Recovery had been slow, and throughout the weeks spent in hospital recovering from bullet wounds and broken limbs and the impact injuries of falling a hundred metres into a lake, Steve had been anxious to get moving again. He had so many questions and so few answers, and although Sam and Natasha and Maria had dropped in at least once a day to update him on matters, Steve had never been someone content to just sit as information streamed by him. Eventually, a whole month had passed, and Steve decided himself that he was healed enough to leave. Nobody really tried to stop him- as much as many of the hospital staff had enjoyed the presence of Captain America in their corridors, his constant insistence on trying to minimise work for them and apologise for taking up their time meant that he had been more under their feet than anything else, and they weren't really upset for seeing him leave.

So Steve went home (which was newly redecorated, the bullet holes and bloodstains repaired and scrubbed away from his apartment) and began working up his stamina and strength again. As the weeks passed, he once more became a familiar sight in Washington D.C., jogging increasingly faster through the streets.

But Steve wished he had his jogging partner to run by.

After the Battle of the Triskelion (as the media were calling it, to Steve's frustration), Sam had been whisked away to be interviewed and questioned by a vast number of people- after all, the 'Falcon' had stolen his flight suit from the U.S. Army, helped fugitives from the United States government, and then proceeded to destroy some of S.H.I.E.L.D's most expensive investments to date. Steve had been unconscious through most of the inquests, but he had been informed that Sam and Natasha had been absolved of all charges at one particular trial after Stark Industries had paid for a very high-quality lawyer. Sam was currently at Stark Industries, actually- something about 'fixing the suit'. Steve hadn't been surprised- if someone would want to get their hands on an Army-made flight exoskeleton, it would be Tony Stark.

Still, Steve missed being able to sort-of mock Sam's slow running. He wouldn't get to do it again, in all probability- the second he deemed himself fit enough to fight, he was going to leave D.C. and start searching for Bucky. He owed it to his friend to find him, to help him- even if he barely remembered who he was.

After all, Steve would lament to himself on quieter nights, he's all you have left.

But then, one morning, as the sun rose above the horizon and bathed the wreckage of the Triskelion in pale gold, as Steve jogged in the still of the sunrise, he heard a faint sound.

Slowing to a walking pace, Steve tried to place the sound. At five in the morning, there was almost nothing around- only a few cars, one or two joggers. And this sound had attracted his attention because it was markedly different to the background noise of a city at rest- it almost sounded like someone yelling, from very far away. The sound got louder, closer, and Steve frowned, stopping still and tensing up reflexively as he looked around in confusion.

"Ooooooooooooooooo-"

Where was that coming from? Steve looked around increasingly more anxiously.

"-OooooooooooooOOOOOOOOOONYOURRIGHT!"

A thrum of engines and a rush of air, and suddenly Steve was stumbling back as a blur of steel sped past him, a blur with metal wings. Steve chuckled, shook his head, and took off in a sprint after it. The blur of metal stopped twenty metres ahead of Steve, the Washington Monument lake beside them both, wings opening wide and circling so that Sam was facing him. Sam was grinning ear-to-ear, hovering in the air sedately as Steve finally caught up to him.

"Getting slower in your old age, Steve," He taunted, turning a quick circle in the sky to show off his newly repaired suit. Steve couldn't help but grin in return, doubling over with his hands on his thighs to catch his breath (he was still recovering, after all), before straightening and tilting his head up to the morning sky to face off the man hovering five metres above him.

"You're gonna pay for that, Sam," He said with a smile.

"Oh, am I?" Sam replied, spreading his metallic wings in the same way a bird would fluff up its feathers before a confrontation. Then, without further warning, swooped down, grabbing Steve under the armpits and lifting him into the sky. Steve yelped, struggling to escape Sam's clutches as he was suddenly suspended in the air.

"Hey, put me down!" He said, his legs kicking wildly, before stilling and realising what ammunition he had just given the man holding him in the air. Above him, Sam began to laugh.

"Sure, man, sure," He replied, guiding them slowly but surely from the sidewalk to the lake beside. Steve, realising Sam's plan, began to complain and struggle again, although with less strength than if he was seriously trying to escape. Sam just laughed, skimmed the surface of the water with one wing, and let Steve go.

The water that morning was still and calm, painted blue and gold by the rising sun above them both, reflecting the Washington Monument in a perfect mirror image. And then the water rippled and splashed, the mirror image broken and displaced by a sudden super soldier-sized interference. A spluttering and rather wet head emerged then from the water, sending a death glare to the floating man above who was laughing insanely at him.

"You're gonna pay for that," Steve reiterated fiercely, before grimacing and spitting out water from his mouth. Sam only laughed harder, spreading his arms out and gunning the engines on his back, swooping higher than Steve could reach.

A jogger passing by slowed to watch the two friends in the lake for a second. Then she shook her head. "Damn superheroes," She grumbled good-naturedly, before jogging away, leaving Steve and Sam behind her to laugh and yell at each other in the still of the early summer morning.

The general idea of this very short fic is not mine; it comes from the lovely berserkr-bread on tumblr (and on ao3 as howtobottlefame). She writes too, and it's far better, so go check her out. Er. For her writing.

I don't think this is any good. But I enjoyed writing it, even if nobody else will enjoy reading it. I attempted to make it sound more like Steve's point of view by adding some 'Murican terminology. I'm pretty sure I've not kept to it throughout, but oh well. Look at that natural-sounding use of the word 'sidewalk'! It didn't feel alien at all to me!

But, ah, if you liked it, feel free to review. If you want. In all honesty, I'd appreciate some concrit more than praise. I really need the help. If you've read this, you know that I need the help. But by no means feel obligated! Just if you'd like to.

I'm rambling. Have a nice day, all!