Chapter Text
“Falcon, on your six,” Rhodes snaps over the comm. Sam takes a hard right, sending the Chitauri flier behind him spinning into the support column of the bridge with his backdraft, where it disintegrates in a crash of shattering metal, sparks, and, well, squish.
“Got it, War Machine. Status on the portal?”
“Selvig and Widow are on it.”
“Anything else I need to know?”
“Just keep clearing the airspace and be ready if we need an extraction for any of the non-fli- Fuck! Shit!” Rhodes breaks off in a staticky burst as he switches over to group-comm. “We have missiles en route. Missiles in the air.”
“I got this,” Stark's voice cuts in. “Make sure nobody shoots me in the back, Rhodey.”
***
Sam rolls and hits the ground with a thud and a flail of blankets, because he was in bed, not the middle of a Chitauri-ravaged city trying to get close enough to catch Stark falling back through the wormhole. He pants for a second, letting his head drop back to the floor, then refocuses. The Hulk had grabbed Iron Man and enough of Banner's knowledge of physics apparently transferred that he'd done it without turning Stark into a tin can full of broken bones and bruised organs. Loki was captured and transferred back to Asgard for trial and punishment. The city's in the middle of repairs, with plenty of screaming matches about whose fault was what and who's paying what percent of the damages. Stark Tower is more or less put back together and he is currently in the Tower, on the floor of a bedroom assigned to him, and covered in sweat.
At least his dreams are getting more variety.
Sam pulls his t-shirt off, tosses it toward the hamper, and heads toward the shower. He's up anyway, might as well be up.
“JARVIS, what time is it?”
“4:35, sir. Shall I start the coffeemaker?”
“That sounds great, yeah.” He steps into the shower, which he still isn't used to. It's big. Like, you could fit four guys in here, plus the showerhead is the size of a dinner plate and mounted in the ceiling, and there are about thirty options for spray speed and rhythm. Every time he uses it, he kind of forgives Tony a little bit for being a douche-toboggan. (Until the next time he stocks the fridge entirely with kale and energy drinks.)
By the time he finishes showering, Sam feels more like a functional human being.“Anything on the docket for today, JARVIS?”
“Lieutenant Colonel Rhodes left some paperwork for your perusal.”
“Any idea what it's about?”
“Some Avengers matter, I believe.”
***
“You are shitting me.”
“Wilson?”
“Look at your caller ID once in a while, man, that's why it was invented. And who else got the 'Oh, by the way, S.H.I.E.L.D. found Captain America, they think he's going to defrost alive' message today?”
“Banner and Danvers. Romanov and Barton already knew, Stark and Van Dyne aren't cleared yet, and Thor is off-planet and probably wouldn't understand the fuss.”
Huh. “Who's handling...I don't know, reintegration, I guess?”
“Director Fury tells me it's being handled. They have psych staff.” Sam can almost hear Rhodes shrug over the phone.
“Huh. Well, that'll be something. What do we even have on the guy that's not in the biographies? There must be records.”
“There's some archived stuff from the SSR, but it's all above my clearance level. Guess we'll see.”