Author's Note: Thank you so much for sticking with me to the end here. It's been a long time coming, but here's the end for Bleak December. I have plans for a possible sequel, so if you want more from this storyline, PLEASE let me know. I can only go on if I know I have support for this story. Once again, I hope you've enjoyed reading! And thank you.

. . .

Steve limped over the debris of the bar. A month before, a bomb all but leveled the watering hole, but Steve desperately needed a drink. Ash and coal disintegrated beneath his feet as he made his way behind the bar to scavenge for any remaining liquor. Broken bottles and glass littered the shelves. He opened a cabinet. Towards the back were a few bottles still intact. The first was empty. The second had leaked out long ago. The third was half gone, but at least it was something. He uncorked the bottle and drank deeply. The burn was a welcome change from the icy numbness spreading over him, but it didn't last. He drank what remained in another swig, willing the alcohol to take control. Again, it didn't last.

He leaned against the bar, doubled over with eyes closed. Bucky's screams echoed in his memory. Steve snarled as he threw the empty bottle against the wall. He sank against the bar and cried.

"When did you know?" Steve was sitting next to Bucky, using the metal headboard as a back rest. There wasn't much room for both of them to be sitting side by side, but they made it work.

Bucky smiled. "We were sixteen. We had plans—I can't remember what—but you'd blown me off. Your mom told me where I could find you, so I went to the address. You stood me up to go volunteer at a soup kitchen."

Steve smiled. "I remember that. You called me a punk."

"You called me a jerk."

"You stayed, though."

"To be with you." Bucky yawned and rested his head against Steve's shoulder. "Where does this leave us now?"

Steve wrapped his arm around Bucky. "I'm willing to take the time to figure that out."

"But you're in love with Peggy?" Disappointment added an edge to Bucky's voice.

"She's so guarded. It's like she's fenced herself in with barbed wire and a concrete wall. After all this time, I know so little about her." The muscles in his jaw clenched. "I'm not sure of anything anymore."

"Then answer me this—Do you see any chance where we might have a future?"

Steve didn't realize he'd been clenching his fist. Through tear-blurred eyes, he saw blood dripping between his fingers. The metal edges of Bucky's dog tags were cutting into his palm. Steve didn't care. Sirens sounded through the streets of London again, warning citizens to remain indoors. Icy wind and ashen snow drifted through the skeleton holes in the roof.

"Bucky?" An hour had passed in silence. Steve had been deep in thought as Bucky sunk lower and lower into the blankets using Steve's arm as a pillow.

"Hmm?" His reply was more of a soft hum in his sleep.

Steve hesitated. "What exactly is Zola capable of? What did he do to you?" Steve didn't expect an answer when Bucky was already asleep.

"He made me forget," he mumbled . "Don't forget me, Steve."

"I won't."

Steve uncoiled the chain from his hand. His blood caught in the grooves etching out Bucky's name, but he didn't bother to wipe the tags clean before hanging them around his neck. He tucked them under his uniform, and they clacked against his own tags.