With SHIELD's collapse, neither Sam nor Steve was willing to risk becoming a target by staying in place for more than a few days at a time. Steve had convinced Sam to come on the search for Bucky with him—insisting that he would go either way and would appreciate the company—but three weeks had produced almost no new information or leads despite Natasha sending him suggestions from intel she managed to gather.

It was a rather warm day out and they had gone for their morning run along some wooded trails. "Steve." Sam began quietly as they both walked down the road back to the cabin they were currently staying in. "I think we should talk about taking a break from searching for Bucky."

There was a long pause before Steve took a deep breath. "Let's go to your place. I think I need to tell you some things." They went back and Steve made some food while Sam showered. Once they had eaten a bit, they moved to the couch and Steve looked away, unable to meet Sam's eyes. "I had convinced myself to tell you, but now that I'm here I'm not sure that I can. I've been working myself up to it for about a week."

"I can wait." Sam said and so they sat in silence for a long while.

Steve's breath was becoming irregular and he shot a glance at Sam out of the corner of his eye before taking one large, shuddering breath and finally speaking. "When I crashed the plane in the arctic, I thought Bucky was dead, and it was my fault. I…everyone assumed that I stayed with the plane because I needed to in order to get the job done." Steve ducked his head so that he didn't have to look at Sam. "That was never true. I considered ditching it. I could have. I might not have survived, but there was a decent chance of it. Peggy knew about where I was and they searched. I wanted to go down with that plane. I didn't want to live." Steve went completely silent again and Sam waited to see if he was going to say anything more, but when he didn't, Sam spoke, his steady voice not showing any shock that he felt, though Steve could tell that he had surprised him.

"Was that the only time?" He asked softly. It was clear that that wasn't the first question that Steve was expecting, and he flinched. Sam's eyes filled with sadness as he read the answer off of his friend. "How many in total?"

Steve glanced up for a moment. "Two, almost three, and I considered it almost every day."

"Tell me?" Sam asked.

After looking at Sam for a long while, Steve nodded. "The second was only days after I convinced SHIELD that I was doing well. It wasn't hard to get around their therapists. I pretended I was alright and lied quite liberally. When they finally let me out of their sight and gave me privacy, I took a knife to my wrists in the bathtub and cut as deeply as I could." Steve was shaking. Sam reached out and took one of his hands, holding it tightly in both of his. Steve's hand clenched around his almost painfully before he realized and released his grip a bit. "I woke up about four hours later in a bloody bathtub without even a scar to show for what I had tried to do."

Sam was reeling a bit with shock of how well Steve had hidden what he was dealing with. Steve didn't seem to notice and continued on. "It was really soon after that the whole incident with Loki happened, and I was okay when I was busy, there was less time to think and I had purpose. And the team helped a lot too. I sometimes wonder if Fury guessed how badly I was doing. I wasn't ready to be put in charge of anything, yet making me the leader of the Avengers forced me to get myself together. But after, when we all went our separate ways again, it was like nothing had changed at all."

"Steve, do you mind if I ask you why?"

A sharp inhale met Sam's question, and Steve's grip tightened again. "Bucky. It was always Bucky, and everyone else I've lost. The only person who I cared about who isn't dead is Peggy, and she hardly remembers anything and forgets your conversation in minutes."

"Tell me more about Bucky." Sam prompted.

"He was always there, you know? I can't really remember a time before I knew him, and I was this scrawny, sickly kid. No one really even talked to me except for him. I never understood it really. Bucky could have been the most popular kid in our school if he wanted—he was popular even hanging around me, and that was saying something. Whenever I was sick he would sit with me, I always argued with him about it, but he spent the little money he could save trying to buy me vitamins and fruit hoping it would keep me healthier. I don't think I would have survived without him, and I'm not just saying that. My ma was great, but she couldn't really be there to take care of me all the time—we needed the money—and Bucky never let me give up. I don't know what you know about asthma, but back then a lot of people believed that it was psychological—that it was caused by some sort of emotional problem. Other kids mocked me and called me weak for it, even though there was nothing I could do. There wasn't really any good treatment for it then either—not like the medicines they have today. Anything that existed was too expensive for us to consider.

"Bucky would always somehow manage to keep me calm and would stay with me until the attack passed. I remember how absolutely terrified I would be whenever one hit. Sometimes they would be bad enough that I would pass out. Bucky would carry me home and stay with me until I felt better. I think we both tried to make the most of our time because both of us believed that one day I wouldn't recover."

A faint smile touched Steve's lips. "He was always saving me. I was all of a hundred pounds and not smart enough not to pick fights with guys about three times my size or several guys at once. I couldn't count how many time Bucky fought my fights. He thought I was an idiot for always getting involved, but I couldn't help myself from standing up for what was right." Sam chuckled quietly at that. And Steve smiled at him before returning to his story.

"When my ma died he was there—supported me through everything. He wanted to help me pay my rent, and I tried to refuse because I said I could get by on my own. He just said I didn't have to. We always promised each other 'til the end of the line'. It was something we said back then and it meant a lot to both of us, but it really started to mean even more during the war when we fought together. It became a promise.

"When Bucky enlisted, I was lost. He had never talked about it before though he knew that I wanted to. A while later when I asked him he admitted that a big part of the reason he fought was because I had wanted to. It drove me crazy knowing he was out there and in danger. I tried to enlist four times, falsifying my papers and going to different places before Erskine found me on the fifth try and you know what happened there.

"I was pretty much a performing monkey before Bucky and his men were captured. Everyone was against me going after him. I was actually under orders not to go, but I did anyway, and I found them and we made it home safely. They had tortured, Bucky. He was doing really bad. Now I don't think anyone would have let him stay to fight, but back then you just sort of pushed on through whatever issues you were struggling with. It was the first time it really fell on me to take care of Bucky. He would often wake up screaming, and he forgot where he was a lot. Eventually he got a bit better. They let him fight again and our group became known as the Howling Commandos. We went after HYDRA then, and Bucky was the sniper of the group. He was an amazing shot—is still, I guess." Steve shifted uncomfortably. "We always trusted him to have our backs. Sometimes a HYDRA agent would fall and you knew Bucky had to have taken a shot right by your head, but we all trusted him to make it.

"We all did so much together, and fighting together really brings people together, but Bucky…we were already so close before and it only added more to that.

"We went after Zola." Steve's throat suddenly tightened and he couldn't force himself to continue right away. He stared down at their joined hands for a long while. Sam didn't speak, knowing that if he did at that moment, Steve might never finish his story and continue keeping everything bottled up. It was almost half an hour before Steve took a deep breath and continued. "Jones stayed on the roof while Bucky and I went onto the train to search. We were split up and ambushed. I…I beat my guy and when I got to Bucky, the guard was about to kill him. I distracted the guard and tossed Bucky a gun. I thought we were safe for the moment, but they there was another HYDRA solder, and he blew up the side of the train. We kept fighting and….Bucky was blasted off the train with the soldier's rifle—he had grabbed my shield. I…I got rid of him and…Bucky was holding on to the rails on the side of the train. I climbed down to get to him."

Steve had clenched his eyes closed and was shaking again with repressed crying. "He looked at me then, like he wasn't worried because he knew I'd pull him up, but…before I could reach him, the rail ripped off and he fell. I should have jumped then." Steve said. "I shouldn't have left him."

"You couldn't have known." Sam said. When Steve threw him a halfhearted glare. Sam gave him a sad smile in return. "Don't you think I thought the same about Riley?"

"At first I wanted to lead a mission to retrieve his body. But…I let myself be talked out of it too easily. I think I really just didn't want to see him like that. You know? Like if I never saw his body, then maybe I could pretend he wasn't really gone. That was when I discovered that I couldn't get drunk. Peggy found me there. She knocked some sense in to me, and I channeled my anger towards HYDRA instead. Jones had gotten Zola and we had the information we needed.

"I know you know enough of the story, but when I was on that plane. I knew I had to stop it, there was never any choice about that, and I didn't immediately see any way out, but…looking back I think I could have gotten out fairly easily. I could have survived that, but it seemed like a good ending. I had thought about giving up after losing Bucky—I really considered it—but we were in the middle of the war and everyone was looking to me. If I had done that then, it would have disheartened people. It would have taken away their hope. But going down with a plane to save New York made me a hero—a martyr. I got what I wanted without having to worry about the war. I decided I had given enough—somehow convinced myself that Peggy was better off without me. The plane went down and I knew nothing more until I woke up from being frozen."

Sam shifted, and Steve looked up at him. His eyes were reddened and there were obvious marks from tears down his cheeks. "Steve, you said there was almost a third try. What stopped you?"

"You did."

"What?" Sam asked quietly.

"I was going to try again, but I remembered the day we met. You invited me to stop by the DVA. I wouldn't have, but…No one treated me like a normal person. The team either saw me as Captain America or someone made entirely of glass. I think it's why SHIELD didn't push much about psych stuff either. They just assumed I was doing fine on my own. The mission Natasha picked me up for, it made me question SHIELD and what I was really fighting for.

"That day, I had finally worked up the nerve to see Peggy. I wanted to see her one last time. She…she has dementia and isn't really aware of what is going on. I was going to do it, but I remember you, and I just wanted to be treated normally. I was still going to do it, but I decided to stop by first—I'm not really sure why I did. I didn't tell you the truth not really—I was struggling with the idea of what to do with myself if I wasn't a soldier—but it was a lot more than that too. I didn't know you then and wasn't willing to tell you much, but what you said mattered enough that I decided to give it another few days, and then everything went down with SHIELD."

Sam was still clearly shocked. "I wouldn't have ever guessed how much you were struggling then."

"I didn't let anyone see."

"And now we are chasing the Winter Soldier. Steve…" Sam took a deep breath. "Especially now, after everything you've told me. I'm worried what is going to happen when we catch up and he isn't like you expect him to be."

Steve met Sam's eyes solidly for the first time in a while. "I know he is not going to be the friend I lost. I know that he might never remember me or be anything like what he used to. That's not the point of all this. I hope he remembers at least a little, but…I understand why you're worried, but…I just need to get him to stop—get him somewhere safe. I told you we promised each other 'til the end of the line' and he'd do the same for me if it was the other way around. The person he was…if Bucky could have seen who he was now, he would want me to stop him."

"And if the only way to stop him is to kill him?"

"I don't think I could."

Sam sighed. "I know you can't. But what if it comes down to that. You'd let him kill you rather than taking a kill shot."

"No. If he ever remembers anything, he would never forgive me for that. I need you here to take that shot for me."

"Ah hell, Steve." Sam breathed, leaning back against the couch.

Steve turned suddenly. "I still don't think you get it. What if it were Riley?"

"Steve."

"No, listen to me. I'm sorry, but what if it were Riley? If he somehow hadn't died but instead was taken as a prisoner of war for almost seventy years. If you knew they had made him forget everything—you, his family, his life. If he was tortured for decades. Would you really ever stop chasing?"

Sam sighed, running his hand over his face. "I wouldn't." He gave in. "Look, I'll promise to help you find him if you make me a promise." Steve gave him a wary look. "I'll stick with you until we find him if you promise me that if you ever consider ending your life again—even if it's just idle thoughts—that you'll come talk to me." There was a long pause as Steve stared at Sam. "I care about you, Steve, and I know that your team cares as well. Even Natasha no matter how hard she tried to hide that stuff. I'd miss you, and don't you dare go and leave me like that. I don't think I'd handle that well either."

"Now you're trying to guilt me into it."

"If that is what it takes. I can't promise you it will get better, because the world is screwed up, but I promise that you will not regret choosing life. You have so much to offer the world, and I mean you, not Captain America. I'm not asking you to suddenly be happy. I'm asking you to come and talk to me when you're struggling. To let me in. I feel like a terrible friend right now for not noticing, and I want to make that up to you somehow."

"I promise." Steve said suddenly. "I promise that I'll come to you." At that, Sam breathed a sigh of relief. It was certain to still be difficult, but Steve didn't make promises lightly, and he would keep the promises he made.

"Alright." Sam said quietly and then smiled. "Let's have lunch and then go find your friend." Steve smiled back, and there was something in his smile that told Sam how heavy of a weight had just been lifted off of his shoulders. Sam stood, offering his hand and pulling Steve to his feet. "I'm going to hug you now." Sam warned, before pulling Steve into a hug. Steve held him back for a while before pulling away.

"Sam…" Steve began. "Thank you."