Bucky's POV

Steve isn't sleeping. It took me a few days to notice, but I think he was trying not to make obvious. The signs were still there: he is drinking a lot of coffee, he is always up before me and he is always yawning. Always.

The night after I'd noticed, I struggle to stay awake, with my eyes shut lazily and I feel the mattress shift as Stevie gets up and I hear his bare feet on the wooden floor. I silently follow. What the hell are you doing Stevie?

I hear him making a cup of coffee and pull out a chair at the kitchen table, probably drawing. I walk in slowly and silently, seeing him sat leant over his sketchbook. "Whatcha drawin' there Stevie?" I ask softly.

He turns to face me rapidly, "Buck, I thought you were asleep."

"I thought you were at least trying to sleep."

Stevie bites the inside of his cheeks and turns away.

What's wrong?? I'll kill anyone who hurt.

I sat down at the table beside him, "Stevie? You can talk to me."

Steve turned to face me, tears brimming his eyes and he practically tackled hugged me, "Hey, hey, it's ok Stevie, I'm here," I say rubbing his back, I hate seeing him like this, I just want to wrap him up in a blanket and protect him from everything.

We sit like this for a few minutes until he stops crying, when he does, he sits up and shuts his sketchbook rapidly. "Just look inside there..." Steve mutters quietly and goes into the living room with his coffee.

I flick through the pages of his sketchbook, marvelling at his drawings. The first few are us with the Howling Commandos and Peggy, then one of the Avengers. They're all detailed, he must have spent ages on each one...this must be what he does all night...

The next one.

Tears fill my eyes at the next one.

It is unmistakably the moment before I fell off the train. My hand reaching for Steve's. Panic clear in my sketched eyes. My fingers loosely gripping the rail on the train, just about to fall. I hear myself sniff quietly as I flick through the rest of the sketchbook, all of the sketchbook are scenes like that one.

I close the sketchbook and walk into the living room, where Steve was sat, hugging his knees to his chest.

"You drew the moment I fell off the train..." I say softly.

"Yeah, it just, I had to see it somewhere other than my head and my nightmares," Tears slid down his cheek.

"It wasn't your fault you know?"

"I could've saved you. If I would of just grabbed you quicker I could've saved you."

"Or we could of both gone down. I'm glad it was me and not you."