’s place. Sam doesn’t get his grading done, but to see Steve’s sweet smile in the morning is worth it.

Four Months Ago

Sam starts spending a lot of time at the library, sitting next to Steve with an array of materials relating to the Tesseract spread out before them. They probably spend more time working on the project than they should; Sam has his own research to concern himself with, and Steve has other people to please. Besides, Professor Zola should do his own research, and not pawn it off on his colleagues. But all that being said, the Zola project gives them an excuse to spend lazy afternoons next to one another, Sam working on translating primary texts and Steve doing secondary source research. When they’re done, they’ll go to Sam’s house or Steve’s apartment, eat some supper and maybe… engage in some extra-curricular activities.

Like now, for example, they’re spread out across Sam’s bed. They’re both naked, and still a little sweaty from the extra-curricular activities they just engaged in. Steve looks beautiful as he dozes off, moonlight filtering in through the blinds and making his gold hair shine. Sam leans down, presses a kiss against the line of Steve’s neck. Steve shifts, blanket slipping from his shoulders and exposing his bare pectorals, the light dusting of blond hair across his chest.

“Oh Sam,” Steve says, breathy, almost sighing.

“Damn, you look good,” Sam says, because he’s not one to mince words.

“Don’t make fun of me,” Steve says in a soft voice, forcing open an eye. Sam can tell that he’s threatening to grin, though.

“Just imagine me making some sexy librarian joke,” Sam purrs, smiling, the air between them feeling thick and time feeling slow.

“Hmm? Wanna check me out? Make up for some late fines? Sam, I’ve heard them all,” Steve says, voice light as he chuckles.

Sam leans down and kisses Steve on the lips, slow and sweet. When he pulls away, Steve sighs.

“I love you, Sam,” Steve says, opening his eyes. He looks so soft, head resting on Sam’s pillow, blue eyes vulnerable and kind.

“Me too,” Sam says. “I love you, too.” Then, “Now stop looking so serious and get some beauty sleep.”

“Do I need it that bad?” Steve asks, batting his long damn eyelashes.

“Now you’re just being cute,” Sam says, flopping down next to Steve. Steve snuggles in, head resting on Sam’s chest, and they both fall asleep.

Two Months Ago

“No,” Sam says.

“Don’t make me go alone!” Steve begs. They’re in Sam’s office. Steve said he’d drop by during lunch with a sandwich and some news. Sam wouldn’t have let him come if he knew that the news would be about accompanying Professor Zola on an archaeological expedition to Finland. Sam could’ve gotten his own damn sandwich if he knew Steve was coming to talk to him about that.

Sam puts down the stack of papers he’s been fiddling with. “That’s manipulative,” he says. “That’s manipulative and I don’t like it.”

“You could consider it a vacation,” Steve says. “It’s been so long since you’ve had a vacation.” He sits on the edge of Sam’s desk, crosses his legs, and looks at Sam underneath those long eyelashes. Does he know what he’s doing? Because it’s obscene. He huffs this little, put-out sigh, and Sam has to keep himself from rolling his damn eyes at how transparent Steve is.

“If you wanted to take me on vacation all you had to do is ask,” Sam says. “I know of this great little place on Nantucket…”

Steve frowns. “Is that supposed to be dirty?” he asks. Boy looks like an altar boy but has a mind that lingers in the gutter.

“My mind was not there, but now that you mention it…”

“Sam,” Steve says, in his low, disappointed voice. Sam does not like that low, disappointed voice. In fact, it’s pretty damn irritating.

“That your bedroom voice?” Sam asks, going back to fiddling with the pile of papers. Both of them know what Steve’s bedroom voice sounds like and that isn’t it, but that’s neither here nor there.

“This is childish,” Steve says, sort of sticking up his nose and acting like he’s above all this, which he obviously isn’t since he’s still trying to manipulate Sam into going with him. He glances over at Sam. “So?” he asks.

“So what?” Sam asks.

“Are you in?”

Sam purses his lips. “Honestly, I’d do just about anything you asked me to,” he says and Steve perks up, “but,” he adds, and Steve slumps again, “I don’t want to go hang out with Zola for three weeks this summer.” He doesn’t say why, but everyone knows why. Zola was a Nazi — exonerated for his research skills, but still — and hasn’t exactly been friendly to Sam in the past. It may be a long time since Sam’s been on vacation, but he remembers going on vacation enough to know that it doesn’t normally involve hanging out with Nazis who hate him based on the color of his skin. Besides, he has a few due dates coming up for publications, and he can’t dedicate more time than he already has to someone else’s research agenda. Working on Zola’s project was fun when he and Steve were getting to know each other, but now that they’re together, Sam refuses to do Zola’s damn job.

“Oh,” Steve says, hanging his head. “I should probably go, then.”

“Aw, don’t be like that,” Sam says. “We’ve got sandwiches and time to eat them.”

“I’ve gotta go tell Zola the bad news,” Steve says, still pouting.

Sam sighs. “Fine,” he says. “But we’re okay, right? Please tell me we’re not gonna break up over this.”

Steve shrugs, looks down, and shuffles his feet. “Well…”

“I’m not impressed, Steve,” Sam says, leveling him with a look.

Steve laughs. “Fine, fine, I’ll stop pretending. Of course we’re not breaking up; though, you’ve gotta expect a lot of complaining from me over this.”

“Don’t go,” Sam says, raising an eyebrow.

“Don’t start,” Steve says with a sigh.

Sam rolls his eyes. “Accompanying professors on their research trips isn’t part of your job description. Who will man the reference desk with you away?”

“He’s a well-respected professor,” Steve says with a disappointed frown.

“As he reminds you frequently.”

“Which means that there’s no way for me to weasel my way out of it.” Steve just sighs again, then plows on. “My coworkers understand that Professor Zola can make all of our lives hell if I don’t do what he wants me to.”

“So they’re sacrificing you,” Sam says.

“Apparently.”

“Can’t believe the bossiest guy I know is letting himself get stepped over like this.” Sam crosses his arms over his chest, feeling angry that Zola would put Steve — who is new and has no power — in this sort of situation.

“Low blow,” Steve says, sounding genuinely hurt. He looks down, unable to meet Sam’s eye.

Sam sighs. “Sorry,” he says, rubbing at his temple. “That wasn’t called for and wasn’t aimed at you. I’m just pissed you’re in this situation. You shouldn’t have to be.”

“It’s okay,” Steve says with a sad smile. “You know what would make me feel better?” he asks.

“If I made you a lasagna tonight?” Sam asks.

“Well…” Steve says, pursing his lips.

“Or I told you that I’d take you with me to this beach house in Nantucket this August for vacation?”

Steve’s pout falters for a second as he looks up with Sam with wide eyes. “Really?” he asks. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been to the beach.”

“Sure,” Sam says. “Is that what you wanted?”

“Well, yeah. But you could also come with me on Zola’s dig before that,” he says with a shit-eating grin.

“Go away, Steve,” Sam says. “I have papers to grade, a sandwich to eat, and you are an annoyance.”

“I’ll see you tonight,” Steve says with a laugh before leaning down and kissing Sam’s temple.

“Love you,” Sam says.

“Love you, too,” Steve says before leaving the office and shutting the door behind him.

Yesterday 

There’s a knock on Sam’s door. He rolls his eyes; he gave Steve a key to the house last week for a reason. “Let yourself in,” he calls as he stirs the pot. He’s got his mom’s recipe for jambalaya on the stove. Sam only makes his mama’s jambalaya for the truly worthy, but he thinks Steve qualifies; plus, Steve is leaving for Finland tomorrow and deserves something nice before he goes. Herring for three weeks seems a little grim, especially when it’s herring served with a side of Arnim Zola.

Sam hears the door open and shut, and smiles. Steve’s a little late, but it’s not a big deal. Steve’s almost never late and Sam is in a forgiving mood.

“Zere iz an interesting smell in here, Wilson,” says a German-accented voice behind Sam. Sam turns, spoon still in hand, to see Professor Arnim Zola standing in his kitchen. He grimaces. “Hello,” Zola says and Sam corrects himself — it’s a Swiss-accented voice, as he’s sure Zola would want him to know.

“This is a surprise,” Sam says, voice level, not bothering to correct the title — it’s Professor Wilson, thank you very much — not because he doesn’t want to, but because he doesn’t want this conversation to be any longer than it has to be.

“Yes, I assume you thought zat your friend, ze librarian would be here,” Zola says with a smile.

“Steve,” Sam says, voice cold. “The guy who’s been doing all that work for you for months,” he adds, since apparently that doesn’t warrant Zola knowing his name.

Zola shrugs with a sly little smile. He trails a finger along the checkerboard-print tablecloth on Sam’s kitchen table. Sam wants him out. It’s bad enough that he’s stealing Steve for three weeks, but now he’s stealing Sam’s evening, too? Is nothing enough for this sonuvabitch?

“Wilson, I’m here to ask if you will reconzider your decision not to join our little expedition tomorrow. I believe it will be of great value to have you assisting our team.”

“You’re wasting your time. I have classes to teach and my own research to worry about,” Sam says. He thinks about turning the heat off on the jambalaya, but he doesn’t want to set himself up for a long conversation. “You know, maybe if you approached me in person three months ago, or actually thanked Steve and me for the work we’ve done for you, I would’ve considered dropping by. As it is, there’s no way I’m going.”

“I’m sorry to hear zat," Zola says. “I did find your work quite useful.”

“That’s not the same as showing gratitude,” Sam says.

“If you are looking for constant praise for your work, perhaps you have chosen ze wrong field, Wilson,” Zola says.

“Listen, this is my house, and I’m off the clock. I’m not going to Finland, so if you don’t mind, I’d like you to get out. Now.”

Zola sighs, clicks his tongue a few times in short succession, and shakes his head. “Fine,” he says. “Fine,” he adds again, with a false sense of airiness. “Fine, I will leave you to your pungent meal.”

“Pungent? You got any class?” Sam asks. It’s one thing to barge into his home and ask cryptic, weird questions. It’s another to mock Sam’s mama’s jambalaya recipe.

Zola has the audacity to chuckle. “No offense intended, Wilson, but if you expect praise you must also accept criticism.”

“Thanks for the life lesson, but get the hell out of my house,” Sam says, grip on his spoon strong.

Zola laughs one last time, then leaves.

Steve never shows up.

Two hours later, however, three men who Sam has never seen before show up, holding pictures of Steve tied up and a plane ticket to Finland.

Three Hours Ago 

“Hurry up, Wilson,” says Zola from his perch above the hole Sam is currently climbing down using only a rope and a grappling hook. “Every moment you waste iz another moment your friend iz in danger.”

“It’s Professor Wilson,” Sam mutters. “You go to all this trouble to get the best archaeologist in the field and then you go and call him the wrong title? Bullshit. This is such bullshit. Every part of this is bullshit.”

“Don’t worry Sam!” he hears Steve call from above. “I’m fine!”

“You’re obviously not fine,” Sam calls up as loudly as he can. His voice echoes around the goddamn hole he’s trying to climb down. “And would everyone just shut up? I’m trying to focus, here. It’s hard enough trying to climb down this goddamn hole without the added pressure of a Nazi holding a gun to my boyfriend’s head. And yeah, he’s my boyfriend, not my ‘friend’, not my ‘associate’. Boyfriend. Get it right.”

There’s a long pause. “Wilson, I do not care about what your relationship with ze man is, I—“

“You know what?” Sam calls. “Just kill him. This is too annoying and I do not have the upper body strength for this.” Half of that is a lie; Sam does have the upper body strength for this. “And it’s Professor Wilson!”

“Sam!” Steve calls, all put out, and probably looking pretty adorable all riled up like that. He’s probably pouting. Sam wishes he could see it. He’s loves Steve’s stupid pouty face.

Sam wishes he were up and out of this hole to enjoy that enjoyable look, but no one can get what they want all the time. Seems like Sam can’t catch a break at any time, but that’s a different story.

“I know zat you are joking, Professor Wilson, but do not try me. I have killed before and I will kill again.”

At least he got Sam’s title right this time.

“Nazi piece of shit,” Sam mutters as he continues down the hole and into the darkness below.

“And ve are not Nazis,” Zola calls. “Ve are Hydra. Ze organizations are very different!”

Sam pauses his dissent. “Did you or did you not fight alongside the Nazis during the war?” Sam calls up.

There’s a long pause, then a hesitant, “Yes” from Zola.

“And does your bullshit organization want to achieve human perfection through eugenics?” Sam asks, getting real sick of this bullshit.

There’s another hesitant, “Yes”.

“Then you’re a Nazi. I rest my case,” Sam says, before moving back down.

He hears Zola sputter but ignores him. Sam has more important things to do, like getting down to the bottom of this Finnish hole without falling and cracking his neck.

When he reaches the bottom of the goddamn hole, Sam tugs the rope three times before taking a metal hook out of his bag, pushing it in the ground, and tying the rope to it. “All clear,” he yells up, hearing it echo around the walls. It’s darker down here, so he pulls a flashlight out of his backpack and starts shining it on his surroundings. So far, it’s just a goddamn hole in the ground, just as he thought. Nothing that special, except the hole is probably pretty old. La-de-fucking-da.

But as he hears shuffling from up above and the sounds of people descending the rope, he sees a small rock seemingly glittering from the side of the hole. “Here we go,” he says with a sigh before he reaches out and touches it. There’s a moment of quiet, then another. And then the hole begins to shake.

“What is zis?” he hears Zola yell from above, and Sam takes a moment to hope that Steve isn’t yet on the rope. As much as he wants these Nazi fuckers to fall down and break their necks so he can be done with this, he’d like for Steve to stay in one piece. But after just a few seconds of rumbling, the shaking stops.

“It’s fine,” Sam yells back, just as Zola slips down the rope and to the bottom of the hole. Steve follows soon after, then a few of Zola’s Nazi henchmen that Sam hasn’t bothered to learn the names of, because they’re fucking Nazis, and Sam does not have enough time to learn the names of a bunch of Nazis, even if they hold his one true love’s fate in their hands like a gentle bird.

Sam pushes his way over to Steve while Zola and his henchmen complain about the shaking. “You okay?” he asks in a quiet voice, hand on Steve’s elbow.

“You were gonna let him kill me?” Steve asks, incredulous. He’s pretty wound up for a guy who has his hands tied behind his back.

Sam rolls his eyes. “It was a joke! I thought you liked me for my sense of humor.”

“Not when your sense of humor means my getting shoved down a hole and plummeting to my death!” he says, then he sighs, relaxes, pushing gently into Sam’s personal space. “But yeah, I’m fine. Can’t say that they trained me for this at library school, but I’m fine.” He pauses. “You wouldn’t have been able to save me if they actually did something—“

“They know I won’t cooperate without you,” Sam says.

“That’s sweet, but it does makes me feel a little guilty about all this,” Steve says.

“You always manage to make everything about yourself,” Sam says. Steve glares at him. He shrugs. “But if that’s how it is, that’s how it is.”

“Wilson!” Zola shouts. “Zis is naught but a hole in the ground!” He seems a little upset. Good.

“Really?” Sam asks. “Hadn’t noticed.”

“Where is ze Tesseract?” Zola asks.

“Your imagination,” Sam says.

Zola pushes through his crowd of Nazi sycophants to get to Sam. “You will find ze entrance to ze chamber or I will kill you and your boyfriend where you stand,” he says.

“At least he got it right this time,” Steve tells Sam with a little smile. “He hasn’t gotten it right the whole time he had me trapped. Maybe his memory isn’t working too well.”

“Be quiet, librarian,” Zola says.

“You say that like it’s an insult,” Steve says. Zola raises an eyebrow. “I have a masters’ degree!” Steve says.

“Zat is nice for you. Talk to me when you join a real discipline,” Zola says as he rolls his eyes. Steve sputters, muttering about how Zola talks a big game for someone who can’t even do this own research and probably doesn’t even know how to use a card catalog.

Sam rolls his eyes. “Man, you dragged us out here to Finland and did so under duress. Least you can let us do is chat while we’re being coerced so we can make a couple positive memories in the meantime.”

“Professor Wilson, if you are done dithering on, please open ze door to ze chamber.”

Sam looks at Zola. Zola looks at Sam.

Steve looks at the ground, still muttering.

“What chamber?” Sam asks after a long pause.

Zola groans.

“Ze chamber zat we have been looking for zis whole time! Ze chamber zat you found in your research! Zat chamber!”

“Oh,” Sam says, looking at Steve. “He means the non-existent chamber that doesn’t exist and that only shows up sporadically even in the most arcane primary sources we looked at because apparently it only opens for those it deems worthy of it. Tell me Professor Zola, you think you’re worthy enough to open this chamber? I sure don’t.”

“You lie!” Zola howls, raising a gun to Steve’s chest. “And you will find ze chamber or I will kill him.”

Steve looks to Sam. Sam looks to Steve.

Sam sighs.

“It’s not the chamber you think it is,” Sam says, pushing across the group of Nazis back to the glittering knob on the wall. He puts his ear to the stone and shushes the group. One of the Nazis shuffles a bit and Sam glares. At least the Nazi recognizes that he needs to knock it off and stops moving as Sam completes the series of taps that will open the chamber. It’s a bit of a hail Mary — something that he read about in one piece of literature — but for Steve’s sake, he hopes it works.

A few moments and a near-earthquake later, the wall begins to open up. Zola pushes past his cronies and stares into the cavern within. “Yes,” he says with a piggy grin. “Yes.”

That’s when a spear zooms past Sam, missing him by inches, and impales one of the nameless Nazi goons. It was the one who stopped moving when Sam glared. He may’ve been the smartest of the bunch, and Sam almost finds it in himself to miss him for the nanosecond it takes him to remember that the guy was a Nazi and the world’s a better place without him.

“So it’s gonna be like that,” Sam says. He looks to Zola. “Last chance to recognize that going in there is a terrible idea that’s gonna get us all killed.”

Zola grins, and it’s, frankly, not a good look. Somehow his smile is uglier than his frown, which is almost impressive. “Ze power of ze Tesseract is near,” he says. “Soon we will establish a world order unlike anyzing anyone has ever seen!”

Sam looks at Steve and rolls his eyes. “We’re gonna die,” Steve says.

Sam sighs. “Let’s go,” he says, heading into the chamber and gesturing for the band of Nazis — and Steve — to follow.

One Hour Ago 

It’s a long trip through the chambers, and it feels like every few minutes some old Norse booby trap pops out intending to kill Steve. Keeping him alive would be hard enough, but keeping him alive while Zola barks orders and hurls insults at him makes it even more difficult. Still, with every poisoned arrow that zooms past his cheek and giant stone that rolls after him, Sam can’t help but feel that there really is something down here.

Whether or not it’s actually the Tesseract is anyone’s guess, but Sam can’t say that the thought of making a discovery like this doesn’t excite him. He is an archaeology professor in his element, searching for history in the darkness. He’s not looking for fame, fortune or power. He’s looking for knowledge, just about the best pursuit he can imagine.

It would be better if he weren’t surrounded by Nazis, but that’s a different story.

Ten Minutes Ago 

Sam pries a wood torch from the wall. It’s almost a miracle that it hasn’t rotted in all the time it’s been down here — Sam thinks the cave must be at least four thousand years old — but the wood is smooth and carved like it was made yesterday, not to mention the fact that the fire is already blazing, despite the cave having been left untouched for generations.

“How much longer?” Zola asks, looking like he’s flagging. It’s not surprising — Sam doesn’t think that Zola finds much time for an exercise regimen in his busy schedule of making others do his work and being a Nazi. “Are you purposefully leading us astray?” he asks, voice near a shriek by the end of the sentence.

Sam stops, whirls around, and sticks the torch near Zola’s face. “If you think, for a second, that I want to be here any longer than possible, you are the dumbest man in this cave full of Nazis. And I consider any and every Nazi to be pretty freaking dumb.”

“For ze last time, we! are! Hydra!” Zola yells, running towards Sam like he’s about to push him over. Wide-eyed, Sam doesn’t have enough time to dodge, but he doesn’t need to. With a mighty librarianly yelp, Steve runs forward, pushing Zola out of he way with his shoulder. “I will kill you!” Zola yells just before he hits the cave wall, then falls to the ground face first.

“Uh,” Steve says, looking at Sam with wide eyes.

Sam grins. “I have literally never been more attracted to you than I am in this moment,” he says.

Steve smiles. “Really?” he asks, then bites down on his bottom lip like he’s being shy.

“Uh-huh,” Sam says. “That was amazing, perfect, I mean, we’re both gonna die for that, but honestly? Worth it.”

“I am bleeding!” Zola yells as the Nazis surround him to fawn over him. Sam is about to tell Zola to suck it up when he sees one of the Nazis pull a knife on him.

“Calm down,” he says, backing away, making sure Steve is behind him. Recent heroics and back alley fistfights aside, Sam is far more experienced in fighting than Steve is.

“You have led us down a trap!” he screams before lunging at Sam.

To his credit, he manages to get a swipe at Sam’s cheek before Sam wrestles the knife away from him and stabs him in the throat. All of the gurgling and clawing at his throat as he bleeds to death seems a little dramatic to Sam, but he’s seen enough dead Nazis to be sort of immune to it.

Steve, on the other hand, is also acting little dramatic.

“Oh, oh God,” Steve says, backing away. “I’m gonna…” he manages before he hurls.

“C’mon now,” Sam says, putting a hand on Steve’s back while he retches. None of the other Nazis seem to notice them because Zola is still acting like the world is ending, which Sam appreciates so he can look after his guy. “You okay?”

“I’m not always good with blood,” Steve says, looking up at Sam with the world’s most pitiful blue eyes when he’s done. His eyes seem to catch on Sam’s cheek and Sam raises his hand up to see how bad the damage is. When he pulls away, it’s covered in red. “Sammy,” Steve says in a pained voice.

Sam flicks the blood off his fingers, frustrated that he made Steve upset like that.

When a drop of blood falls off of his finger and hits the dirt, all of the fires flicker out at once.

“Vat iz zis!” Zola screams from the ground.

“A WORTHY SACRIFICE HAS BEEN MADE,” says a booming voice that echoes around the cave.

“What the hell?” Sam asks Steve.

“ENTRYWAY HAS BEEN GRANTED,” the voice says and the world begins to shake again.

Suddenly, the wall next to them disappears. Sam takes a few tentative steps forward, and sees, frankly, one of the weirdest places he’s ever seen in front of him.

“That glow,” Steve says, walking up next to him. “That must be the Tesseract,” he says, referring to a podium towards the far side of the room emitting a blue glow. There’s something sizzling in the air; Sam can feel it.

“Ze Tesseract?” Zola says, scrambling to his feet, because apparently he’s suddenly better now that a potentially world-destroyingly powerful object is near. Whatever. Drama Nazi. Sam is over it.

“We shouldn’t go down there,” Sam says. “This seems dangerous.”

There’s a body of water between them and the Tesseract and Sam thinks he sees a red tentacle poking through the water.

“Tie zem up,” Zola orders with a piggish grin. “Zey will watch as we create a new world order,” he adds before the gaggle of Nazis close in on Steve and Sam.

Now

“So Thor,” Sam says tentatively because while the guy looks like he could definitely be Thor, he still maintains a high degree of skepticism towards this whole situation. “What brings you to this cave?”

“I was summoned,” he says, raising his eyebrows. “That’s how all of this goes. Someone worthy of the Tesseract sheds blood as a sacrifice, then I come down for a final judgment to see if that person can truly be called upon to wield its awesome power. It took me a few minutes because I was caught up with something on Vanaheim, but I thought, you know, since they’ve already gotten this far, they can wait ten minutes while I have my future told.”

“What was in your future?” Steve asks because he has an adorably curious mind.

“I will find a strong partner tonight,” Thor says, giving Steve a noticeable up and down, which is not okay with Sam by any means, even if the guy is the God of Thunder. “Are you—”

“This is Steve, my boon companion,” Sam interrupts, letting go of Steve’s hand so he can wrap his arm around Steve’s waist and pull him in close.

“Boon companion,” he hears Steve mutter before he chuckles to himself, and why Sam has fallen in love with such a dork is beyond him, but here he is, telling the literal Gods that they’re in love, so there’s that.

“Ah, and what is your name, great warrior?” Thor asks.

“Professor Sam Wilson,” he says, because he’s still earned that title.

“Professor Sam Wilson, the worthy. The Tesseract is the a remnant of the six singularities of the universe, an object that existed before our universe’s creation. Whoever holds it can wield its infinite power, channel the energy that predates the Gods themselves. So I ask you, esteemed Professor Wilson, why do you seek the Tesseract on this day?”

“I don’t,” Sam says, admittedly a little freaked at Thor’s description of the thing. He’s been firmly pushed from the category of ‘mildly skeptical’ over to ‘can hardly believe this is real, but it’s probably real’.

There’s a beat.

Thor looks from him to Steve and then back at Sam. The Nazis, still seemingly frozen in time, don’t interact, which is probably for the best.

“You don’t… want the Tesseract?” Thor asks.

“I mean, I’d like to study the thing, or take it to somebody who can, but I think we all know that whatever it is that that thing does, it should not leave this cave. Right? Academic inquiry be damned, that thing is not for human consumption.”

“I agree,” Steve says because he’s the best.

“You have no desire to conquer this world?” Thor asks.

“Nope,” Sam says.

“No enemies to vanquish?”

“I mean, I don’t like those guys to much,” Sam says gesturing to the Nazis, “but other than that, I already have tenure. I’m good.”

“What is this tenure that you speak of?” Thor asks, eyebrows furrowing.

“Bullshit,” Steve mutters under his breath. Librarians are not eligible for tenure at their university and Steve has a lot of thoughts and feelings about that, though this probably isn’t the time to share them.

“It’s not a big deal,” Sam lies.

“Are you sure that there is no—”

“Nope, no reason I want that thing. You want it? I’m not sure earth can handle it. We get ourselves into way too much shit to have something like that just laying in a cave, waiting for someone moderately worthy to find it.” He pauses. “Besides, how can you tell who is even worthy of it? Is there a system? Is there a rubric?” he asks, getting increasingly interested in ancient Norse grading systems of worthiness.

Thor chuckles, a booming kind of laugh. “That is how I can tell you’re worthy, Professor Sam Wilson,” he says. “Tell me, if not the Tesseract, what can I do for you today? I came all this way and would like to do something for someone who would readily give up such power for the betterment of their people.”

“Can you get us out of this cave?” Sam asks.

“Yes, you and your boon companions—”

“Not all of them,” Sam says, gesturing to the group of Nazis. “Just he and I,” he adds, gesturing to Steve. “They can get eaten by the octopi or whatever.”

“Why only the two of you?” Thor asks.

“They’re Nazis,” Steve says. Thor purses his lips and raises his brow, giving them a look as if to say ‘I am a four thousand year-old god and do not know such words’. “They’re really bad people,” Steve says with a shrug. “I don’t pretend to hold power over life or death, but it’s probably a good thing if they don’t stay alive.”

“Well, if you would like I can use the power of the Tesseract to be rid of them,” Thor says.

Sam looks to Steve. Steve looks to Sam. Sam shrugs. “Sure,” he says. “I’ll feel a little bad for Zola’s advisees, but they’ll get over it.”

“Well then,” Thor says, starting to swing the hammer he’s carrying — oh shit that’s probably Mjolnir —  in circles before raising it above his head. There’s a flash of light, a batch of screams, and then quiet.

“Don’t look,” Steve says when Sam starts to turn his head. Instead, he reaches out and turns Sam’s head to his. “Can we go?” he asks in a quiet voice.

“Yeah,” Sam says.

“I will escort you from this place and to whatever destination you would like to go,” Thor says. “You will fly through the air as no other human has before, traveling with me on Asgard’s rainbow bridge.”

Steve grins, eyes wide and full of wonder. “Where we going?” he asks.

“Nantucket?” Sam suggests.

“Perfect,” Steve says before Thor takes them into his arms and calls to Heimdall.

There’s a flash of rainbow in front of them, and a moment later, they’re soaring.

Six Weeks Later 

“Got the paper,” Steve says, dropping the newspaper onto Sam, who is lounging on the strip of beach next to the beach house they’ve rented for the summer. Steve is wearing a blue polo with a pair of white linen shorts and a striped sweater tied around his shoulders, and looks like he’s about ready to step on a yacht. It’s a bit silly, but it’s a good look on him. Sam grins. “Think you’re going to want to see the headline.”

“Famous Archaeology Professor Arnim Zola Found Dead in Illegal Finnish Dig Site,” he reads aloud from the front page. “Glad they finally found him,” Sam says.

“They say he died of electrocution,” Steve says with a frown. “Some kind of freak accident. Apparently they found the bodies outside of the cave. No mention of how they were all Nazis.”

“Well, you can ask Thor about how he killed them when you get drinks later,” Sam says with a shrug. “As for the Nazi thing… I didn’t really expect anyone to admit it,” he adds, a little disappointed.

“Not sure I want to dig into that particular hole, but Thor did say that he’ll set me up with a few books on runes from Asgard that will help with your work this fall,” Steve says, sitting down on the edge of Sam’s beach chair. He puts a hand on Sam’s calf and rubs it up and down. “I still have a few hours before we’re supposed to meet, though.”

“You know Thor, though. He just pops down from Asgard whenever he wants, wrecking all of our dinner plans. I mean, I’m glad you two are best friends now, but he could be a little more contentious.”

“Jealous?” Steve asks with a smile, biting down on his bottom lip.

“No,” Sam says. “I know who you’re coming home to.”

“What a line,” Steve says before leaning down and kissing him.

It’s a line, but apparently it worked.

Fin