Let's just get the "Blue (Da Ba Dee)" jokes out of the way early...

Also this one is more serious, so: TW for depression and brief self-harm. (If anyone wants to vent or anything my messages are always open, take care of yourselves, I love you all)

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Steve Rogers lived in a world of blue. The world saw him as the golden boy, and he never felt lower. The moniker of Captain America was one he'd never taken lightly and the world saw it as a mantle he was proud to carry. That's what they saw, and that's all he wanted them to see -- Captain America, beacon of hope. Captain America, never afraid, never backs down from a fight.

He'd never show them that Captain America is actually a depressed and anxious and PTSD-riddled twenty-something year old named Steve Rogers.

////

He didn't realise how bad it truly was until during the middle of a mission, a raid somewhere in New Jersey, his mind a fog, he'd idly wondered what would happen if he just dropped his shield.

It fell from his grasp and Sam was quick to dive in, his wing pack bursting into action as a shield. He grabbed Steve's shoulders and yelled over the din of gunfire and raging flame.

"Did you get hit? You okay?"

Steve shook his head, tried to snap himself out of it -- "I'm good," he replied with a quick grin of this is fine.

Once he was finally home, his legs still shaky somehow from the battle even though it had been hours ago, he allowed himself a moment to sink against the door and drop his head.

The abandoned helmet and shield taunted him as if to wordlessly remind him that he was Captain America first, and Captain America was a super soldier, and Steve Rogers had to get it together and keep fighting.

Steve rubbed his eyes, pushed himself up, and grabbed the paperwork that Fury needed finished before the next briefing.

////

Bucky woke slowly and felt fuzzy. He wasn't cold anymore. He quickly looked around for the familiar horrific sight of the inside of a HYDRA base. Instead he found a plain looking room with a vase of dead flowers and a tv, volume set low on some pointless talk show.

He sat up, glanced at his hands -- still metal, still human -- and pushed himself to his feet.

He had to find out if -- if his -- someone was okay. He didn't need to know their name; he could just feel it, like a tightness in his chest that refused to leave.

He would find them, no matter how long it took.

////

Months flew by in a haze of blue and grey for Steve Rogers. After a particularly successful mission of wiping out HYDRA bases that had been kidnapping civilians for experimentation, Captain America was granted another medal of honour and prompted to give a short speech.

"What I do shouldn't be praised," he said. "What I do is help people and stand up to bullies, because if there's at least one person to make a stand, that can make all the difference." He paused for a second, finding the words he wants to say. "It's my responsibility to do what I can to help the community, and that's what I vowed to do. I don't intend to back down from that promise."

The audience cheered their approval, Captain America waved goodbye and Steve wondered if he and the famous Cap would ever be able to exist in the same universe.

////

A silver hand brushed over his recently chopped hair. Bucky felt like  patchwork, piecing himself back together out of forgotten memories and the feeling of being a whole again.

He avoided looking into the windows as he walked down the street and swore he was learning just how to walk again. Bucky felt new, and that was a scarily uncomfortable but familiar place to be.

None of that mattered until he was truly whole -- when he found the person he was looking for.

He had vague memories -- a glimpse of blond hair that was damp from the rain, a teasing grin -- beautiful blue eyes. The name was on the tip of his tongue, still foreign to him, so he moved on instinct. The moment he saw them, he'd know.

////

It was an accident, Steve swore, but... he didn't know if that was the truth. When Steve lost control of his bike, the brakes locked and he was careening dangerously towards the ocean, he felt too frozen to bail.

He crashed into the icy water and the bike snagged, pulling him down. Panic, and then a numbing calm, and then nothing. The last thing he saw was a silver hand reaching out to him.

When Steve came to he was lying on his back and he'd never felt colder. His stomach lurched with the thought that he was once again freezing to death and he tried to move, panicking as he rolled to the side to cough up bloody ice water.

His head was swimming and he was blinking tears, and over the rush of everything awful overwhelming him he heard a faint voice -- someone yelling at him.

"... were you thinking, punk?" The angry and familiar voice was demanding. Steve shakily sat up and realised tears were still streaming down his cheeks, he was shaking, he clutched the back of his neck and sank into the terrifyingly familiar feeling of a panic attack.

Bucky's expression immediately softened and he crouched next to him. "Hey, hey," he hushed, and Steve took in a gasping breath and couldn't get out of his head, couldn't cope with it all, and he felt like fainting.

"Bucky," he choked, breathing too harshly.

"I'm here, I'm here," he said. "Steve, I need you to look at me, okay, match my breathing."

Steve was searching for words that wouldn't come, trembling and frozen still. His muscles were stiff. Bucky managed to get his breathing to match his own and took slow, deep breaths.

"Come on, doll," Bucky said softly. "You're okay." His voice was warm, a quiet rumble, and Steve found himself grasping his hand. Bucky squeezed it back gently.

Breathing raggedly, Steve lowered his head and was aware that hot tears were still streaking his face. He didn't know what to feel. Bucky hesitantly touched his shoulder, and relaxed when Steve didn't flinch away.

It wasn't until they were home that Steve realised Bucky had been talking to him quietly, and he'd been completely spacing.

"Hey," Bucky said softly as Steve took a deep breath and was able to register what was around him. A blanket was over his shoulders, and a lone cup of tea sat beside him, now cold. "You wanna tell me what that was about?"

Steve's mouth felt dry; he took a shaky sip of tea and tried to gather his thoughts while Bucky waited. "I... lost control of the bike," he finally murmured.

"Is that true?" Steve didn't want to make eye contact, because he knew when he did Bucky would read him like an open book -- God, Bucky was alive --

"I don't... " Everything was becoming foggy again. He shook his head and tried to stay present. "Bucky, I don't understand."

Sad blue eyes searched his own. Bucky gave the only explanation that made sense. "I was... a soldier for the wrong cause. I escaped but I wasn't... myself. Fell into some ice, got myself frozen, when I woke up I was here. No memories."

Steve stared at him, dazed. "Are you okay?"

That brought a brief smile to Bucky's face, quickly fleeting. "Yeah. It's not me I'm worried about."

"I'm okay, Buck," Steve muttered. Bucky said nothing as he easily met his gaze. This, he remembered -- he remembered how stubborn Steve could be. "I'm sorry."

"Steve, why are you so willing to tear yourself apart for others? You -- there's no narrative to follow, there's nothing you're doing wrong." Bucky furrowed his eyebrows. Steve had no retort to this, just rubbed his eyes. "Okay?"

"Okay," Steve finally agreed, but couldn't find it in himself to believe it. He was exhausted, Bucky could tell -- he relented.

"Okay." Bucky paused. "Can you try to get some rest?"

"Can you -- " Steve braced himself for the embarrassment of asking. "Stay? Please?" His voice was quiet; ashamed. Bucky squeezed his shoulder.

"Of course, punk. I'll be right here." Bucky flipped the tv on for background noise and idly watched it while Steve quickly fell asleep.

He would stay -- until the end of the line.

////

Bucky's sudden arrival and support didn't make Steve not depressed -- but it helped to know that that support would always be there for him.

On a good day, Steve was drawing with Bucky sitting across from him, catching up on his list of movies he wanted to watch, already half-asleep.

"Hey," Steve spoke up, quietly, getting his attention. "Thank you for saving me. Y'know, that day."

Bucky smiled softly. "'Course, punk."

"I mean it," he continued. "You helped me that day."

Understanding washed over Bucky, and his smile was more genuine. "Hey, I wouldn't be doin' my job as best friend if I couldn't help you. Until the end of the line, right?"

Steve's chest warmed and the world was a little brighter after that. "Until the end of the line."

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This one got quite long, and I've written this trope before, but I wanted to go a little more in-depth with it :)