There was nothing but the struggle.

Nothing but groaning metal and empty space under him, and the air itself burning around him. And the Winter Soldier, himself, doing his best to knock Steve's lights out. Pain and pain and pain. So many blows, numbing his arms, jarring his bones, and that familiar face glaring down at him with a snarl. He threw his arms up and his once-friend battered the bleeding brick-a-brack away, again and again and again and again.

Your name is James Buchanan Barnes.

Hit. Breathe. Pain. Block. Hit. Gasp.

Shut up!

Hit. Gasp. Block –

Pain.

Bucky's metal fist collided with his jaw. His head snapped back into the helicarrier's bones. The pain was white-hot, setting his nerves on fire. Stars bloomed behind his eyes as his head lolled. The world staggered and shuddered around them, locked together in single-minded conflict.

Scraps of the helicarriers rained down to earth, trailing the blue with inky smoke. The metal supports beneath him and his foe would go next, he knew, blazing as they fell. Everything burned: his arms, his shoulder – the knife-wound trying to heal itself – the gunshots in his leg, his belly, his back. A blinding strip of azure seared his vision... and the sky itself was burning. Gagging on the oily air, he tried to drag his head up. No luck. Fight, fight, fight... Wake up, stand up, defend yourself, Rogers –

He pried his eyes opened to glare back at his enemy – and saw only James Buchanan Barnes looking back at him through half a century and an icy void, dazed and lost in a murder's footsteps. It wouldn't end like this. It couldn't. Steve shuddered in pain, lying still, his mind set.

'I'm not gonna fight you,' he gasped, the words no more than a breath. Tears blurred the world. 'You're my friend.'

Merciless fingers, steel-strengthened, fisted in his collar. Icy eyes nailed him to the deck. 'You're my mission.'

Steve dredged up a smile, tasting blood. 'Then ...do it,' his voice broke on the words, 'Cause I'm with you 'til th'end of the line.'

The iron fist closed, rushing back to send him plummeting into eternity, once and for all. A sorrow like lead filled his chest. No, no, Bucky. Not like this –

And the Steve was weightless, boneless, sailing with the burning wreckage, breathing the blue. The sun winked out from behind a veil of smoke.

He was falling.

Darkness crowded around the sun, inking out the world's edges. Steve should have been afraid, should have been bracing for the river, but he was only empty, lost in the yawning blue. Wind rushed through him as he hung there, washing the pain and the dirt away.

Bright trails of burning metal raced him to the water, dancing, as his body gathered momentum. There was no SHEILD here, no HYDRA; only the screeching of metal, the wind's howl, the spiral of smoke. No more pain, no more fear, no more betrayal... Only a dull ache in his chest, a leaden sadness for his once-friend. Bucky... No, not like this...

Looking down, Steve caught a glimpse of the glassy surface, mirroring the inferno above, and his own face, a terrified, pale blur. Then he was sinking like a stone, down, down, down, into the deep. The water was silent, thick, and dark. Cold seeped into his bones, lacing his veins. Sunlight bled down from an unknown height. He lifted an arm to it, but his hand only twitched feebly. A few bubbles escaped from his lips and threaded away toward the light, so far away.

He wanted only to rest, to fall into the deep and forget his pain, to close his eyes and stop seeing Bucky's empty eyes over and over. Just as the last of the air in his lungs escaped and his world darkened, a steely arm reached out through the murk and wrapped steady fingers grasped his bloodied hand.

...'til the end of the line.

Steve felt himself gasp as he broke the surface. River and sky, fire and smoke spun together into a blinding kaleidoscope. His eyes slipped shut against it and he felt himself drifting, towed through the current by a guiding hand that never faltered. He wanted to thank Bucky, to grab his shoulders and shake the winter out of him, to shout at him, to wrap him in a hug and forget those dead eyes. But his body was broken and his throat was clogged with blood, so he let Bucky pull him through the river and lay him on the bank with a grunt and a soft squelch, motionless. There were leaden weights pulling his eyelids down, pulling all of him down into oblivion.

He felt the weight of the Winter Soldier's gaze, felt the struggle and the moment of decision, heard the footsteps fading. Everything was fading.

Everything but the tiny spark in his chest, buoying him in a sea of despair. He reached out to it, a single warm note in in a symphony of winter: that metal hand reaching out to save him, those eyes flickering with a dawning hope.

The world was crashing and burning around him and his body was bleeding and breaking, but that leaden weight in his chest was gone.

Steve closed his eyes and dared to smile.

Well. Not too original, I know, but after the emotional wringer that was Winter Soldier, I needed to write something. Think I went overboard on the purple prose, though... What do you think? Was Bucky in-character? Did Steve's thought-process make sense? I'd love to hear your thoughts. Thanks!

-RandomCelt