pov steve~

"Okay, Buck, maybe we should talk about something that'll help you remember, rather than dwell on the memories you do have," I suggested.

"What did you have in mind?" Bucky replied.

"Well, it's not exactly a happy memory but it's an important one, at least to me."

"What do you mean?" He asked, seemingly invested in my idea.

"It was October 16, 1936. The day of my mother's burial..."

We walked up the steps to my and my moms place, Bucky and I.

"We looked for you after," Bucky started. "My folks and I wanted to give you a ride to the cemetery," he added.

The truth was, I had avoided them because I didn't want him seeing me like that. Bucky's family attended the mass but the burial I felt like was something that I should be by myself for.

"I know, I'm sorry it's- I kinda wanted to be alone," I responded after a long pause.

"How was it?" He asked.

"It was okay... she's next to dad," I felt tears start to prickle my eyes. I brushed my hair off of my face as a distraction as we approached the door.

"I was gonna ask-" he stopped.

"I know what you're gonna say, Buck. It's just..."

"We can put the couch cushions on the floor like when we were kids... it'd be fun, all you gotta do is just shine my shoes or maybe take out the trash..." he walked over and kicked a brick out of the way, displaying my house key. Mom used to keep it there. He bent over and picked it up, handing it to me. "Come on..." I took it.

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

"The thing is, you don't have to," his eyes narrowed and I felt like it was just he and I there alone in the world. His hand met my shoulder, "I'm with you 'til the end of the line pal."

There weren't any words, just a lump, in my throat. All I could seem to muster was a little smile of the purest joy I had felt in what felt like forever.

"So that's what that was from," he pointed out.

"You mean that thing about the end of the line? Yea, that was you," I reminded him. "It was significant, I guess, because it's when we kind of realized that we really were on our own".

"That's why I thought I felt like I recognized it," he paused. "So... your mom-"

"Sarah. You used to call her Sarah when you'd talk to me. Otherwise it would always be Mrs. Rogers."

"Oh... ok. Uh, anyway, about the thing with the line... you've said that to me a few times, haven't you?" He questioned me.

"Yea. I was hoping it might spark a memory, that's why this story is so important," I went on. "I thought maybe I could make you remember."

"Yea," was all I could muster up the courage to say.

I didn't have it in me to tell him that this wasn't working.