A/N: Hello all you wonderful people! This story is being written as a sequel to one of my previous fanfictions, Shaken, but it can be read as a stand alone. More chapters are on the way. Reviews are always appreciated. ;) Enjoy!

"You didn't kill him."

"Yeah, but I could've."

Bucky shakily raised a bottle to his lips as he remembered the conversation he had carried on with Sam before he left. Before I knew if Steve was gonna live. He felt the burn of the alcohol in his throat. He wasn't going to get drunk. He couldn't afford to be found inadequately prepared for an attempt on his life, whether it be to take or save it.

He needed to be alone. Clearly no one was safe around him if ten words could turn him into a bloodthirsty monster. He couldn't bear to hurt anyone else. Not now.

If Steve had almost died because of him and on his watch in the old days, he'd drink until he passed out. But he was younger then, didn't understand that loss was a part of life. Steve always knew. He had lost more than Bucky understood before they had even met. Now, Bucky understood too well. Steve had never really had a chance to be a kid with his dad dead and the guys at school picking on him. He grew up too fast, learned that the world didn't hand anything to you. Even now, more was expected of him than what he could fulfill. Bucky couldn't count the times he had wished it wasn't that way. But he couldn't change it.

It was comforting to hold a beer bottle again, to drink what he wanted when he wanted instead of pouncing on whatever HYDRA threw in front of him. 'Course, he still didn't have much of a choice when stepping outside his door could mean his death, but at least he could decide when to open it. It was a curse that he couldn't decide to undo what he'd done to Steve. And everyone before him, really.

The soldier was propped up against the splintering wood boards of a shed wall, watching a bug caught in a spiderweb on the opposite side. It was struggling to break free but it was becoming more and more tangled with every move.

"It's a useless battle," Bucky muttered, smiling with clouded eyes as he took a long gulp. "No matter what you do you'll never win." The man watched as the spider finally emerged from a hidden corner of its web and began to creep down the spindly trap, sucking the life out of its victim when it reached the tangled insect. Mercilessly mummifying its prey to keep itself alive.

It was a cold world. Colder now that he was consciously in it. "The Winter Soldier" was an appropriate title. Maybe he never would be able to rid himself of that dark part of his soul. At one point he had been confident that he could bring himself back. Bucky bit his lip, stared at the dust on his boots. That hope was gone. If even Steve couldn't get across to him, who could? It wasn't safe to try. Too many experiments concerning both of them had already failed.

To be honest, he was tired. Tired of the effort it took to make it through every godforsaken day, every sleepless night, every flashback that sprung on him when his mind was peaceful and he was alone. Tired of the guilt he carried, the longing for everything to be okay. Sometimes it felt as if it was too much to simply exist on this earth. The weight was so unbearably heavy that he stumbled under it, but he rarely found someone to console him for his bruises. Those he dealt with on his own, kept to himself, buried under his pile of other, more important worries. Worries such as where he was supposed to go from here. Where he could go.

He let out a long sigh and closed his eyes. Everything was exhausting. The U.N. was conducting a manhunt for him; Steve, no doubt, would be after him as soon as he could walk. Bucky seemed to be collecting both enemies and friends every time he showed his face, neither of which he was sure he wanted.

What the hell am I supposed to say if Steve shows up at my door? He thought to himself, the very prospect of the situation sending a surge of excited dread through his chest. What can I tell him? "I'm sorry" doesn't really cut it when you practically murdered someone in cold blood. Someone who was trying to save your life. Damn.

He couldn't protect him. He knew it. He never had quite been able to and he never would be fully capable of defending his best friend. Especially when Steve got stupid ideas stuck in his head and refused to shake them out. It bothered him. But he knew Steve was bothered by it too, that he couldn't protect Bucky.

Why'd you have to come after me when you knew you wouldn't get out unharmed? And now I don't know if I can ever look you in the eye again.

Bucky's eyes flickered open and he watched the light from under the door fade from yellow to gray as the sun set. The whole thing was a mess. He was lucky he had remembered this place at least. An old, abandoned farm in the middle of a nearly deserted town. It was in the middle of nowhere; people out there didn't get reception for T.V. or internet, so although radio warnings had been sent out, it was difficult for people to match his face to the oral description. Everyone in the area had scruff or a beard and wore messy clothes.

He had a safe space there for a while, with a roof over his head, an old .22 rifle he had picked up from a pawn shop, and a convenience store down the dirt road, hence the beer.

At least he would be left alone.

"Wilson, how the hell did you find me? I'm in the middle of rural Wyoming and you can't leave me alone?"

"Man, no one trusts you to be eatin' enough and makin' decent decisions without supervision when you decide to drop off the face of the earth. C'mon, it doesn't even look like you brushed your hair."

Bucky glared. "I took care of myself for almost a hundred years before you showed up, birdbrain."

"Oh yeah, 'cause struttin' your stuff with a tinfoil arm and managing not to die is adequately taking care of yourself."

The meeting hadn't started this way, but the two usually found a reason to work themselves into an argument. Originally, Bucky's rifle was aimed between Sam's eyes and Sam was informed that he was "not safe." The Falcon knew that his friend wouldn't shoot him, though, 'cause that's what they were. Friends. At least, they were on the same side. He could see it in the man's eyes that he wouldn't be able to pull the trigger this time. So, Sam sat without being invited in and started talking to him.

It had been so long since someone had trusted him that Bucky was stunned into silence for a good twenty minutes. Now, that had worn off. And he was angry.

"What if I forget myself again? What if I try to hurt you, too? What are you going to do then?" He shook his head. "Sam, you gotta leave. This...this thing they made me into...it's not reliable. Besides, Steve needs you. Is…." It was difficult to think about, let alone say. "Is he even still alive?"

"He was when I left. He was doing well; I'm assuming he still is. He has Sharon and the team. You don't have anybody right now. And I don't know what you're thinkin', but it certainly seems like you need a friend."

"I don't deserve one. Not after what I did to Steve." Bucky's voice faltered. "Since when did you care about some hobo of a man you've barely met? I'm not worth all this."

"Look, maybe we don't seem like similar people to you, but we've got more in common than you think. We've both been through wars, we've both seen a lot of stuff we wish we hadn't. And we've done a lot of things we aren't proud of." He paused, waited for Bucky to regain eye contact. "You come home, wake up, and it feels like a world you've never seen before. There's challenges you can't face, things you don't know if you can ever forgive yourself for. Well, you can. But not alone."

The two sat in silence for a few minutes. Bucky lowered his gun and stared at the floor. Sam could see it wasn't easy for him to accept that someone was willing to help. But it always started that way. He knew it 'cause he'd been through it.

Bucky turned to the box of beer and without saying anything, held one out to him.

"So, I take it I can stay?" Sam asked, accepting the peace offering.

Bucky nodded. "I guess. It's too much work to get rid of you anyways," he sighed.

"Cheers."