#accost

Sam couldn't think of anything else. He knew that people were around, and for his part, Sam at least dragged Bucky away from the crowds to somewhere more private before he slammed Bucky into a wall.

"Why?" asked Sam as he felt his throat close up, his voice and angry tears betray him, "Why did you do it?"

"Because you're too important to die, Sam. You can't lead these people if you turn," said Bucky with honesty that made this all worse because Sam knew their group would fall apart without him.

Bucky looked horrible; a sickly complexion, sweating through all his clothes, his skin felt like Bucky was boiling. Bucky could see that Sam could see, but it was too late; Sam already was pulling up Bucky's sleeve and found it.

The bite.

"I almost had my gun," sobbed Sam, unable to hold back the floodgate of emotions any longer, "I could have had him."

"It got knocked out of your hand. You were too far away from it. I wasn't going to let you die," said Bucky through coughs.

"So, you use your body as a shield?" asked Sam pointedly, unable to stop himself from drowning in the memory, of Bucky too quickly getting in front of Sam before crushing the zombie's head like a water balloon, how the blood and bone fragments and chips of teeth and brains sprayed and slopped like a Tarantino movie come to life.

"We don't know how it'll react to super soldier serum. Maybe I'll be fine," said Bucky, and god, Bucky sounded out of breath.

"You better survive. I can't lose anyone else I love," said Sam as he pulled Bucky into a hug.

Bucky's grip was so weak.

"Don't worry. We're both going to find your sister and nephews and we're all going to find somewhere safe," said Bucky into Sam's shoulder.

Sam clung to Bucky. Clung to that hope. Sam needed this win. He needed Bucky to survive.

"I love you," muffled Sam into Bucky's tear, snot, and sweat-stained shirt.