He learned how to ride a bike in his grandma's yard in Saint Mary's County, down by the river. It was safer than the street, his mom said, and that way he could ride it when they got back to Baltimore.

He was pretty sure she expected him to cry when he fell down. He was six, and he didn't fall often, but when he did, she was always there with antiseptic. But that time, on his bike, he didn't fall. He wobbled and he almost wiped out on a turn, but in the end he figured it out. "It's like going without training wheels," he told his mother, grinning at her.

Looking back, he thinks maybe she looked a little sad that day. But he didn't notice at the time. She touched his face and said, "Let's go inside. Grandma says it's almost time for supper," and in they went.

Sam thinks of that moment when he agrees to go with Steve. He always liked a challenge, and Bucky - who knows about Bucky? Sam's there for Steve, because Steve's brought him more challenges than he's experienced since he became a PJ to begin with. He goes without a second thought.

-

He joined the military at eighteen. His mother wanted him to go to college, but he told her not yet. The "not yet" was kind of a lie. He knew he was smart, and capable, but he couldn't see himself going to college and sitting through classes, not even for an engineering degree, or something else that would let him do something cool. He wanted to make a difference, an immediate difference.

When he finally got the chance to be a PJ, years after joining up, he didn't even hesitate. All the training, the sacrifice, it was all worth it. There were sleepless nights and times when he could feel his body giving up on him, and yet he still had to push forward. Those were some of his best memories.

At the time, nothing could match how he felt during training. He learned how to hold his breath for what seemed like an impossible time, lug 100 solid pounds from the bottom of a pool, run till he was ready to drop, and do push-ups till his arms trembled and his hands slipped. Every day he pushed himself to the breaking point, and every night he felt the exhilaration that he was doing something. He mattered.

Now, they're dwarfed by other things: SHIELD's destruction, Natasha and Steve showing up at his door - the jolt in his stomach when he realized they were seriously hiding out at his place. Riley dying, obviously. But the need to matter never went away. Even now, hunting Bucky with Steve, he has the same surety: he has a place in the world. He has something to do.

-

He met Riley during what he thought was normal PJ training. "Can't believe they're making us eat this shit," Riley'd said, sitting down next to Sam and pointing at the mealy mashed potatoes they got from the mess hall. "Think they're using us to run experiments? Create freaky bug people, maybe, or super-soldiers like Captain America?"

Sam couldn't help but stare. Riley sounded like he was from Virginia, or somewhere similar; he was a white boy with a perfect toothpaste-commercial smile, and there he was, sitting across from Sam and looking at him like he was in on some joke.

Finally, though, he recovered enough to say, "I'm pretty sure if they re-discovered the Captain America formula, it'd taste weird in mashed potatoes."

"Shit, bro, these mashed potatoes already taste terrible," Riley saod. But he ate them, and when other people joined them at the table, they all seemed pretty entertained by the conjecture. Sam was - intrigued, he told himself.

Later, on an off day from searching for Bucky in the DC area, Sam drives to Arlington alone. He has a map, and he locates Riley's grave without much trouble. Nothing's buried there; he burned in the air, as he fell. He might've been dead already. Sam remembers that stupid, flashing smile, and he thinks about how he might've been in love with Riley.

-

Sam liked girls, and he liked getting leave. It was only natural for Riley to drag him out, even if Riley danced like an octopus stuffed animal being shaken by an over-excited kid.

"That's a long-thought-out metaphor, man," Riley said when Sam told him that, after several shots.

Sam flipped him off. "It's accurate."

"Sure it is," Riley said. "See that blonde over there?"

"Which one?"

"Pink top."

Sam located her. "Sure."

"Think she'd be up for a three-way?"

Sam's stomach clenched, but he kept his tone light. "You're wasted, man."

"I can keep it up."

That wasn't the point, but Sam was drunk, too, which was why he said, "Okay, sure. You wanna take point?"

Riley lazily saluted and wandered over. Sam tried not to be too obvious about watching his ass, and signaled the bartender for another drink.

So yeah, Sam had a thing for Riley. "You'll never know," he tells the gravestone. "He doesn't need to know, either." Blond hair, another toothpaste-commercial smile. Quieter than Riley, more earnest. Also a hell of a lot older - not because Steve's ninety, but because Steve lived through hard times and experienced his own death.

Sam thinks maybe Steve is a sign Sam himself is growing up.

-

Sam almost died of shock when they gave him the wings.

"You can't expect me to use these," he told Lieutenant Garret. "This is, what, three million dollars of tech?"

"Are we counting R&D?"

Sam didn't know how to answer.

"Try ten," Garrett said. "And yes, boys, you'll be flying in. These wings have almost unlimited power. You'll be doing drops and rescuing people where we can't get to, in the mountains."

Sam doesn't remember the rest of that speech very well. He was dying to get the wings on, to try them out, to see if he could dive and fly. But there were simulations to run through, tests to take, classes on how birds fly, on the physics of it all. Half of it was over Sam's head, but he thought that was kind of the point. Drown the recruits in info so they didn't realize just how crazy what they were about to do was.

Then the time came for his first flight. He hopped out of a plane, simple as that, adrenalin pumping in his veins. He let out a scream as the wings unfurled, and then there was Riley, flying beside him, laughing wildly as they soared.

After visiting Arlington, he gets back to the hotel room late. Steve's sitting at the tiny corner table, sketching. He nods when Sam comes in. "How was it?"

"It was okay," Sam says. "You know, I was an adrenalin junkie, back in the day."

"Really?" Steve's tone is bone dry. "I wouldn't have guessed."

"Yeah, yeah," Sam says. "I miss my wings."

"Look on the bright side," Steve says. "We're close to Bucky. He might try to kill us soon."

Sam's not so sure about all that, but there's no polite way to tell Steve that the thrill of adrenalin, for him, comes when Steve stands too close, or wanders out of the shower in just a towel. So he just says, "Can't wait," and goes into the bathroom to brush his teeth.

-

They'd been running missions for almost two full years when Riley was shot out of the sky.

It's a blur in Sam's memory. One moment, Riley was saying, "Let's touch down and do some recon, I'm pretty sure -"

Then he was gone, and Sam was screaming.

The funeral was nice. He got leave for it. There were rumors of a new recruit coming up, but no one ever looked straight at Sam when they talked about it. He was glad for it. He didn't want to be there for other people; he didn't want to validate anyone else's grief. He felt like a part of him had been ripped out of his chest, a vital part. He kept looking for it in his actions, but he couldn't find it. He was breathing and eating and sleeping. He was even talking to people. There was no reason for him to feel like he'd become a ghost, and yet, he kept having to look in the mirror to make sure he hadn't physically faded away.

Now, Sam knows he was experiencing trauma. He'll share his story with Steve someday; he's already shared it with support groups at the VA. The VA was all too happy to take him in, give him a stipend in return for running support groups and other sort-of-volunteer work. They put him through a training course with shiny manuals on PTSD, mood disorders, depression, all the stuff that can go wrong when you turn a person into a solider. Sam doesn't hate the time he spent at the VA. He was just figuring stuff out then, trying to work out what the hell he was going to do with his life. But it wasn't a concrete mission the way looking for Bucky is.

So when Steve says, "Hey, are you doing okay?" to Sam, Sam nods.

"Better than ever," he says. "You got a lead on getting me those wings yet?"

"I have a friend with military contacts," Steve says. "Something might be in the works."

Sam wonders if Steve thinks he's being subtle, not naming Stark. Probably; it's Steve. "You said you had a lead."

Steve nods. "New York."

It figures, Sam thinks as they pack. Everyone goes back to their past eventually. Even Sam.

-

The second night in New York, they have a coffee shop to stake out in the morning, where a woman says she recognizes a picture of Bucky. Sam thinks over his options, how to bring this up to Steve. Then he thinks, fuck it. "Hey, Steve."

"Hmm?" Steve doesn't look up from the book he's reading, relaxed on the other motel bed.

"Did you have a thing for Bucky?"

He half expects to have to clarify, or for Steve to deflect. But Steve lowers the hand holding the book and stares at the opposite wall, a thoughtful expression on his face.

"I had a thing for what Bucky might have been," Steve says finally. "He was only ever a good friend. But I might have been in love with him, a little. I might've found someone like him."

Trust Steve to answer the question with everything but the info Sam actually wants. "A guy?"

"A guy," Steve says. "Or a girl." He glances over at Sam, then looks away, just as quickly. "You?"

"Same," Sam says. "Things were a little weird with me and Riley."

"Weird good?"

"Weird, I should've done something about it."

Steve nods. "You miss him."

"Always," Sam says. "But I'm not in love with him anymore."

"Yeah?" Steve slants him a smile. "Same."

Sam goes to sleep that night feeling satisfied. It's a start.

-

They find Bucky, and that's a disaster and a half, but eventually Steve gets him ensconced in a safe house with Natasha to get him back to himself. They have history Natasha didn't tell Steve about, which pisses Steve off. Sam kind of gets it, though. Someone like Natasha has to guard her secrets.

Then the mission's over, and Steve looks at Sam and says, "Let me take you out to dinner."

Sam would give almost anything to be able to read Steve's mind right now. "Sure," Sam says.

That's how he ends up across from Steve at a tiny bistro in New York, their knees knocking together under the table. Steve waits until dessert - having ordered so much they have to bring it to him in stages - to say, "I always figured this was the kind of place I'd take someone to."

Those big blue eyes are giving nothing away. Finally, Sam has to just say it. "On a date?"

"Yeah," Steve says. "A date."

Sam's heart does the same flip it does when he jumps out of a plane, when he fights someone. It's a good flip. He smiles and says, "Good thing you've got me here, then."

They do end up fucking on the first date, but they kiss first, outside Steve's apartment. Steve's fumbling for his keys. Sam decides to just go for it before he can drink coffee, chicken out, and leave. He leans in and brushes his lips against Steve's, then does it again. Steve puts a hand on his lower back and kisses him back.

The next morning, after they've swapped sleepy blowjobs and have showered, a package arrives: Sam's wings. Or a version of them, anyway. Sam can't help but breathe sharply when he pulls them out of the enormous courier's box.

"How did he know to send them to me?" Steve says as Sam runs a hand over them.

"Legally, I still live in DC," Sam says. "But everyone knows I'm with you."

There's a note of wonder in his voice when Steve says, "Yeah, I guess so."

Sam kisses him again, just because he can.