Steve was tired. He was tired of fighting. He was tired of losing - losing fights, losing the will to live, losing those he loved.

It was hard, what was expected of him. He was living a double life, a life where Captain America was praised and Steve Rogers ignored.

He missed the determination he had, determination to win, do his best, and survive. But as the years went on, survival was all he could strive for. Anger faded to sadness, and sadness to nothing. Steve was numb to the world, and it all felt hopeless.

Trudging home in the snow, holding his wounds, Steve contemplates how he ended up where he did. Bleeding out in the middle of winter, numb, sluggish, useless.

He stops and straightens up, glancing around himself. It would be fitting to die in the snow, wouldn't it? After nearly dying in it before, Steve felt like he'd be a pro at it. A fitting end.

He glances at his wounds and purses his lips. The blood flowing from the hole in his stomach was cold already, and his right arm felt numb and swollen. His head felt heavy, as did his legs, and he wasn't sure how much longer he could walk on.

Bucky was waiting for him at home. He was probably worried. Steve sags a little, feeling heavier. Bucky. He was doing this for him. He was fighting for him. He had promised him.

Gritting his teeth, Steve shoulders on through the snow as the wind picks up, shocking him to the core. He forces himself to try, to try for Bucky's sake.

Legs beginning to shake, Steve stops again. He sinks to his knees and ducks his head, sighing shakily.

This was it, then. He wasn't anticipating getting back up, much less surviving from his wounds. Whatever he'd been hit with earlier had cut deep, and besides, he was exhausted.

He gets a phone call, and against his better judgement, he answers it.

"Where are you?" Bucky speaks. They didn't do the whole 'hey, how are you? Good' thing. He liked getting straight to the point.

Steve's heart sinks and he closes his eyes. "Still in town," he mutters, his free hand sliding from his wound, flinching as the cold air hits it.

"Downtown? Want me to pick you up?"

"I'm fine," Steve responds. He could hear how tired he sounded, and knew that Bucky could too.

"Okay." Bucky sounds uncertain. Steve was usually chipper when talking to Bucky; at least, he tried to be.

"It's snowing out, I'll take a little longer," Steve adds, glancing up into the sky. The snow was falling faster.

"If you're sure -- "

"Mhmm." Steve can't help but smile weakly. Bucky was a good guy, who definitely deserved someone better than he.

Bucky frowns, not convinced. "You don't sound good. What happened? Are you hurt?"

"Fine," Steve manages. "Buck, you don't need to worry about me." Anymore, he silently adds.

"Okay." He still doesn't sound convinced. "Just hurry home, okay?" He hangs up, still frowning.

Steve slides his phone back into his pocket, wincing in pain. He just sits there, steadily getting colder and colder, and his vision getting weaker and weaker as blood continues to flow from his stomach.

He was done fighting. He was done being empty ninety-nine percent of the time, he was done struggling day by day to simply survive.

Steve doesn't move and the cold wind whips at him. His vision continues to dip in and out and he closes his eyes.

////

Bucky throws on a jacket, boots, hat and scarf and ventures out into the cold, intent on looking for Steve. It had been a couple hours. Steve hadn't returned, and Bucky assumed the worst.

"C'mon, where are you," he mutters to himself, setting out into the streets.

He searches for what feels like forever. He'd left five voice messages and over a dozen texts, all of which had gotten no response.

"I swear to God, Steve, when I find you, you're dead," he hisses as he continues walking.

Nearly ten minutes later, he trips over him.

Bucky kneels down and brushes the snow off of him. "Steve?"

No response. Bucky looks at him closely and notices a large spot of red leaking out onto the snow. He carefully rolls Steve over and stares at the wound in his stomach.

"No," Bucky mutters faintly, hands fumbling to cover the wound. "No, Steve, what the h*** happened to you?"

He lifts him into a sitting position, taking a seat on the ground and leaning him against himself. He tries to keep his body warm while he struggles to get him to wake up.

By some miracle, Steve comes to and Bucky exhales, relieved. He hugs him closer, noticing how they're both shaking from the cold.

"You're an idiot," Bucky hisses when he pulls away, eyes narrowed. Steve remains sagged against him, his brain muddled and slow.

"This's wrong," he finally mutters, frowning a little. Bucky looks at him. "I'm s'posed to be gone."

Bucky studies him worriedly. "We'll get you to a hospital, okay? Can you stand?"

"Why'm I..." Steve trails off, his words slurred. "I'm not dead, I... I should be..."

"Thank God. Come on," Bucky speaks, shifting to rise to his feet. He pulls Steve up with him and the blond staggers again, his vision blacking out. "S***, you're really hurt," Bucky breathes, fear clutching at him. He sinks back down to the ground with him, panic starting to set in as Steve seems to fade away, becoming unresponsive, staring blankly ahead.

Steve was shivering and his pulse was weak, and he wanted to feel at peace - this was what he wanted, wasn't it? He was tired of living, wasn't he?

He blinks up at Bucky, who was shouting to get his attention. It seemed far away to Steve, dim.

Steve stares at him blankly, and Bucky leans closer, trying to get a reaction, anything. Steve closes his eyes again, contemplating his life in general.

Bucky flashes across his mind, and the Avengers, and sketching in his little apartment with Bucky sitting beside him, and going on runs with Sam, exploring the city, learning old history and having Bucky laugh, call him a nerd and join in. All of these things that he realises he doesn't want to give up quite yet.

And suddenly, he wants to live. He gasps at the surge of adrenaline, struggling for breath. Bucky sobs and covers his mouth with his hand.

"You sonofab****, I couldn't find a pulse," Bucky sobs as he looks him over again. Steve struggles to stay conscious, blinking hard, focusing on watching Bucky. "You - you - when you survive this, I'm gonna kill you," he chokes as he helps Steve sit up again.

"Fair," Steve rasps, grunting as Bucky pulls him to his feet. He leans against him, swimming in and out of consciousness, and Bucky keeps a tight hold on him.

"I've got you, Steve, you're gonna be fine," Bucky assures as they slowly make their way down the sidewalk. And Steve was sure that he would be.

////

Things slowly got better. He had bad nights, of course, everybody does, but he tried his hardest to see the silver lining.

"All right, Kori, in bed," Bucky speaks, ushering his young daughter into her room. She stops, throwing herself into his arms. Bucky smiles, swings her around, kisses her forehead and sends her off to bed. Steve steps in, smiling at them. He tucks Kori in and she hugs him tightly.

"Love you Papa, Dad," she smiles, pulling back. Steve kisses her forehead.

"Love you too, sweetheart," he replies. Kori smiles and closes her eyes. The married couple back out of the room and retreat to their own. Bucky sighs as he climbs into bed.

Steve joins him, quiet, thinking. Bucky nudges him, raising his eyebrows. "You okay, babe?"

Steve smiles. "I am." He kisses his cheek and they settle in for the night. Bucky takes his hand and holds it close, and Steve rests his head against Bucky's back.

He really was. Things got better, and he was glad he stuck around to see where his life went. He hugs Bucky a little tighter and closes his eyes. They would be okay.

////

So yeah, kinda short, kinda sad little thing.