Intellectually Sam knew history was told by the victors; he just hadn't realized how much so until he'd gotten to know Steve Rogers. It turned out the books and movies made Captain America a caricature of himself. They flattened him out - made him two dimensional and shallow. The Steve Rogers Sam grew up learning about was the ultimate patriot because that's what the country thought it needed him to be.

This, Sam now knew, was irony at its best. Steve Rogers was no patriot. He loved his country, absolutely, but had never been blind to its flaws. He was principled; honorable. He did everything in his power to protect those who couldn't do it for themselves; but he was also a man with strong opinions, and wasn't above playing up his own propaganda if it meant the tactical advantage.

It turned out Steve took up working with S.H.I.E.L.D. full-time because he'd suspected something wasn't right, and knew the only way he'd find out what was if he was in the thick of it. He'd let S.H.I.E.L.D. move him to DC and leave what few friends he had behind (except Natasha, who'd made sure she was assigned to his team, and Tony Stark, to whom a few hundred miles was less consequential than a cab ride) not because he was a man who followed orders, but because Steve played a hell of a long game.

Sam had tried to connect with Steve that first day as a man back from combat, talking about mattresses and a ready quip about farmer's markets he never got to use. He tried not to dwell on how naïve those comments had to have seemed to Steve, who not even a few minutes later was called up for an op; part of S.T.R.I.K.E. team Alpha, he later learned, who were very very busy. Apparently having Captain America on the roster meant things got done.

Steve Rogers wasn't home from the war, and knew he never would be. History had nothing on the reality of the man who'd showed up on Sam's doorstep supporting an injured Natasha and asking for help. He did the impossible, going against pretty much everybody - and damned if he hadn't succeeded.

All those biographies talked about Captain America as a born leader, and Sam could easily see it, but the Steve Rogers Sam knew wasn't that guy. Steve wasn't part of any team, even the Avengers, although Sam could see Stark and even Natasha doing everything in their power to rectify that. Maybe he had been to start, but he certainly wasn't now.

Here and now, Steve was a man apart, choosing his own battles, and while shocked and grateful when someone stood shoulder to shoulder with him, he never expected it. This was completely unacceptable to Sam. Steve Rogers in the twenty-first century was a man in desperate need of friends, especially since he had no sense of self-preservation whatsoever.

"Please God tell me you are kidding," Sam hissed, eyes huge and trying not to make a scene. He suspected Steve enjoyed springing this sort of thing on him just to see his reaction.

Sam looked around at the other pedestrians to see if anyone else had heard Steve's comment. Nope, no eye contact at all - New Yorkers at their best. Well, okay, a jogger had glared at Sam when he swung his arms wide in distress, but that was understandable.

"Of course I'm not kidding," Steve replied, gently steering Sam out of a stroller-mom's way.

They were back in New York from the last of the 'hunch trips', as Sam privately called them. Before Steve started running down leads on Bucky in earnest, he'd made a list of all the places his friend might visit, and systematically gone to each one.

The Smithsonian had been the one-off; local, easy and where he'd missed Bucky by three days. The ones in New York had been tough for Steve; partially because of the history there and how much had changed, but also, Steve later admitted, because this was the first time he'd gone back there specifically. The rest were less accessible and unfortunately a bust.

He knew Steve had been holding out hope of Bucky approaching him (especially since he insisted on sitting in plain sight and waiting for days on end at each spot before moving on, something Sam suspects he may have gotten an ulcer over). In the end, while unsurprised, even Steve's epic stoic-ness couldn't hide the disappointment. Sam was exhausted, and Steve… Steve needed to take a break.

"You're carrying $565,300 in your backpack? In cash?" Sam leaned in and demanded quietly. Steve shrugged. "And that's your life savings?" Steve nodded. Sam made a note to talk to Stark about that. Back pay plus inflation-adjusted interest should have gotten Captain America more than that, shouldn't it? "What if they'd seized it in customs?" Sam asked, imagining all kinds of scenarios.

"I didn't have it with me at the airport, Sam. I mailed it to myself," Steve said fondly.

He'd also somehow had his shield shipped overseas and back in a diplomatic pouch. Said shield had arrived ahead of them and been waiting at the neighborhood gym behind the desk. Sam would never admit it aloud, but seeing it wrapped up in its easel bag on Steve's back was better than any security blanket.

"That's why we stopped at the UPS store? I thought you were sending some sort of covert communication to Natasha."

"That's what burner phones are for," Steve replied and steered Sam suddenly into a tight alley so fast he nearly lost his footing.

"We've got a tail?" Sam asked, wishing they were back at the apartment. He felt way too vulnerable without his guns.

"Maybe not," Steve said as they both tucked against the building and waited a few minutes.

Sam took a few deep breaths to calm his heart and brace himself. He was a good soldier with tight reflexes, but every time Steve had to manhandle him to get him out of danger, or in this case to try to spot a tail, he was reminded anew just how fast those Super Soldier reflexes were, and that the rest of the Avengers, let alone the Winter Soldier, were in a weight class well above his own.

It made him feel small in a fight, but essential for the aftermath. After all, Sam's livelihood was in helping others pick up the pieces of their lives, and he'd made it his personal mission to make damn sure Steve Rogers got to have one. Easier said than done, considering that while Captain America didn't know how to give up, Steve Rogers had no intention of fighting hard to survive if his death had greater purpose. Considering his life so far, Sam had no trouble recognizing wishful passive suicidal ideation when he saw it. Steve might have few objections to dying, but Sam Wilson had a lot.

"The man's right, Steve. What are you doing carrying that kind of cash around? Who do you think you are? Stark?" a voice asked from above Sam's head. He jumped, but saw that Steve was already looking up with a soft smile.

"Clint," Steve greeted as Barton leaped off the fire escape and landed with a deft twist in front of them. He was in jeans and a hoodie, with a Yankees ball cap, which made Steve wince. "Yankees, Clint? Really?" Clint grinned and pointed to Steve's backpack with a raised eyebrow.

"I figure I'm safer than a posthole bank," Steve explained with a shrug and shook Clint's hand in greeting. Posthole bank? Sam mouthed to Clint, which made him smile wider. Steve for the most part used modern day terminology, but every once in a while he'd say something so dated it was jarring; a reminder of how completely different Steve's past was than anything Sam could relate to.

"When did you spot me?" Clint asked.

"Two blocks back at the dog wash," Steve said and his eyes crinkled as Clint shook Sam's hand too. He wasn't sure when it happened, but Clint Barton had evidently decided Sam was an Avenger too, and treated him accordingly. It was humbling, being accepted by Avengers. Steve, however, seemed to think it Sam's due. Sam just wished Steve thought of himself as one, too.

"Glad to see you're still watching out for this guy," Clint greeted Sam warmly.

"My knees hurt to see you do that, Barton," Sam replied, and meant it. He kept himself in fighting shape, but whereas he survived on fitness and reflexes, Barton and Natasha both made defying gravity look easy.

"Natasha's been good for you," Barton told Steve in approval and nodded away from the alley. "Got any beers?"

"You know he does, because somebody appreciates the finer things," Sam joked as Clint turned away to head towards the month-to-month Steve had in Windsor Terrace. It was a point of pride for Sam to keep the place was well stocked. While it was common knowledge that Steve had to eat more, that didn't mean he had much of an appetite lately.

Damn but he was glad Barton was here. Hopefully Natasha and even Stark might show up soon, too. Sam took a moment to close his eyes, and when he opened them it was to see Steve watching him quietly. Sam nodded in reply to his silent question. Everything okay?

Sam was glad to be back in the states, even though he knew he was no safer than he'd been in Europe. It had been four weeks since the hospital had finally, unhappily, cut Steve loose, and he'd begun his quest to find Bucky.

Steve was still superhuman fast, but Sam could see the man wasn't fully recovered. He wasn't sleeping well and he definitely wasn't taking proper care of himself, despite Sam's efforts. He hoped that being in New York would rectify some of that, even if Windsor Terrace wasn't home. Sam wasn't sure Steve had a home at this point, but the about-to-be-gentrified two-bedroom would hopefully be good enough for now.

Sam knew he had a little time to try to feed Steve up and get some rest, but it wouldn't be long. A shared glance as they waited for Steve to unlock the front door told him Clint had seen the same signs, and Sam felt something ease in his chest.

He knew everything Steve did from here on would be bigger and for higher stakes. He was and continued to be clear on what his intentions were, but Capitol Hill hadn't stopped clamoring for Captain America to account for things, and whichever government agency stepped in to try to fill S.H.I.E.L.D.'s void would also want him back; partially because of his results, but also because of the legitimacy Steve could provide.

None of those things were on Steve's agenda, however, and while the government was beginning to realize Captain America was nobody's puppet, Sam knew what desperate people were capable of. Steve Rogers did too. Things were about to get ugly.

For now, Sam decided as he followed Clint and Steve inside, he was borrowing trouble. It was coming, no question, but for now he looked forward to a quiet night with fascinating men, good beer and great pizza. Tomorrow was another day, and Steve was there to see it. Sam counted that as a win.