'All that I am, or hope to be, I owe to my angel mother.'
-Abraham Lincoln

End of the Line

October 21, 1936

"…Ye'll come and find the place where I am lying

And kneel and say an 'Ave' there for me.

And I shall hear, though soft you tread above me

And all my grave shall warmer sweeter be…"

Rebecca's voice soared to the rafters of the church, somehow carrying Steve's leaden heart with it. Bucky's hand was steady on his shoulder.

"For you will bend and tell me that you love me

And I shall sleep in peace until you come to me."

The rest of the service was a blur, until he was standing at the graveside, pressing his hand against the coffin, desperate for the solidness of the wood. He closed his eyes, saw her laughing, the sun catching her hair.

"…earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust…"

Only when he was alone did he stoop and kiss the bare, fresh earth. Step to the next stone, run his fingers over the letters.

He walked home in the evening light, chest and head and eyes aching, barely registering when Bucky appeared at his side. Church bells chimed the hour as they turned onto their old street, and Bucky gently bumped his shoulder against Steve's.

"We looked for you after," he said. "The folks wanted to give you a ride to the cemetery."

They climbed the stairs, Steve's legs feeling like lead. "Kinda wanted to be alone," he mumbled.

"How was it?"

"Was okay. She's next to Dad." The lump in Steve's throat swelled, at the thought of his parents… both gone now. He brushed his hand across his face.

"I was gonna ask…" Buck started.

"I know what you're gonna say, Buck. I just…" He stopped in front of his apartment door, feeling in his coat pocket for the key. He couldn't think about that now. Nothing made sense.

"We can put the couch cushions on the floor like when we were kids. It'll be fun." There was a pleading note in Bucky's voice. "All you gotta do is shine my shoes… Maybe take out the trash." He noticed Steve fumbling and turned to kick aside a stray brick on the ground. He scooped up the key and offered it to Steve, moving close enough that Steve had to tilt his head back to look up at his friend. "Come on."

Steve took the key, stared at it. He hardly knew what he was doing, except to say what he always said. I'm fine. He raised his head.

"Thank you, Buck. But I can get by on my own."

"The thing is… you don't have to." Bucky's solid hand gripped his shoulder, giving him a gentle shake. "I'm with you to the end of the line, pal."

Steve looked up at him, his mouth curving in a reluctant smile. Maybe…

"Don't be such a stubborn punk, laddie boy," Buck added, and Steve broke. More than anything he wanted his mother, but she was gone. He wanted his father, but he was gone. He wanted Bucky… And Bucky was right here. Bucky was all he had.

Bucky's arms wrapped around his shoulders, pulling him close, but he didn't try to speak. Steve buried his head in Bucky's chest and cried.

January 1937

They stood on the corner of West 44th and 8th, Steve hunching his shoulders against a swirl of wet snow. Bucky buried his hands in his coat pockets, shooting Steve a worried look. "Button your coat, will ya?"

Stubbornly, Steve stared off down the street, pretending not to have heard his friend. He looked back, in time to see Bucky stepping out to dodge across the street.

Almost in slow motion, he saw two cars going opposite directions swerve at something he couldn't see. They swerved back, one brushing Bucky aside like a giant hand. He fell, sprawling across the pavement, a truck looming over him.

"Buck!" The word was a whisper, lodged in Steve's throat. His hands were stretched out, reaching uselessly, helpless to stop his brother, the only person he had left in the world, from being crushed. In that moment the one thought crossing his mind was, Why didn't I button up my coat?

"Bucky!" The scream wrenched out of him as Bucky rolled, flipping to his feet, and arching his back away from the side of the truck, which shot past in a squeal of brakes.

Heedless of danger to himself, Steve bolted into the street, following Bucky to the opposite sidewalk.

"Holy cow," Bucky said, catching his breath. He gave himself a shake, and turned to Steve, vainly brushing at the filthy slush on his pants. "So much for– You 'kay?"

Steve couldn't catch his breath. His heart was racing, the iron band tightening around his chest. In a detached part of his mind he knew that this was the worst attack he'd had in ages. He slumped forward, until something caught him, propped him against a wall.

Someone gripped his hand. "Steve, listen to me. Just breathe. Okay?" His hand was resting against something warm and solid, rising and falling steadily. "Breathe… Breathe… Breathe…"

He concentrated on the voice, the rhythm; found the room for one breath and then another and another.

Finally, he looked up into Bucky's dark eyes. One hand gripped his shoulder, the other held Steve's hand against his chest. "Easy, pal. It's alright."

Under his palm Steve could feel Bucky heart beating. It's okay. He's here, I'm here. We're okay.

"Dear God," he said hoarsely, slumping forward against his friend. Weakly, he wrapped his other arm around Bucky's neck.

"Don't you ever do something stupid like that again. I can't lose you, too, Buck. God knows I can't."

Bucky hugged him back, whispering in his ear, "I promised I'd be here to the end of the line, Stevie." Then he stood, pulling Steve to his feet. "Ain't getting rid of me that easy. Too tough." He grinned and rapped his knuckles against his skull. "Let's head home, pal."

Author's notes: I hope I did that scene after the funeral justice. Turning movie scenes into stories is actually not easy.
You might be wondering why I didn't include more from right before Sarah died. Two reasons: one, I didn't have time to do adequate research into TB, and two, Steve has two blank chunks in his memory on each side of that moment with Bucky the day of the funeral. Some things are better forgotten.
My favorite version of Danny Boy is by Celtic Woman. It's on my Steve&Bucky playlist.