I'm with you... {completed}

Epilogue) The end of the line

(Suicide trigger warning)

"What have you done?!"
     He picked up the glowing cube as a bright blue energy poured from it, revealing a strange window into space. A stream of blue light grew out like light solar flares from the cube, engulfing him. The cube fell to the ground and sizzled burning through metal until it fell into the sea below.
          Steve rushed to the plane's controls. Ziel: New York City
     His mind raced as he scanned the planes control panel. A small radio sat in the center of the massive collection of switch and buttons.
       "Come in. This is Captain Rogers. Do you read me?"
       "Captain Rogers, what is your-" Morita was cut off by a female voice.
        "Steve, is that you? Are you alright?"
         "Peggy!" Steve sighed in relief. "Schmidt's dead."
        Peggy didn't need to see Steve's face to know it's expression. It had been the same since Bucky had fallen. His blue eyes were stone cold, glazed over with hurt that wouldn't stop. His confident smile gone. In its place was a clenched jaw and lips that sat in a straight line. No amount of revenge would change that. "What about the plane?"
      "That's a little bit tougher to explain."
      "Give me your coordinates, I'll find you a safe landing site," she instructed.
        Steve snorted. "There's not going to be a safe landing, Pegs. Im not a pilot, remember?" He paused. "But I can try and force it down."
        Peggy stood up to leave the radio. " I'll get Howard on the line, he'll know what to do."
      "There's not enough time. This thing's moving too fast and it's heading for New York. I gotta put her in the water."
        "Please, don't do this. We have time. We can work it out."
       "Right now I'm in the middle of nowhere. If I wait any longer a lot of people are gonna die."
          "Steve Grant Rogers you listen to me. Give me your damn coordinates. And let me get Stark to guide you down. You can land on the water. You'll be able to survive the cold. Well send a ship to pick you up."
        "Peggy, please. This is my choice."
      He grabbed the manual controls and turned the nose down toward the sea beneath. "Peggy?"
      A small sniffle came through the radio. "I'm here."
       "I'm sorry."
       Peggy took a shallow and shaking breath. "It's okay. He'd forgive you."
    The radio went static.
"Steve?" Peggy called. "Steve? Steve?"
Steve switched off the radio. He couldn't bare to hear Peggy strained voice crying for him like he was already dead.
Outside the plane, the cold of the ocean grew nearer. The navy waves sloshed over one another, creating gorgeous patterns outlined in white as the plane plummeted though the clouds. If only Steve had his pencils.
He reached for his sleeve, opening the Velcro on the left arm of his uniform. He pulled out a pen black pen that they had given to him for coding in case of emergency. He unbuttoned the top of his suit and pulled out the folded square of paper that he had placed in there the day Bucky fell. A sketch of Bucky laughing outside a tent sat in front of Steve. The Commandos where there too, but none of them were nearly  as detailed as Bucky.
He remembered that night. How Bucky snuck kisses in behind the bar while everyone was inside drinking. How they spent the whole time laughing and singing horribly off key. Steve sat at the end of the bar sketching the scene while everyone was screaming lyrics at the top of their lungs, until one voice broke through the rest. He remembered the Commandos astonishment when they discovered that James Buchanan Barnes could actually sing. He remembered the beautiful shade of red Bucky blushed when the boys demanded that he sing them a song. Steve held his hand under the table as the boys took turns requesting songs until closing time.
He remembered every detail of Bucky that night. His messy hair. His intoxicating voice. The way he looked like he would have hid his face in Steves chest if the Commandos weren't there. He was so embarrassed by the whole thing. He remembered the way Bucky's swollen lips looked with that one small freckle in the corner lips that no one else seemed to notice. He remembered how those lips looked as they whispered "I love you" in the tent that night.
      He flipped over the paper.  There was a rough sketch he'd begun weeks ago before he decided to scrap it and draw Bucky in the back instead. Two circles wrapped around in a venn diagram shape, almost an infinity sign. Men's rings. Wedding rings. One silver with yellow decorations; the word gold written with an arrow pointing to the yellow areas. The other "gold" with silver. Both were lined with a small black edge that match the inner parts of the rings. Steve stared at the picture imagining what might have been, but never could have happened. In another life. It was a fantasy before, now just an painful impossibility. He had thought about asking Bucky for his input, but it was stupid. They would never be able to have the rings actually made. Why waste hope on the impossible?
       He flipped the page back over and stared at the beautiful man. Oh, Bucky. I'm so sorry. I should've reached further.
       The plane jolted as it hit turbulence. Steve glanced out the window. The blue ocean was replaced by a thick layer of ice that had been barley visible before. He was going to hit soon. He pulled the cap of the pen and wrote quickly. His hand writing had never been the best, the nuns always chastised him for it, but now he spent his time on each letter, making certain that anyone who looked at it would know what it said.
        He looked back to the drawing. I should've jumped after you.
     But that didn't matter now. He was falling into the iced over water below. He'd get to meet that same fate as his counterpart. Almost poetic how their deaths would match.  They did everything together. Why not die together too?
         He glanced up again. The impact would happen soon. Finally. Steve would get to see his Bucky again.  He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. The plane slammed into the ocean ice, throwing Steve's body forward and knocking his head against the control panel. The last thing he remembered was a drop of his blood sliding down the drawing under his head.

          Am I dead?

      The ringing in his ears wouldn't stop. He tried desperately to open his eyes, but he was too tired. He felt... cold. C'mon! He forced his eyes open.
      Everything was blurry. He sat up slowly. This is. He pushed himself up. This is the plane? No. It can't be. I'm dead. Slowly, the slight blur faded until his vision was able to properly focus again. How? He looked out the front window. The glass had cracked significantly, but only one corner had fully broken off. He reached for the window, trying to figure out what had happened. This was real. That was snow. This was the plane. He had crashed in the ice.
      Steve swallowed. He didn't die. Can't even die right.
      He looked in the floor around him and picked through the shattered machinery for his sketch. Sure enough, a small spot of blood had stained the corner. Luckily it hadn't reached the center with Bucky's smiling face. Nor the writing in the opposite side.
Steve shivered violently. He could check to see if the radio was still working. He reached for the radio, but stoped. What was the point? He didn't want to go back. He had no reason to. Not without Bucky. The blood continued, dripping warm from the gnash across his head.
He folded the paper back up and slipped it into his shirt, laying it on top of his heart. He scanned the area, there was one more thing he needed. There. He stumbled to the back of the cockpit, using the walls as support, and grabbed the painted metal.
Steve laid down placing the shield over his chest. The cold engulfed him. He felt his legs go nub. Then his arms. He closed his eyes. Just go to sleep. He steadied his breath. The ice in the air seeped inside, freezing him to his core. You'll be with him when you wake up.

'Till the end of the line.