I have loved you from the start
I have seen your hurting heart
And you feel so lonely, but you keep on hiding
'Cause you feel so guilty for what you've done, but

There's no distance too far that I can't reach you
There's no place that's so dark that I can't find you
Anywhere that you are, if you need proof
Take a look at these scars, and know I love you

...

You will never outrun my love...

- "Never Too Far Gone" by Jordan Feliz

Winter didn't wake up till the next morning. He still looked terribly pale, but his pulse was stronger than it had been, and he didn't have a fever. Slowly, Winter blinked and looked at Steve, who had been sitting at his bedside all night despite Sam's protests that he should get some rest. "Wha...?"

"Hey," Steve said, leaning forward and smiling wearily. "How are you feeling?"

Winter looked down at himself in dazed confusion, at the quilt pulled up to his chin and his bandaged arm lying on top of it.

"Sorry," Steve said hastily. "We had to change your clothes. There was blood everywhere..."

He desperately hoped Winter wasn't disappointed that his apparent suicide attempt had failed. Maybe the attempt had been a mistake. Maybe, now that he was awake again, he would decide that he didn't want to die after all.

"Thirsty," Winter said hoarsely, breaking the silence.

"I'm sure you are," he said, quickly getting to his feet. "Sam wanted to give you an IV saline solution, but...well, that's not really feasible right now. So you've got to drink lots of fluids and get your strength back up. You should probably stay in bed for a couple days at least, to be on the safe side." As he spoke, he picked up the old blue bandanna from the bedside table and tied the ends together, making a loop. "So I'm afraid it's back to this again."

He helped Winter sit up, propped up on his pillows, and handed him the bandanna. "There's water there," he said, pointing it out on the bedside table. "And something for pain if you need it. I'll get you something to eat."

It was almost comforting to return to the old routines of Winter's bedridden days. As he sat and helped Winter eat soup one-handed without pushing the bandanna away from his face, he could almost believe no time had passed. How much easier it had been, when it was obvious how to help him!

But there was an extra tension now when silence fell between them, and Steve knew he would have to bring up the elephant in the room. He set the empty bowl down on the bedside table and leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. "I'm...I'm really sorry about...yesterday. I wanted so much for everyone to be happy that...I didn't realize how much you were hurting."

Winter listened, a furrow between his brows. When Steve finished, he said abruptly, "Why are you still here?"

Steve's heart sank to his toes. "Do you want me to leave?"

Winter shook his head. "But why don't you?"

Steve smiled sadly and took Winter's cold right hand in his own. Would Winter ever understand? "You're my friend. So as long as you need me...as long as you want me...I'm not going anywhere."

Winter glanced down at their clasped hands, and Steve quickly let go. He hadn't even thought about whether the contact would be uncomfortable to Winter, or even painful... His gaze fixed on the bandages hiding the horrible, self-inflicted wound. "Was it because of me?" he blurted.

A long pause, in which Steve was too scared to look up, stretched out longer and longer. Great, he thought. It was because of me. He opened his mouth to apologize again, but Winter finally began to speak.

"You were lying," he muttered.

Steve looked up in surprise. Winter's brows pinched together sharply as he glowered down at his clenched metal fist. "When?" Steve asked, trying to remember what he'd said the day before. "What do you mean?"

"You acted so happy, like everything was fine," Winter said. "But everything's not fine. Nothing's fine. And then I realized...you gave me your motorcycle...so you were happy because you wanted me to leave."

Steve stared at him, stricken. "Oh, Winter...that wasn't what I meant at all... This is so messed up..." He scrubbed his hands over his face, feeling the exhaustion of his sleepless night crash down on him at last.

"It was Christmas," he said helplessly. "For as long as I can remember, Christmas has always been...almost magical. I look forward to it all year. When I was a kid, even when we didn't have much, my mother would always try to make it special. My best friend, he'd...he'd always come over to play, so even when I was sick...it was still special. Even in the war, we always managed to celebrate Christmas, even with Nazis breathing down our necks. We'd sit around the fire, passing drinks around and telling stories..." He sighed. "Ever since I woke up in the twenty-first century, it just hasn't been the same. I wanted to have that again. I wanted you to have that."

Silence fell again. It made so much sense now why Winter was so upset the night before. If only he had known, maybe he wouldn't have done something so stupid as to give him the motorcycle and talk about him leaving...

"Tell me the truth," Winter said suddenly. "Do you want me to leave?"

Steve met his eyes steadily. "No. Do you want to leave?"

Winter shook his head. Steve smiled, even though Winter dropped his eyes down to his lap and didn't see.

The tension was gone from the silence that enveloped them now. They had resolved at least some of their problems, though the stark white bandages were a constant reminder that those problems wouldn't just go away by themselves. It was sobering to realize how hard he'd tried to help, only to send Winter a completely opposite message.

"I want to help you," Steve said quietly. "But I guess I don't know how. What do you need, Winter? What would make it easier?"

Winter's eyebrows rose in surprise, and he didn't say anything for a long time. Finally he said slowly, "I don't know."

"Well...if you do think of something, you'll tell me, won't you? Anything at all."

"Yeah," he said, though he sounded as though he didn't think that was very likely.

He wasn't healed yet...but he was better.

It was amazing how different things were when hardly anything had changed. After a couple of days keeping Winter bedridden, life resumed its normal course. They didn't talk about what had happened on that disastrous Christmas, but the tension Sam had noticed growing between the three of them had eased away. Whatever Steve and Winter had talked about had blown away the fog of wary unease.

Sam was a little nervous when it was finally time to take the stitches out of Winter's arm. It was the first time since Winter was bedridden that they had directly dealt with the consequences of his cutting, and it would probably be uncomfortable for him emotionally as well as physically. And if he lost control...well, it wouldn't be pretty with all the sharp, pointy objects lying around.

Hoping to mitigate some of this, Sam took pains to explain what he was going to do and showed Winter the scissors he would use to cut through the stitches. The more Winter could anticipate, the less he would be startled. Hopefully.

"I've done this before," Winter muttered, sitting down at the kitchen table as Sam directed and laying his arm down on it. Despite his attempted nonchalance, his shoulders were tense. No doubt his Hydra handlers had stitched up his wounds countless times, but they probably weren't pleasant experiences. He could just imagine them poking and prodding him, stitching him up and pulling the stitches out with perfect efficiency and absolutely no care for how uncomfortable it might be for Winter.

"Try to relax," Sam said as he dabbed rubbing alcohol over Winter's arm. "They'll come out easier that way."

Steve hung back, watching but keeping out of the way. He was mostly there in case Winter had a panic attack or started fighting and needed to be held down while they got the job done. Hopefully his presence wouldn't be necessary. But when Sam picked up the scissors to begin, Winter suddenly said in a breathless voice, "Cap...could you...hold...?"

For a moment, Sam wasn't sure what he meant, but it seemed that Steve instantly understood. He pulled up a stool next to Winter's and sat down facing him, then grasped Winter's right hand in both of his, rubbing his thumb soothingly back and forth across Winter's knuckles. The effect was almost instantaneous. Winter's shoulders lowered, the tight muscles in his arm relaxed, and he let out a long, slow breath. He nodded to Sam, and they began.

As he carefully snipped the stitches, Sam reflected that this was the first time he'd heard Winter address Steve by name. Usually, he just said you, letting the context make it clear who he was talking to. Kind of like he was talking to the air rather than speaking with an actual person like himself.

Sam was pleasantly surprised at how smoothly the procedure went. Winter only twitched a couple times when Sam accidentally poked him with the tweezers, but he just watched every movement intently and waited calmly for Sam to finish. Steve held onto his hand the whole time, pressing it gently between his whenever Winter shifted or drew in a sharp breath.

"There we go," Sam said at last, clearing away his supplies. "All done."

Now there was nothing but a thick red line running down Winter's arm to indicate what he'd been through. It was larger than any of his other scars, and Sam wondered if it would ever fade.

When Steve let go of Winter's hand, Winter curled his hand into a fist and opened it again. For a moment he looked like he was going to say something, but then he just tugged his sleeve down over his newly bandaged arm.

It was obvious that Winter was doing better, but he still had a long way to go. Sam had hoped that his brush with death might scare him into an actual attempt to stop cutting, and at first, it seemed like it had. Sam supervised the continued healing of his arm, to make sure the holes left by the stitches didn't get infected, and until the bandage finally came off, he didn't notice any new cuts making their appearance. But barely a day after Sam took off the bandage, he spotted a new one wrapped around Winter's wrist.

As discouraging as it was to watch Winter fall right back into his self-destructive habits, Sam took heart when he noticed the signs that Winter was improving little by little. Even though he was still cutting himself, there was something much more...open about him now. He didn't seem like he was trying to hide as much anymore. He would roll his sleeves up while washing dishes, and didn't seem to mind that they could see all of his scars, new and old. Once, his private stash of bandages had apparently run out, and Sam overheard him asking Steve for more. Ultimately, that led to Steve patching him up himself.

Sam could practically hear the silent cry for help. Now, Winter would often leave the door open when he retreated to his room to cut himself, as if hoping one of them would walk by and stop him. Sometimes he would linger in a room they were in, looking as though he wanted to say something. But then he would sigh and leave the room, or just sit there quietly. Sam started to look for those moments, and try to draw him into whatever conversation or activity he and Steve were in the middle of, but he wasn't sure if it was actually helping at all.

One day, while he was helping Winter with the dinner dishes, Sam glanced over and saw the state of Winter's arm. He had rolled his sleeves up to his elbows, and of course the eye was immediately drawn to the enormous scar running the length of his forearm. But a second glance revealed another slash off to the side, much more recent. The cut had closed, but the skin around it was red and inflamed.

Without saying anything, Sam hung up the dish towel and went to get an ice pack from the freezer. As Winter let the dishwater drain away, Sam set the ice pack on the counter in front of him, as well as a bottle of ibuprofen.

"For the infection," he said in reply to Winter's inquiring look. "The ice will help bring the swelling down."

Winter ducked his head as if embarrassed, but he grabbed the ice pack and held it against his arm.

Sam decided to press his luck. If he could just get Winter to start talking about this, maybe they could finally get somewhere. "Can you tell me what makes you want to go for the knife?" he asked gently. "Maybe next time you feel like that, we can do something different so it won't be so hard."

Winter shifted the ice pack on his arm. "I don't know."

But Sam wasn't going to let it go that easily. "Well, what about this time? What did you feel like right before?"

Winter fell silent, looking down at the floor. Sam watched him carefully, trying to read his body language. His shoulders weren't tense and hunched over, and he wasn't fidgeting or looking around furtively for a way to escape. It seemed he was actually thinking about what Sam had said.

At last he began to speak. "I was...in my room. You were out running. Cap went to get groceries. I was just looking out my window at the mountains...when I thought about the last time I saw mountains. On a...mission..." He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head sharply, as if trying to shake something loose. Then he blinked and looked down at the ice pack, which was leaking everywhere, crushed to bits in his metal hand. He quickly dropped it into the sink.

"Next time you feel like that," Sam said carefully, "could you come tell me? Maybe a distraction would help, something to keep you busy. We could go running or something. How does that sound?"

Winter hesitated, glanced up at Sam, then quickly looked back at the floor. "Just...don't tell Cap?"

Sam wondered what lurked behind that request. Steve would be a much-appreciated help in this endeavor, able to take over when Sam wasn't around. He'd thought the tension between Steve and Winter had been resolved, but maybe Winter was still holding onto some bitterness. Or maybe he was ashamed. But even though he knew Steve could probably help better than anyone, Sam had to respect Winter's request. He must have a reason for asking.

"All right," he said slowly. "If that's what you want...then I promise."

Steve had to keep reminding himself of how bad things had gotten before, because otherwise he tended to forget that the current state of affairs was an improvement. Winter was still cutting himself, but it seemed less frequent than before, less...desperate. He hardly ever asked Steve to so much as pass the salt, let alone ask for help in quitting his dangerous habit. But the anger and bitterness were gone when they spoke. Their sparse conversations were still awkward, but...this had to mean their relationship wasn't completely broken, right?

Once he pinpointed what was bothering him, Steve felt incredibly selfish. He noticed that Winter had begun spending a lot more time with Sam. They started to go running together, sometimes several times a day, as if they were training for a marathon or something. Sometimes he noticed them conversing quietly like they didn't want him to hear, and Sam always seemed to be the one helping Winter with his cuts now. Winter had decided to ask Sam for help, or maybe Sam just somehow knew when Winter needed it, and Steve didn't.

Steve wished he could talk to Sam about this; Sam was such a good listener, and he'd grown accustomed to sharing all of his thoughts and concerns with him. But what would he say? I'm jealous of you because you're helping Winter and I'm not. It didn't get much stupider than that.

If all he truly cared about was Winter's well-being, shouldn't he just be happy that Winter was improving, regardless of who was responsible for it? What kind of conceited jerk was he, that he needed to be the most important person in Winter's life? It was good that Winter was bonding with Sam. Sam was kind, open, and dependable. He was exactly the kind of person to lead Winter out of the pit and give him his life back.

Steve felt horrible even admitting it to himself, but he wanted to do the leading. What did that say about him? In the weeks following Christmas, Steve tried to take a step back and not intrude where he wasn't needed or wanted. Sam always did it so easily, letting Steve take the lead and guide their course. So why did Steve find it so hard? He'd watch his friends step inside, breathless and rosy-cheeked from their run, and instead of being glad they'd had a good time, he just felt...left out.

But maybe this was for the best. Just look what had happened the last time he'd tried to help—he had completely misread the situation, given Winter a message exactly opposite of what he was trying to say, and nearly killed Winter as a result. If Winter didn't want him anywhere near, Steve could hardly blame him. Winter didn't seem angry with him anymore, but he must have realized that Steve couldn't help him. That was why he turned to Sam now. When it came to Winter, Steve was completely useless.

Was this how it would end? Steve had tried so hard to save Winter, to make amends as much as he could for indirectly being responsible for all the evil Winter had suffered. He had convinced Winter to start over, helped him through withdrawal, got him acclimated to a normal life and proved that no one was going to hurt him...and that was it. Would he never be able to help him any further? Could he only lead Winter so far along the path to healing?

He wanted to take Winter all the way to the end. And somehow, it wasn't enough to just sit back and watch it happen.

Days passed on into weeks, and Steve tried hard not to let on how lonely he was beginning to feel. It was stupid to feel lonely when the two best friends he had in the world were right there. He just needed to stop feeling sorry for himself, and do what little he could. That would have to be enough.

One morning, Steve walked down to the kitchen and discovered the others bundling up in preparation for a run. They never seemed to choose a consistent time for their excursions, but apparently just decided based on a whim—sometimes at the oddest times. But they were never gone for long, usually no more than half an hour. Steve continued towards the kitchen, suppressing a sigh. Maybe he'd make some hot chocolate and pancakes and have it ready for them when they returned...

Sam and Winter were conversing quietly, and Steve tried to clatter around in the kitchen so they wouldn't think he was eavesdropping. But then Sam said in a louder voice, "Hey, Cap, we're heading out for a run. Wanna join us?"

Steve looked up in surprise. Sam was pulling on a hat, and Winter was fiddling with the glove that hid his metal hand from sight. He glanced up and met Steve's gaze. Steve couldn't tell what expression he was wearing, but he didn't look like he minded.

"Okay," Steve said, his heart lifting hopefully.

Five minutes later, they were jogging up the curving path to the road. There was just enough room for the three of them to run side-by-side on the right shoulder of the road, and they soon fell into an easy rhythm. Steve found himself in the middle, with Sam on his right and Winter on his left.

He'd missed this—this sense of simple purpose. While he was running, he didn't have to worry about what he was doing wrong, or whether Winter would ever truly heal. For now, he only had to focus on the moment. Just putting one foot in front of the other, breathing deeply, keeping pace with the others.

It was a beautiful morning to be out running. The crisp January air was cold and still, and the sun was still rising over the snow-crusted peaks. It hadn't snowed in a while, so the ground was dry and hard, white with frost that crackled underfoot. The road was never very busy, but this early on a cold Saturday morning, it was completely deserted. No birds chirped, no voice of man or beast broke the silence. The only sounds were the pounding of their feet against the ground, and their breath puffing in and out, creating little clouds of steam before them.

After a while, Steve noticed that Sam was breathing harder than before, and he remembered that most people wouldn't find this speed the easy jog it was to him. He glanced over to see how Winter was doing, but Winter was possibly the only other person in the world who found this speed as easy as he did. He kept pace effortlessly, barely breaking a sweat.

Winter glanced over at him in the same moment, and a silent message seemed to dart between them.

Steve grinned and took off running as fast as he could. Winter fell behind slightly at first, but soon they were running shoulder to shoulder again. Sam, of course, was left in their dust immediately.

Freezing air stabbed through his lungs with every breath. His heart beat a crazy rhythm, keeping time with his feet pounding against the ground. All he could hear was the wind howling against his ears and Winter's heavy breathing beside him. The road tilted downhill, and they ran even faster.

He had never run with someone like this, pushing himself to his utmost extent but running next to someone who could match every step. Before, he'd always been too weak or too strong; he'd never met someone who was his equal. He hadn't even been able to do this with Bucky.

The road turned a bend and climbed uphill again, and Steve's legs began to burn. He could run for a long time—hours, probably—but he wasn't used to sprinting at top speed for long periods of time. It usually wasn't necessary. At last, when he saw a little picnic area just off the side of the road overlooking the valley below, he admitted defeat. Stumbling to a stop near a picnic table, he collapsed on top of the dead grass and rolled onto his back.

Winter followed suit, dropping onto his back next to Steve. They looked at each other, and Steve grinned, exhilaration exploding in his chest. He looked back up at the sky, which was turning a beautiful shade of robin's-egg blue above them. They lay in silence for several minutes, gasping for breath, not attempting to speak. There was no need for words, not when everything was so unspeakably beautiful. Winter was at his side, and winter was all around him, and he had never tasted air so sweet and fresh.

Eventually, their breathing evened out and the cold breeze on his sweaty skin was making him shiver, so Steve reluctantly got up. His muscles ached in protest at the movement, as they rarely did anymore. It was invigorating to wear himself out so completely. It made him feel human. It made him feel alive.

Steve held out his hand to help Winter up. Winter looked at it for a second, as if not sure what it was for, then grasped it and let Steve pull him to his feet. He held onto Steve's hand a moment more than was perhaps necessary, then let it drop. Steve grinned and clapped him on the shoulder. "I think we'll walk back, what do you say?"

Winter nodded, and they started walking back the way they'd come. They walked in silence, enjoying the view and the birds now making a racket in the trees to either side. After a few minutes, Steve noticed that Winter was shivering in the cold breeze. He hesitated, wondering if his intrusion would be welcome...but what was the worst that could happen? He put his arm around Winter's shoulders and pulled him close as they walked.

Winter started at his first touch, but then relaxed and fell into step with him. His right shoulder, trapped against Steve's side, soon stopped shuddering with the cold.

It would have been a long walk all the way back home, but they hadn't been walking for too long before they saw a familiar SUV driving towards them.

When Sam pulled up alongside them, he rolled down the window and said, "You know, I oughta just let you guys walk the whole way after leaving me behind like that."

"It's not our fault you're a slowpoke."

Steve and Sam stared at Winter, who looked just as surprised as them at the words that had popped out of his mouth.

Steve let out a surprised laugh, followed by Sam. It wasn't even that funny, but Steve couldn't seem to stop laughing. Winter looked between the two of them with a confused expression, and that made them laugh harder than ever. All the tension and worry that had been weighing on Steve's shoulders since he'd discovered Winter's cutting problem seemed to fall away. He felt as light as a feather.

When their laughter finally died down, Sam chuckled, "Come on, let's go home. It's getting cold."

As they rode back to the cabin, Steve reflected on how much things had changed since the last time all three of them had been in the car together. Winter still sat quietly in the back seat, but he wasn't nervously gripping the seatbelt or watching their every move with wary curiosity. He just gazed out the window and watched the scenery slip by.

Sam had apparently been thinking along the same lines as Steve and had pancake batter stirred up and waiting to be cooked when they got back home. Before they could sit down, Sam shooed them both upstairs to get showers.

Steve was in his room getting a change of clothes, whistling cheerfully to himself, when he heard Winter step into the room. He looked up and froze in surprise when he saw that Winter's arms were full of what looked like every knife he owned. He dumped them unceremoniously on top of Steve's bed and took a step back.

"I might want to use these later," Winter said softly. "Don't let me." Then he turned and left without a backward glance.

Steve was distantly aware that his mouth had dropped open, but he couldn't close it. He stared at the space Winter had vacated, then gaped at the mountain of deadly weapons on his bedspread.

The long fight was over. Winter wanted to quit.

Fear not, for I am with you

...

I will strengthen you, I will help you,
I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.

- Isaiah 41:10

Author's Note: According to my research, Steve's top sprinting speed is probably around 60 mph (96.5 kph). Yeah. To put that in perspective, that's about twice as fast as your average galloping horse. Or almost as fast as a cheetah. Makes you wonder how the Guinness World Records works in the MCU, huh? Do enhanced individuals qualify? XD

Well, here we go! This is something of a turning point for Winter. Things are looking up :)