The train rumbled through the countryside, scenery flying past the windows. Several seats down, college students were excitedly chatting about their trip to the lake, but for the most part the only noise came from the train itself.

Bucky's hands were shaking. He had boarded the first train leaving the station and had patched himself up in the bathroom. The bleeding from his cuts had stopped and he was pretty certain nothing had broken from his jump. He'd had worse injuries than this and not blinked. And yet he couldn't keep his hands still.

He'd come so close to losing control. To becoming the Winter Soldier again. One word away. That's how close it had been. Just one word. And the thought of it caused a wave of overwhelming panic to claw up him.

No matter what, he couldn't go back to that.

He closed his eyes, trying to keep control, trying to retain some semblance of himself…

So close. So close back to that hell.

He reached out instinctively for his backpack, some piece of himself to hold onto, and then let his hand fall, his brain catching up to his instincts, reminding him that he'd lost that.

It felt like it had back when he'd first gone on the run: lost in an ocean of fear, darkness, and pain. Over the past months he had bit by bit been creating a raft for himself, something to cling too, and now that had been swept out from under him.

All he could focus on was how close that had been. And next time…next time he was sure he would lose. And there would be a next time. There was no doubt in his mind that that had been HYDRA. And that they would find him again. They always found him. He could fall off a train into a freezing river below, and they still found him. There was no escape.

Except…

His eyes became glued to the train tracks they were speeding past.

It wasn't the first time he'd thought about it. Since pulling Steve out of the water, he had contemplated it over and over again. It could be over so quickly and then no more fear. No more pain. No more nightmares. No more remembering.

And now he could add to that list: no more hearing those words ever again.

His fist clenched. Those words.

But…and this was the problem. This was what had held him back each time before now. And this was what would he knew would hold him back now.

Deep down, buried under everything else that had been put into him, Bucky Barnes was still there. And Bucky Barnes didn't give up or take a way out. Bucky Barnes fought. He had fought every step of the way when he had been taken, and twisted, and turned. He'd made it so much harder than he'd had too. He'd been told that again and again, that it was inevitable and that he was only making it harder for himself. And he'd known even then that they were right.

He had been told of Steve's death. They'd enjoyed telling him that. And even if Steve had lived, he would have been sure Bucky was dead. Everyone was sure Bucky was dead. He'd known there was no escape. But he wouldn't give in and make it easy for them.

It had been horrifying to know what was going to happen to him, information which Dr. Zola had loved imparting. To bit by bit lose control, to feel it happening, to know that eventually he wouldn't even care. To know the inevitable, appalling, end that he could not escape. The black notebook had been filled with memories from that time. Even given everything else he had endured, this had been the worst parts of his life.

But he had fought them, inch by inch, every step of the way…until eventually the Winter Soldier had taken over, and the battle had been lost.

So he was a fighter to the bitter end. And he would fight now. And suddenly it felt just like it did all those years ago. That he was fighting an unwinnable battle. And he wanted to scream. He wanted to break this train apart. He wanted to rage.

I'm with you till the end of the line.

The words jumped into his head out of nowhere.

His words. Steve's words.

And he realized that there was another way out. The battle didn't have to be unwinnable if he had Steve there fighting it with him.

He'd rejected the idea of going to Steve before, arguing to himself that Steve didn't deserve it, but also too ashamed to do so. And perhaps now, having read one of the notebooks, Steve wouldn't want to help.

But Bucky had run, and run right into HYDRA.

And now it wasn't a question of what Steve did or did not deserve. It wasn't an option anymore. It was the only way.

Bucky realized that his hands were no longer shaking.

The man swirled in his chair. Someone else was standing to the side nervously. Waiting to see how he would take the news.

So the asset had escaped. But they'd come close. So close. Would they be able to find him again? Probably. But it would be harder the next time. Yet they wouldn't fail again to take control.

But did they have the time? Just that morning a call had come through of another former HYDRA member found dead.

"Nicholai?"

The man stopped swirling in his chair and raised an eyebrow at the speaker. "Yes?"

"We did recover this." A backpack was deposited on the table and shoved towards him. "It appears to belong to the asset."

Curious, Nicholai opened the backpack. He pulled out a stack of notebooks and flicked open a red one. He read down the page and then his eyebrows lifted. "It seems our Soldier is remembering." He turned another page and then looked at the stack of notebooks. "Quite a lot it would seem."

"What should we do? Keep looking for him? He can't have gotten far."

"Oh I'm sure he has. But we might as well put the wheels in motion. But in the meantime…I think I have some reading to do."

The phone was ringing. Sleepily, Steve rolled over and looked at the time. Three in the morning. Really? Who had to call him at three, the morning after he'd finally agreed to let Tony take him and Bruce out for a night on the town? Hangovers were impossible for him, but he could still be exhausted.

Yawning, he reached for the phone.

"Rogers speaking."

"Steve…this is Bucky."