Thank you so much everyone for reading! Big thanks to the people that have reviewed, Dreamescape16, ErinKenobi2893, wolflehr, and swren1. It means a lot, guys :) Alright, next chapter! This one is not as feelsey, but it delves more into the past. So if you get tired of flashbacks, sorry, but I thought that they were needed. Flashbacks may not always be labeled, but they will always be in italics. Hope you enjoy!

I don't own Marvel. If you think that, I don't know if I should be flattered or scared.


It was not a restful sleep. Almost as if his entire mind decided to attack him now that his eyes were closed. Memories of him and Bucky flitted by.

"Bucky! Take my hand!" Steve yelled over the sound of the train wheels. He threw off his helmet and started climbing towards Bucky, outstretching his brown gloved hand. Flakes of snow fell on it and an icy wind bit through his uniform.

Bucky reached as the metal began to creak and came loose. "Bucky!" Steve screeched as his friend fell, his hands still outstretched as if he could reach him. Bucky disappeared into the snowy cliff below the train.

Steve sunk down to his knees. "Bucky."

It had been a long fight. Steve was bruised and battered, but the Winter Soldier showed no signs of stopping. He finally got up under the monster and flipped him, his faceplate clambering to the ground. Long hair, tangled and dirty, blocked most of the soldier's face. However, when he turned, the face was still the same as Steve had remembered all those years ago. The hard jawline, the eyes now filled with hate.

"Bucky?" Steve asked, standing up straighter.

"Who the hell is Bucky?" he replied and pulled out a gun.

"You are," Steve wanted to reply. But the falcon beat him to it, kicking Bucky down before Natasha let a rocket loose, engulfing the street in flames. When Steve turned his eyes back to the blaze, Bucky was gone.

Once in the snow. Once in the fire. Once in the rubble.

Many people only have one life. In a sense, James Buchannan Barnes was offered three.

And Steve lost him every time.

Waking with a start, Steve sat up hurriedly in bed. He ran a hand through his damp hair and took deep breaths to calm his racing heart.

A nightmare. Not uncommon.

He swung his feet over the bed and brought his hands up to his face, where he could see they were shaking slightly in the dim lamplight. The time was 2:46. He got up and made his way slowly to the bathroom, careful to not wake Natasha.

He cupped water in his hands and put it to his face, as if the clear substance could wash away his demons. Steve dried off his face, his eyes now wide and awake. No way he was getting back to sleep.

Even if he did, it wouldn't be long before the dreams got him again.

When he switched off the bathroom light, the room becoming darker, he could see that Natasha was silhouetted in the darkness.

He slid back in next to her and trained his eyes on the ceiling. No matter what his thoughts started off with, they always drifted back to Bucky's still form, once full of life, laying on the road. It all seemed so real, so grotesque, as if he could see his friend laying right in front of him, dead, in Natasha's room. His short black hair, clean-shaven jaw, and the ominous red stain spreading across his chest.

Steve clenched his eyes shut and reopened them and the white of the ceiling greeted him. He sighed back against the pillow. It was too early to go for a run, unfortunately. He could use one. For the moment, however, his mind was clear. No ghosts around the corner, no memories plaguing his vision. For now.

That was why when Natasha started screaming, it scared the life lout of him. She was turned on her side and curled in on herself in a fetal position, her mouth open in a scream. Her voice was raw and terrified, as if she were screaming from the inner depths of her soul. Perhaps she was.

"Natasha," he said, shaking her arm a little. "Natasha!" he repeated, a little louder, as her screams finally stopped. She was silent, but her breathing was ragged, her lithe form shaking. Steve decided it was better to wake her up than to let her endure whatever horrors she was facing.

He shook her arm harder and sat up in the bed. Her eyes snapped open and her hand went up to meet his face. Steve caught her fist and gently closed his hand around it. A knife was in-between her fingers, ready to strike.

Her flaming hair was stuck to her head with sweat, her green eyes wild and unfocused.

"Natasha, it's me," he said calmly, his gaze meeting hers.

Her pupils began to shrink as her chest heaved to make up for lost air. Steve smoothly removed the knife from her hand and set it on the nightstand next to his side of the bed.

"Clint?" she whispered in a hopeful tone, still not entirely awake. She shook faintly beside him.

"Steve," he said gently. "Clint is gone."

Natasha seemed to fully awake, remembering the actions of the past day. Everything she had been hiding, everything she had felt, came and crushed her like a ton of bricks.


"Just fall apart if you need to.

I'm here and I won't leave you, now.

Don't look down.

Hold on forever."

Hold on Forever - Rob Thomas


She sagged back against the pillow and began to cry, taking gasping breaths in-between sobs to try and calm herself.

Steve wrapped his arms around her and pulled her in close to his own body, one of his hands stroking her hair.

"I know, I know," he said softly.

Natasha tried to collect herself. There was no reason for her to be crying. She had lost people before. But it never hurt this much.

"Steve?" she asked through a few choked sobs.

"Hm?" he replied.

"How are you not an emotional mess right now?" Steve chuckled slightly, his hand still gliding down her hair.

He took a deep breath, thinking about his answer. "I cried a lot when my parents died. Horrible grief when I let Bucky fall. Now, it's just…" he let his sentence trail off. "Almost like I've become used to it. Almost. I just feel numb."

"No one becomes used to death," Natasha replied. "I've lost everyone. Clint was the only one that understood me. He saved me. And I couldn't save him."

Steve was silent. The word, was, was replaying over and over in his mind. Bucky was his friend. Bucky was his brother. Bucky was dead.

"Maybe I could-" Steve started but Natasha cut him off.

"Try to understand me, Rogers?" Natasha asked, getting up from his grasp and wiping tears from her eyes. "You wouldn't want to live in the same building as me if you knew my past. I can't lose anyone else."

Steve sighed. "Nothing could make me like you any less. Nobody's past is perfect. Mine is a good example," Steve stated and smirked.

"You sure? Once I tell you, I can never go back," Natasha said warily.

Steve sat up so they were both sitting cross-legged on the bed, facing each other. "I'm all ears."

"If you tell anyone I was crying, or tell anyone what I am about to tell you, I will kill you in your sleep," she threatened. Steve knew well enough to not cross her.

"Everybody has weaknesses. I'm not in the business of exploiting them," Steve replied honestly.

"No, that's Tony's job," Natasha joked. Something in her chest loosened a little.

So she told him. Slowly at first, as if the most minor detail would scare him away. Then she began to open up, smiling to herself all the while. "I must really trust him if I'm sharing this," she thought to herself. Every word she said felt like a weight was being lifted off of her shoulders.

But then she would look back at his face, deep in thought, and a fear would wash over her. A fear that he would turn her away, not unlike so many people before him. Steve was different, and for that reason, she held out hope.

She told him everything. Her family, the way they were murdered. How she was brainwashed and used as a weapon. The first time she killed someone, before she was even ten. The tortures, the lies, all of the blood on her hands, she said every detail

By the time she had finished weaving her tapestry of torture and deceit, the sun was peeking over the buildings.

Natasha took a deep breath and looked at Steve with sad eyes. A weight seemed to have been lifted off her shoulders. If he chose to stay, she would not have to carry her burden alone. He sat silent, unmoving on the bed, his eyes looking at nothing in particular.

"If you're going to go, just go. I understand," she said, building back up the walls around herself.

Steve snapped out of his trance and looked at her. A sad smile graced his lips in the morning light.

Flashback

"Natasha come look at this!" Clint exclaimed on the balcony of their small motel room. The air was tinged with dust, the carpet and all of the other furniture inside was in various stages of decay. They were waiting for the target to make a move. Natasha hated waiting.

"What?" she asked as she stepped out onto the platform. There was a small drizzle in the air and Clint was smirking.

"A rainbow," he said. Natasha scoured the sky, but she saw no colors other than the dull gray of the clouds.

"Where?" she questioned.

Clint brought out his bow from next to him and chuckled. The wetness caught on the sleek black surface of his bow.

"Rain. Bow," he laughed, showing Natasha the pun he had just made.

"That's bad," she replied, but couldn't hide the smile from her face. She punched him lightly in the arm as he set his bow down.

A loud dinging sounded from inside the room.

"Time to go?" Clint asked.

Natasha nodded in response. "Be sure to bring your rainbow with you."

End Flashback

That was one of the memories that played through Natasha's mind as she watched Steve. Just a memory of Clint being who he was, Clint. Sure, his lines were cheesy and he had the worst jokes, but they had always brought a smile to her face. He had something that no one else had, and that was understanding.

However, when she looked into Steve's electric blue eyes, she saw the same understanding that had been present in Clint's up until his death.

"I"m not going anywhere," Steve said. He reached across the bed and grasped her hand. "That is all in the past. I didn't know you then. It wasn't you, either. All I care about is now. We need each other now. We need somebody to lean on."

Natasha nodded her head slightly. "Thanks."

"No need for thanks for understanding. Now, if Tony understood, that would require a thanks, but he won't," Steve replied.

"What else do you expect from Tony?" Natasha asked playfully. Her expression was happier than it had been before, but she was still more down than usual.

A wave of dizziness hit Steve like a wave. He blinked his eyes to try to get it to pass, but he wavered. "Steve?" Natasha asked curiously. He could see lines of worry crossing her face.

The memories of Bucky flashed before his eyes, he could feel the icy wind biting into his skin. The plane and the horrible, undying crunches of metal that followed the collision. Her voice, shifting slightly with emotion, being displayed for him via radio, the last thing he thought he would ever hear. How he had treasured every word.

He slipped into blackness.

Flashback

Steve felt the explosion jostle his aching bones, he felt the crash of the water as it welcomed him. He did not, however, feel new air coming into his lungs. He lay there at the bottom of the river, too wounded, too tired to move. That was until someone helped him out, dropping him unceremoniously onto the beach.

Steve turned his head, water streaming out of his partially closed lips. Spots clouded his vision and the screaming pains of agony had diminished to a stinging numbness. A metallic tang was swimming in his mouth from the cut on his lip. Everything before his eyes was covered in red. The water was like millions of people had spilled their blood to make the once-clear liquid. His blood wet the sand beneath him, it was the cause of the tattered uniform that clung to his marred form. Steve forced himself to look away. He saw his savior start to walk away, the gleam of his metal arm growing father and farther from him.

"Bucky," he whispered, hoping his friend would hear him.

The soldier stopped and looked back at Steve, his face full of remorse. All of the blood that covered Steve's uniform, seeped into the sand, it was all because of him.

"I can't stay," he mumbled, trying to turn back away. But the sight of Steve, so vulnerable, everything in him screamed for him to end it, to finish his mission. He subdued all of those feelings.

Steve contemplated this before saying, "thanks." Every word he spoke was like a hundred knives everywhere in his body.

Bucky turned away, imagining Steve's dropped shoulders. Even if he was broken and Steve was stronger, it was still his job to protect him.

"I'll see ya later, punk," Bucky said, walking away.

Those five words cemented the idea into Steve's head. If he made it off the beach alive, he was getting his friend back.

End Flashback

When Steve woke up, sunlight was streaming through the window. There was a cool cloth on his head and a curious redhead staring down at him.

"I was so worried. You've been out for a few hours," Natasha said, breathing a sigh of relief as Steve sat up. "You okay?"

"I think we can both tell that I'm not," he said, a little harsher than he had intended. "Sorry."

"It's okay," she replied, running a hand up and down his back in a soothing motion. "Want to talk about it?"

Steve took a moment to think that over. She had told him about her skeletons. But he still didn't feel ready to reveal his. "Maybe later," he replied, getting up from the bed and stretching out his arms. His lungs burned, reminding him of his injury.

"We should get our war wounds checked out," Natasha said sarcastically. Steve nodded and went to pick her up from the bed as he had done the previous day.

"I am fine to walk, Rogers," she stated.

"I know. But I am a gentleman and I help damsels in distress," Steve replied, chuckling slightly.

"Ugh," Natasha muttered as Steve gracefully lifted her up. He carried her down to Bruce's lab, where he was tinkering away at things. It always helped his emotions to be doing something and not just sitting somewhere, grieving.

"Hey. How you guys holding up?" he asked, removing his glasses.

"Alright. But we have some questions," Steve said, setting Natasha down on one of the tables. Bruce's eyes immediately went to her wrapped ankle and the way that Steve was clutching his ribs.

"Let me see what I can do." He gingerly removed the bandage from her ankle, which was now even more swollen. He pressed down on certain parts, asking Natasha where it hurt the most. "You's lucky. Just a sprain," Bruce said. He got a brace and slid it over her ankle, tightening it as necessary.

"I won't be doing any fighting for a while, anyways," she said, hopping up from the table and grabbing the pair of crutches that Bruce handed her.

"Now, what did you do, Cap?" Bruce asked.

"Ribs," he said.

"I need you to remove your shirt so I can tell if it is a crack or a break," Bruce instructed. With difficulty, Steve lifted the shirt up and over his head.

Natasha couldn't help but look at his smooth stomach and gleaming skin. But her eyes tore away from that when she saw the large purple and green spot on his chest.

Steve visibly winced as Bruce felt along his ribs, uttering a cry of pain as his fingers glided over the bruised area.

Bruce pulled his hand away and Steve breathed a sigh of relief. "Two broken ribs. It's surprising you weren't in more pain, Cap," Bruce said.

"I am super," Steve replied, trying a little bit of dry humor.

"I can't fix it, though. It should take about a week to heal, since you have the serum, but there's no use giving you painkillers. Okay?"

"Whatever you say, doc. Thanks."

"No problem," Bruce replied. He paused, as if thinking about what to say next. "They got them cleaned up. Saying funeral's in two days. Wanted to let you guys know."

"Thanks, Bruce," Natasha said quietly.

"Anytime," he replied softly. He clapped a hand on Steve's shoulder and sighed before going back to his work.

Steve slid back on his shirt, and with some help from Natasha, managed to get it back on. He got his arms under her and began to lift her up, but the crutches made the weight uneven and he had to steady himself, causing a laugh to sound from Natasha.

"That's what crutches are for," she said, waving the crutch in the air.

"That's what I'm here for," he retaliated, gaining his balance and carrying her out of the room.

"I'm going to get used to this and you'll be carrying me around forever," she said jokingly.

"If you need me, I will gladly carry you," Steve replied

"And if I don't necessarily need to be carried?"

"If you want me to, I will," Steve smiled.

They went back to Natasha's room, where Steve lay her gingerly on the bed. "I'm not made out of glass. I've had worse injuries," Natasha said defensively.

"No, you haven't," Steve replied, looking at her with sad eyes. She knew that he was no longer talking about her ankle.

She pursed her lips and thought of a memory, anything to get them out of the bout of sadness that had washed over the both of them. "There was this one time. We were on a stakeout. Clint got so bored that he ordered pizza, taking his eyes off the target. They ambushed us, but they were no match for two master assassins," she said, a happy gleam in her eye. Steve listened attentively.

"So here they were. Three big, burly Russian assassins, strapped to the small bed in the motel. The pizza guy walked in and we scared him half to death. He left and Clint offered our captives some pizza. Naturally, they didn't take it. That was the first time I had ever tried the stuff. For some reason, it tasted better knowing my enemies weren't getting any."

That was the Natasha he knew. Steve sat back on the bed and thought of his own story to tell. "Back in the 40's, Bucky and I were part of the Howling Commandos, best bunch of guys I've ever had the chance to fight alongside with. Basically, Bucky lost a bet and had to let Dugan cut his hair. Didn't end up so well. We all laughed, including him. But he never was one to go down easy. As we were all sleeping, he snuck around with his own pair of scissors. In the morning, we all had his messed up hair. Bucky actually managed to make it look like Dugan had done a good job," Steve said, chuckling, and ran a hand through his golden locks. "First and last time I ever let Bucky Barnes cut anybody's hair, much less mine."

Natasha smiled at his story. "You know, we're haunted by all the bad things so much that we often forget about all the good things."

Steve nodded in agreement. "But being haunted does help you remember the bad stuff and what to not do again, if you can help it," he replied.

"If you can help it," she echoed. Out of the blue, her mood changed. "Want to watch a film? I have a television in here so we wouldn't have to move."

"Whatever you want," Steve said, smirking.

"Alright. Something not relating to war or assassins or conspiracy theories. I try to break down in tears only once in a decade," she said simply, looking through one of her drawers for a good movie.

"How's that working out?"

"I'm working on it," she replied.

They ended up watching a romantic comedy, of which Steve forgot the name, but did enjoy the way the stupid jokes brought a smile to his face. It almost made him forget. Almost. That just for a few minutes, he could believe that Bucky was downstairs working out as he always was, and Steve could get up and go talk to him at that very moment. The second the thought crossed his mind, it vanished and he remembered that Bucky was gone and he had no one who understood him and what happened in the 40s. Steve had never felt so alone.

After the movie ended, Steve got up from the bed and began to exit the room.

"Where are you going?" Natasha questioned.

"Getting my shield. In case I should need it when I'm bunking with you," he replied and walked out of the room.

He stepped into the elevator and made his way to his floor, his feet padding on the dark wood floors as he made his way to the bedroom. When he entered the threshold, his eyes went to his shield and the picture of he and Bucky that he had placed on it earlier.

Steve took a deep breath as more of the wall crumbled away. He forced himself to walk forward on shaky legs. With tingling fingers, he picked up his shield, holding one half of it in each hand.

It had splintered down the middle into two jagged fragments. The star in the middle was no more and it was as if the red bands were weeping as well.

Steve clutched the shards to his chest and took a few deep breaths to calm himself. His shield was almost as much a part of him as Bucky. Now they were both broken.

Bucky was gone.

His shield was fragmented.

His heart was shattered.


This chapter may have dragged on a little, but I thought it was needed to show just how much they lean on each other now that they have both lost someone important. If you enjoyed, pleaseeeeeee leave a review, they make me very happy ;) Thanks for reading and I'mm get the next (and last) chapter up s soon as I can!

Also, who watched the season finale of Agent Carter? It is an amazing TV show. If you want to talk about it, feel free to PM me ;)