Mightier than the Sword

He wouldn’t have it any other way.
Rating: T (for language, violence)
Characters/Pairing: Steve Rogers & Sam Wilson
Link: AO3
Author’s Note: Just barely got this posted in time! It’s the first of a pair of stories about our favorite fugitives getting home for the holidays. This focuses on Steve and Sam’s incredible friendship. No real warnings, although it’s me, so there’s some Steve whump :-). It’s a holiday misadventure!

Merry Christmas, all!

Preview:

Ahead there’s light.  At first it’s faint, but as they get closer it becomes brighter and more distinct against the inky, starry sky and the dark gray land.  That has to be the town.  The GPS indicates they’re only a mile or so off now.  Beyond the town is the border to the US.  Although they’ve hardly been traveling for more than a couple hours since they left Turkey, the passage of time seems much lengthier.  Sam’s pulse picks up a little bit in excitement.  No matter what this mission is, it does represent a chance to set foot back in the US.  He’s not so bitter and angry not to appreciate that.

As they get closer, the light looks stranger.  It’s not quite big enough to be a town, not even a little town.  Sam squints at it, and this awful feeling clenches up his gut.  The blur of yellow and white gets more distinct, individual dots emerging from the smear of illumination, and something doesn’t seem right.  Are the lights moving?  Coming closer?  It sure looks like it.  “What…”

“Aw, hell,” Steve whispers.  “That’s–”

Gunfire suddenly sprays across the hood of the car.  Steve slams on the brakes, ducking down as the windshield is punctured.  Sam cries a curse, lowering himself too, and cold terror rushes over him.  He lurches, gripping the dashboard desperately, as Steve yanks the wheel and turns the car as sharply as he dares.  Sam catches a blur of light – a fleet of SUVs and humvees – coming at them, only a few dozen yards off now and screaming across the desert.  They’re black and unmarked.  “Federales?” he breathlessly asks, digging in his jeans for one of his guns.

Steve’s put the driver’s side of the car to the barrage of bullets.  The jeep’s clearly reinforced; the sound of the projectiles uselessly battering the door is deafening.  Sam can still hear Steve’s soft denial, though.  “No.”

Ross.