Sam landed next to Stark and tried to get some control of his overexerted body while they waited for Steve and Clint. He'd been heaving deep breaths for half an hour now and knew he was at the end of his endurance. His stomach was still knotted with adrenaline; his arms burned with lactic acid buildup and his hands quivered from fatigue. Now that the fight was done he could barely make a fist. He'd strained more than a few muscles carrying a fighting Captain America.

Thank God he was still in peak condition. It used to be for life or death; then it was stress management that kept him at the top of his game. Anything less and his dicey sleep habits plummeted into full blown insomnia. He'd left behind his Class A's, but counseling vets was its' own challenge. He'd tried damn hard not to take it home at the end of the day, but hell… Who were you kidding, anyway?

He's come full circle, but with so much more at stake. What he'd done almost two months ago helped save millions of lives. His older brother, his niece, three cousins and countless distant relations were also on that register. Arnim Zola cast a wide net: a veritable who's who of people he's known through the years made the cut.

People wear t-shirts with their number on proud display now; it's a badge of honor. His mom had a bunch made, including one for Steve. Sam's number was 1,263,249; Steve was number 1. He wouldn't wear it, but Sam intended to wear him down on that one.

Even months later it was still on the tip of everyone's tongue: what were you doing the day S.H.I.E.L.D. fell: the day so many were a hair's breadth from dying? He'd thought he could relate to Steve Rogers before. Then he'd helped Captain America prevent genocide on par with Stalin, and yeah… Naïve was too small a word to cover it. Turns out he couldn't relate at all - until now.

The irony still burned. He'd seen enough press conferences and footage to recognize the signs – it was a big reason why he'd reached out as aggressively as he had. He thought he'd known Steve Rogers, and sure, he'd been a little right. He hadn't counted on Steve having Sam's number just as quick.

It was a heady thing to be chosen as worthy by Captain America. Sam felt deep sympathy for the Howling Commandoes. It was bewildering, terrifying and damn near impossible not to try to live up to everything Sam thought Steve saw in him. It was also hard to keep sight of the man beneath all those masks he wore.

"You okay?" Sam huffed at Stark as the man pulled up his faceplate to look around. He was breathing heavily too, but his attention was focused elsewhere. He nodded at Sam distractedly and gave a casual flop of his hand in acknowledgement.

Sam rolled his shoulders and let his he head hang forward to stretch stiff tendons; assessing things as he cautiously turned his head left and right. He'd used straps before to keep his hands free when assigned to the 58th. Now that he had wings again (Yes!) it was clear he needed to get kitted properly as soon as possible. Steve was heavy as hell, and using the wings required precise body control in a way that Cap throwing his damn shield around made near impossible to maintain.

There were maybe three others in the world who knew just what kind of skill it took to fly like Sam just had. Catching Steve as he fell from the Insight carrier had nothing on carrying a fighting Captain America. He hadn't super-hero'd long enough to be blasé like Stark. It was worth it to take a moment and savor that feeling of rightness; to let the knowledge of it sing in his heart: Damn right I still got it.

Sam caught sight of Maria Hill not too far away and couldn't help the grin that surfaced. She'd made a hell of a first impression, and each time he saw her she still gave off the same kind of vibe. Humor and ridiculous competence looked great on her (Pepper Potts too, but Sam knew better than to say that around Stark).

Steve talked on the phone with Maria almost as much as he did Tony (especially towards the beginning of the 'recover Bucky tour'). That had been a surprise, considering the dynamics between Steve and Tony the first time Sam saw them in the same room together. Theirs was definitely a more complicated relationship.

Maria looked to be in charge tonight, surrounded by lots of actual police (Sam hoped) as well as others in blue jackets like hers. She caught him looking her way and gave a brief nod before turning her attention back to the man beside her.

Tony wore that faraway expression he got when interacting with his A.I.. Every few seconds he'd murmur softly, eyes sharp as he took in the scene. Steve had explained it once; the extent to which Stark multitasked: "You get used to it. It's easier when he's with people he trusts, because then we can all hear what Jarvis says in response. He's pretty funny, actually. He's a good guy - A.I - whatever."

Sam dearly wanted to know what the hell Stark was hearing now, because he was like a greyhound quivering in anticipation at the beginning of a race. Whatever had been simmering when Sam had first met the eccentric genius was written all over him now.

Sam had a natural affinity for sensing when things shifted for good or ill, and his senses were tingling like crazy now. It was ironic as hell to find himself the guy most likely to call bullshit with some of the most intimidating people in the world. His mom thought it was hysterical. He did not appreciate her views on karma.

He'd dealt with trauma for years, but the Avengers took PTSD to levels far beyond his expertise. Stark had the emotional maturity of a hedgehog and no concept of personal boundaries (both his own and others). He also had a tender underbelly the size of Jabba the Hutt's. And open heart surgery six months ago. I thought you were supposed to be retired from the Iron Man gig?

"Agent," Stark greeted coolly, making Sam take note where his stony gaze zeroed in.

The man Maria had been conversing with approached them. Two women followed a few steps behind. One of them - a lovely Asian - caught his eye instantly. She had the kind of easy grace that looked relaxed but wasn't. While not polished like Natasha, Sam suspected they were of a similar ilk.

Experience in the field taught him early on to identify the people best qualified to help secure the scene as much as possible. He had a knack for identifying the dangerous ones. He'd spotted Steve that first day before he'd even started his run.

The other woman was a lot younger. She dressed identically to her counterpart but couldn't be older than twenty. She took in the scene with bright eyes and looked out of place compared to the rest of the police and (former?) field agents.

'Agent' was a non-descript guy in a suit that played to the 'government' stereotype. He had a widows' peak, kind of squinty eyes and the cool demeanor of a pro (especially in the face of a hostile Stark and the two downed attack copters still burning in the background). He gave Stark a cursory nod then turned his attention to Sam.

"Extraordinary flying, Major Wilson," the man complimented.

"Thanks, man, but I'm retired," he said in a heavy exhale, glad to finally be recovering. "I'm just Sam."

He stood up from where he'd bent over with his palms on his knees and reached out a hand. "I sure hope you're a good guy," Sam added as he watched Tony carefully. Stark's reaction wasn't making it clear where 'Agent' landed on the good guy/bad guy spectrum.

"We are, although apparently not everyone agrees," the man replied blandly.

Sam winced and wondered what the general public thought about Steve's decision to put everything out there. From what he'd read, the media seemed pretty evenly split: Steve was either the ultimate whistleblower or a traitor. "Phil Coulson," he introduced as he shook Sam's hand.

"Sorry about your agency," Sam offered.

"No you're not. No he's not. Don't listen to him, he's just being polite," Stark said, folding his arms angrily. He opened his mouth to continue when a voice interrupted over the comms.

"Iron Man, we're on final approach," they said, prompting Sam to look around. Multiple sets of blinking lights shined faintly in the west, and the first stirrings of air displacement heralded impending helicopters – a number of them. Tony didn't look concerned, so Sam took his cues from that.

"Yeah, well, you guys aren't the priority here," Stark sniped in what had to be a separate conversation. He then closed his eyes in relief and turned towards where the woods were thickest. Sam could just make out the shadowy outlines of Cap with his shield in hand and Clint by his side emerging from the darkness.

"There they are," Agent Coulson breathed in relief. Sam could feel the tension ease from the others around him too.

Sam watched carefully for a moment and then cursed at what he saw: "Aw hell."

"What?" Coulson asked.

Sam knew the signs by now. Yes, Steve was walking unaided, but his pace was slow and careful (for him) and his left shoulder sagged slightly lower than his right. "He's injured. They both are," Sam amended, because he knew firsthand how much it hurt to hit a wall at even minimum velocity, then added, "I'm pretty sure Steve's been shot." He rubbed his hands on his face in frustration.

He recognized that particular gait from the first few days out of the hospital. That was the patented Steve Rogers I'm Fine, Nothing to See Here special. Barton wasn't moving much better. And Clint had gotten hurt on his watch. Dammit.

"Is the scene secure?" the same voice asked over the radio, and Sam realized it sounded familiar. Looking towards the sky, he could make out by the sound that there were multiple medium/heavy lift transport helicopters on approach. He counted five, and circling the formation was a streak of white gold rocket trail he immediately recognized. That was the Iron Patriot Tony was talking to.

Sam had a big ol' soft spot for Colonel James Rhodes, and still hadn't figured out how to drop into a conversation having met Stark's best friend while on standby in Afghanistan during his manhunt. Sam would have been part of the first teams on site, but instead Tony had managed to rescue himself.

"Yes, Rhodey. Looks like you're in time to miss all the action -again," Tony replied dryly, but Sam didn't miss the soft private smile.

A Marine in crisp dress blues crossed in front of them, his movements precise. Tony's eyes trailed after, and Sam felt his breath catch as the penny dropped. This was Steve - the odds had to be that those were VH-3D Sea Kings. It was the only logical reason why a Marine would be here - in the middle of the night - in Prospect Park, in uniform. Every time Marine One landed, an armed Marine guard in his formals was required to be there to greet the President.

"Seriously? Is this really the smartest place for the President of the United States to be?" Sam demanded. Tony shot him a look and Sam bristled as he put the pieces together.

"Goddammit, Steve needs a doctor, not to have his arm twisted. And he sure as hell doesn't need an inquisition," he told Stark furiously, because now he knew why Tony had been radiating so much nervous energy.

Hadn't all of Steve's friends agreed to respect his autonomy? Sam had been a part of numerous conversations, more than one of them including Tony, who'd been first in line to agree the government had no business trying to force Steve's hand. If Stark played a part in coordinating this, then he was trying to force an outcome. Damned if it didn't look likely to be successful too, Sam thought.

"They brought a doctor with them," Tony replied and narrowed his eyes, his focus now squarely on Sam. "Don't you look at me like that, Sam Wilson. He knows what needs to happen next and so do you. Blame me if it makes you feel better, but it's been coming since day one and you know it. So does Rogers. I'm just trying to insure we keep our hand in because otherwise the government is going to eminent domain Captain America, and we'll never seem him again except in the news."

Sam reigned his frustration in and shook his head. "But did you have to arrange for the President to come here? Now?" Steve was hurt, exhausted, and hadn't slept in at least thirty-eight hours.

"That wasn't Tony, Sam. We think the President's decision to meet with Captain Rogers in person was what prompted the attack," Rhodes explained as he joined them, "Well, that and the subpoenas." Sam sighed then couldn't help but smile as he clasped Col. Rhodes' hand warmly.

"Colonel," Sam greeted with genuine affection and then added, "I understand the bro code, but I know misdirection when I hear it." He then turned his glare back to Stark.

"Hah! Same wiseass; different duds!" Rhodey laughed. "I tried, Tony. It's good to see you again, Major."

Sam's grin was wide even as his throat clenched in memory. Colonel Rhodes had gone to Riley's funeral, and after three weeks had taken him out for a round of beers as he coaxed Sam back into his wings earlier than he'd intended.

It had been rough, but he'd done it. Sam hadn't known at the time, but Rhodes had guessed correctly that the Falcon program was in danger of being cut. He and a few other key people had tried damn hard to prevent that. Sam still appreciated the effort.

"Samwise, you've been holding out on me. You two know each other?" Tony asked, eyes on Rhodes suspiciously.

"Sure we do; zoomies need to stick together, right?" Rhodes replied, eyes shining and teeth bright in the semi-darkness. He'd raised his voice to be heard over the approaching helicopters.

"That we do," Sam agreed and looked to the sky for a moment before turning back towards Steve and Clint. To their left a patch of lawn had been cleared of personnel and flares were being set to establish the landing zone. He watched as Steve eyed them warily then exchanged a few words with Clint.

"So let me get this straight: the order comes down to bring in Captain America, and they decide the President needs to do it?" Sam prompted, turning his attention back to Tony.

"He's said no to everyone else," Tony replied with a shrug. "The Mountain figured Mohammed wasn't coming any other way. Well, that and it seems no one wants to have to issue a contempt citation. A hundred bucks says begging will be involved," he added glibly.

"A contempt citation – yeah, I imagine they'd want to avoid that," Sam agreed faintly. "Making Captain America a fugitive hasn't worked well for anyone so far."

"Gentlemen," Steve greeted as he and Clint approached their motley group, as closed off as he'd seen him in a long time. "Director," he added dryly towards Phil, his reaction too complicated to get a bead on. The agent's outward demeanor didn't change but Agent Coulson's spine straightened perceptibly, and Sam had to suppress a snort. Oh yeah, he recognized that body language – he did it himself.

"You okay Sam? Tony?" Steve asked, his attention solely on them now.

"Fit as a fiddle; don't even start your mothering," Tony warned with narrowed eyes. Sam just nodded and then raised his hand to point at the blood discoloring Steve's shirt. Before he could say anything he froze in surprise at the change in expression as Steve's eyes swept over the others behind Coulson.

"Agent May, it's a pleasure to see you again," Steve said with sincerity and reached out slowly to shake her hand. He was careful with his movements but without the tension extreme pain indicated, Sam noted with relief.

"Captain Rogers," she replied with an almost smile, and even Director Coulson seemed taken aback that they knew each other. Sam didn't know who she was, but most everyone else seemed to. He hated when he didn't know the subtext.

"Looks like you need a medic," Rhodey added above the increased roar of the approaching copters as he too stepped forward and shook Steve's hand. Less hand shaking and more getting seen to, Sam thought in frustration at the Captain America persona on full display.

Steve grimaced and looked over his shoulder. As the engine noise ratcheted up Steve's hair started to whip around his face. His face got pinched and he briefly went to raise his hands before aborting the movement and clenching them at his side instead.

Oh, Sam realized. That's right: he has enhanced hearing too.

"Clint needs a medic. I think I'm going to have to wait," Steve disagreed, somehow able to project without raising his voice. "You two sure you're fine?" Steve asked Tony and Sam again, carefully assessing their condition with his own eyes.

"We weren't on the menu. That was you, lamb chops," Tony replied, using the suit to amplify his voice, the cheater.

By now two of the helicopters were skimming over the rim of trees that lined the clearing on their final approach. The gleaming white tops were distinct in the artificial lighting, identical in every way but one. Marine One was designated to the one carrying the President; the other a perpetual decoy in a flying shell game. How is this my life? Sam wondered, not even for the thousandth time at this point.

The Marine guard shifted from standing at attention to bracing slightly forward and holding his hat against the fierce wind of the blades. The two copters hovered briefly and touched down so gently Sam suspected a glass of water balanced on one of the wheels wouldn't have spilt. Some of the agents gathered around the lighting towers to keep them from blowing over, and even Maria held a hand in front of her to shield her eyes from the flying debris.

Sam turned back to find Steve looking on him, his fingers pressed against his ears to help muffle the noise. His face was still resolute but his eyes were warm with wry humor: Steve Rogers was briefly peeking out. After a few seconds Steve gave a slight right shouldered shrug and raised his eyebrows in silent conversation: What can you do?

Sam shook his head ruefully and couldn't help but laugh. Now that the adrenaline had worn off, he could see that while Steve was hurt, it wasn't as bad as he'd feared. Still, fresh blood stained his shirt at having to plug his ears

"I imagined something different when we talked about taking a few days off once we got back to New York," Sam yelled to be heard over the fwap-fwap-fwap of the tail rotors and the engine noise.

"Time and tide wait for no man," Steve said in a tone laden with experience. His expression and gaze shifted, and suddenly he was light years beyond Sam's reach. This was the Captain America; immortalized and idolized; weary and carrying the weight of a nation on his shoulders – with nothing left but resolve. The one forever caught up in history. Sam ached for his friend.

"I'm sorry," Sam offered, and he was, for a lot of things.

"Don't let Clint duck out on being seen to," Steve instructed as the rotors' whine died down as the blades slowed to a stop. Sam was still trying to think of something to say when the hatchway of the copter closest to them swung to the ground, revealing the President of the United States; head on a swivel as he searched the scene with a single minded focus.

"I'll see you in D.C.," Sam said – a reminder that Steve wasn't ditching him this easily - and held out his hand. "Don't sell the farm, okay?"

"They still say that, huh?" Steve replied, eyes bright. He then gave a smile that was all teeth and no humor. "It's a seller's market, Sam, and I intend to make them pay."

A chill zinged up Sam's back as Steve turned and walked away without a backward glance. The President couldn't yet pick out where Captain America was, but that precise pivot gave him away instantly. Sam winced at the bright polished smile that lit up the politician's face.

"The Winter Soldier was built for battle," Director Coulson said as he came to stand by Sam, "But that man is made for war. None of us want this for him, but look at the mark he's made on history, and he was just getting started. We are all clearly ill-equipped to handle HYDRA. That man is the best hope this country has to save us from a fate that until a few months ago would have been unimaginable."

And even as Sam the counselor grieved for Steve Rogers, he was self-aware enough to admit that he felt it too - that electric anticipation. The world had seen Captain America fight a war. They'd never seen him wage one. But they were about to.