Sam Wilson threw open the door, expecting to have to intervene in some sort of battle royale going on inside Rogers' and Barnes' shared room, only to find the two muscle-bound idiots smacking each-other senseless with pillows and giggling like teenage girls. They froze self-consciously when they noticed him standing in the door, staring open mouthed.

"Uh… hi, Sam." Steve waved at him from where he lay, half on the floor; his feet still dangling haphazardly off of the mattress, a pillow paused halfway to Bucky's face. Bucky crouched on his knees, the pillow from his own bed raised over his head, prepared to clobber Steve right back.

"Remind me why I moved in here again?"

"Anger issues, trust issues, PTSD-" Bucky started ticking off the list on his fingers, letting the pillow droop limply across his back.

Sam sighed, massaging the bridge of his nose tiredly. He was glad to see Bucky at ease and relaxed, especially after all the shit he'd helped him work through, but one thing he wasn't glad about was being woken up at 2 in the morning by what had sounded like two super-soldiers trying to murder each other.

"Could you girls at least keep your slumber-party quiet? I know you have to paint each other's nails and all, but some of us do actually want to sleep-"

A pillow smacked into his face with a soft whump, and Steve giggled - honestly giggled - from his spot on the floor. Bucky grinned, now unarmed.

"Oh that does it, Falcon is GO, boys!" Sam charged in, swinging his newly acquired pillow.

Ah what the hell. If it helps, run with it. He reasoned. Besides, if you can't beat 'em… join em.

An hour later, three former soldiers were sprawled across the floor, laughing too hard to bother trying to hit each other anymore. They'd more or less given up on the pillow-fight when one of the pillows had exploded into a cloud of feathers, which had gone absolutely everywhere, after Bucky had defended a surprise attack from Steve just a little too enthusiastically.

"You know what we need to make this a true inner-five-year-old kinda night?" Sam sat up- then immediately ducked the surviving pillow that Steve tossed halfheartedly at his head. It slid anti-climactically to a halt against the far wall. Sam gave him a mock-indignant scowl and paused to pick a few stray feathers off of his shirt. It was going on 4:30 in the morning and he'd long since given up on going back to bed.

"If you suggest nail polish, I'm gonna punch you. Just fair warning." Bucky piped up, still laying flat on his back.

"I was actually gonna suggest bad movies and popcorn. … But hey, if you wanna feel pretty, I'm not judging."

"You are so lucky I'm out of pillows." Bucky raised an arm to point at him, but he felt much too lazy at the moment to bother sitting up just yet.

"If you hadn't cut your hair, we could always braid it and talk about boys." Steve joined in, slowly righting himself and getting to his feet.

Bucky rolled his eyes and stretched back against the floor.

"This from the guy who started his career in tights." He muttered.

Steve shoved him gently with his foot, heading for the kitchen to get the suggested popcorn underway.

"Hey, at least I didn't wear battle mascara, Buck." He called over shoulder, cupboard doors thunking as he rummaged for a mixing bowl.

"That was war-paint, you little shit. And it's not like I picked it out."

"Like I said, I'm not judging." Sam said solemnly.

Steve could be heard laughing over the sound of the popcorn maker firing up. Sam had tried to sell him on the microwaved stuff a year or so ago, but it just wasn't the same and he'd insisted on buying an air-popper instead.

Bucky sighed melodramatically, making a show of hurt feelings as he got picked himself up, brushing off mounds of tiny white feathers in the process. He looked ridiculous and he knew it.

"If you guys are going to be jerks, I get to pick the movie."

Sam made a show of gesturing him towards the living room, where the TV awaited.

"By all means, sir, by all means."

"Steve…?"

"Sure, pick whatever you want." Steve was busy, dousing the popcorn in half a stick of melted butter and a generous sprinkling of salt. He never went half-way on junk food.

"Hey, Steve... You remember those Captain America flicks you made before you went overseas?"

"Ooooh no." Steve's head poked around the corner. "No. No way. We are not-"

"Oh, I think we are."

"Man... and I thought you were kidding about the tights…" Sam helped himself to a handful of popcorn as the black-and-white footage streamed over the TV screen. The Captain America on the screen was currently leading a battalion of over-the-top actors into battle against men with terrible fake German accents.

They all groaned a little at the awfully scripted fight sequences.

Steve grumbled, but he passed the popcorn bowl and dumped his feet into Bucky's lap anyway. Sam did the same from the opposite arm of the couch, leaving Bucky stuck in the middle with two sets of feet and a bowl of popcorn in his lap. He pulled a face, but it was clear he didn't really mind.

"Damned punk kids…" He muttered, tossing a popcorn kernel at Steve's head before turning his attention back to the movie. Steve just ducked and grinned.

It was nice to feel normal once in a while, even if only for one night.