A/N: This story is set during Captain America: Civil War, as a sort of gap-filler.
I am also uploading this on AO3.
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters, etc. These belong to Marvel.
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"You boys look like you could use a lift."
Steve hadn't even heard the car approaching. Perhaps it was the wind. Perhaps it was Bucky's gasping breaths. Perhaps it was that his mind was somewhere so far away, because he didn't know how to process what had just happened. He didn't know where he was going. He hardly even understood where they were, or how they would help. Steve hadn't even thought about getting help. Just getting out. They had to keep moving and get out.
The black Range Rover pulled up beside them, the window was wound up, and Natasha climbed out, leaving the engine running, pulling on her beanie. "Hey, Steve? You hear me? Steve." Natasha gently grabbed his arm.
Steve stopped moving. He was so cold. Everywhere hurt and he was so cold. Bucky felt like a dead weight beside him.
"Get in the car," Natasha said.
"Nat…" Steve said, his voice sounding far away.
"Back seat, passenger side," she said, taking Bucky from him.
"Nat, I…"
"I don't care. Tell me later. Damn, Barnes, you weigh a tonne."
"Nat…"
"Car, now, Rogers! Don't make me say it again."
Steve dragged himself around the Range Rover and forced the door open. He clambered in, and slumped against the seat, only just managing to pull the door shut again. He didn't know how he'd been holding Bucky up. Steve pulled his helmet off and dropped it at his feet. The other back door opened, and Natasha pushed Bucky in. Bucky's eyes rolled involuntarily as Natasha pulled the seatbelt around him. She reached under the seat and pulled out two emergency thermal blankets, throwing one to Steve and wrapping the other around Bucky.
"Nat…"
"Strap in and wrap up, Rogers," she said, slamming shut the door.
Steve pulled his seatbelt on, unfolded the blanket and wrapped it around himself. Natasha climbed into the driver's seat and put the car into gear.
"It's a three hour drive in good weather to my nearest safe house. This is not good weather. Are either of you in critical condition?"
"I…"
"Yes or no, Rogers? Can you hold on?"
"Yes," Bucky breathed.
"Yes," Steve replied. "But Nat…"
"Two and a half hours," she leant over to the passenger seat and opened a bag, steering with just the one hand. She passed Steve a drink bottle. "I've also got snacks, if you think you can keep them down. Tell me if you're going to be sick. I don't want the car reeking of vomit."
"You just said three… in good weather."
"And this is shit weather, I know," Natasha replied.
"But…"
"I'm driving, and you two are terrible liars."
"Ha," said Steve, sipping at the water, huddled under the blanket. He looked at Bucky, who had his eyes shut. Steve leant his head back against the seat. The entire world was black rock or covered in snow. He closed his eyes.
"Ok! Ok, ok! Hold on. Woah…"
The car came to a holt and Steve woke up. Everywhere ached and he wasn't sure if he could move. Natasha put the car into park and jumped out. She yanked open Bucky's door and leant over him, struggling to find the seatbelt clip.
"Don't you dare be sick on me, Barnes."
Click!
She twisted Bucky out of the car, and held his hair back with one hand, and kept him upright with the other, still half wrapped in the blanket, while he vomited onto the snow.
Steve looked around. The world was now entirely white. Even the sky was white. Bucky coughed and spat.
"Everything out," Natasha said, "Everything out before you get back in the car."
Steve was grateful for the blanket as Natasha had left Bucky's door open, and outside the air was frigid. He also noticed that Natasha had the seat warmers on. Steve liked this car. He took a sip of his drink. His mouth felt dry and furry and he could taste blood.
"That's it," Bucky mumbled.
"Okay," Natasha said, reaching inside the car and grabbing Bucky's drink bottle. He rinsed out his mouth, and dribbled water on the ground.
"I'm good."
"Ok. In you get," Natasha said, again all but lifting Bucky back into the car. She strapped him in and rearranged the blanket, placing the water bottle in his hand before shutting the door and kicking snow over the vomit.
"You ok?" Steve asked.
Bucky looked at him. "Dunno."
Natasha climbed in and got the car moving again. "Just over half an hour, guys," she said, looking at them in the rear view mirror. Steve wished she'd just watch the road, before he realised that that was white too. Natasha must have one heck of a sense of direction.
"Did I fall asleep?"
"Out like a light," Natasha said.
"In Poland during the rolling blackouts," Bucky mumbled, closing his eyes.
Natasha chuckled, but it took Steve a moment to realise that was joke, though he didn't understand the reference. The world was white and everything hurt and Bucky was making Cold War jokes and Natasha was driving a state of the art British all-terrain vehicle through what he guessed was a blizzard. Steve didn't understand anything, but he stayed awake through the last part of the journey, watching the white world, the occasional white tree, and finally a plowed road, and a township.
"You won't find it in your Lonely Planet guides," Natasha said, slowing down as they crawled through the centre of the town, "And I don't think there's anywhere here to even get a mention on Trip Advisor, but this place exists. It's cold and grim and grey, but it exists."
The buildings were a miss-match of colonial Russian, a small influx of late-nineteenth century money, and Soviet concrete boxes. It was out the front of a three-story Victorian building that Natasha stopped and turned off the engine.
"I need you both to try and look a little bit alive," she said, leaning across to the passenger seat. "Cap, stay wrapped in your blanket. The red, white and blue is more than a little conspicuous. All we gotta do it get you fellas inside." She tossed Steve a plain navy blue beanie, which he pulled on. "I'll help Barnes. Cap, just stay upright. The safe house is on the top level. 28 stairs. You guys have got to do this, ok?"
"Yes," Bucky said.
"Yeah," Steve said, wondering how Bucky was still conscious.
Natasha pulled on her beanie and got out of the car. Wrapped in his blanket, Steve did the same, and was grateful for the beanie as the wind whipped his face. There was no one in the streets, and Steve had the feeling that at any moment it was about to get very dark. He walked around the car and watched as Natasha helped Bucky out, also wrapped in a blanket. Steve closed the car door, and Natasha led the way towards a narrow door next to the closed farm supply store which occupied the bottom floor.
"Rogers," Natasha said, and handed him a set of keys. "It's the green one."
Steve flicked through the keys to the green one, which opened the door.
"Straight on up, soldier," she said. "Green key again at the top. Barnes and I are right behind you."
Steve couldn't remember climbing a harder 28 stairs. He counted as they went. The stairs would take a sharp 180 degree turn after seven. There was a door after fourteen steps, but Steve kept going. Natasha and Bucky were somewhere behind him. At the top was a small landing and another door, this one painted green. Steve slipped the key into the lock, and opened the door. The apartment was dim, and Steve shuffled inside, looking for a light switch. His limbs felt awkward and clumsy and he just wanted to go to bed.
"Hey, Nat…?"
"We're right here, Steve," Natasha said, dragging Bucky in through the door, and plunking him down on the couch. She flicked a switch and light appeared. "I'll be one minute," she said, turning on another switch, and a heater rattled to life, before skipping out of the room. Steve could hear her running down the stairs.
"You ok?" Steve asked Bucky, not sure what else to say.
"You look like shit," Bucky replied.
"Yeah, well," Steve said, "You don't look much better."
"M'ok," Bucky muttered, and groaned as he leant back into the couch.
"Buck?"
"I'm ok, Steve."
"You're not ok."
"No," Bucky said, staring up at the roof, "But I can't tell you that."
Steve stayed standing, not sure if he'd be able to get up again if he sat back down. They were in the main room of the apartment, which contained a couch and armchair, a kitchenette in the far corner, a card table and four mis-matched chairs. There were two doors leading off the room, and a couple of windows with musty lace curtains over them, bordered with think dark drapes. The floor was unpolished and the paint on the walls was peeling in places. It wasn't glamours, but it didn't need to be. Not so long as it was safe.
Natasha appeared a few moments later, carrying three bags. She closed the door behind herself, snipped the lock, and locked the two chains. "And you can't even close the curtains…" she said and tutted.
"Nat…" Steve said.
"It was a joke Steve. Go get in the shower. The bathroom's through that door there. I'll have something for you to eat when you're done. I've got enough rations for a week, if need be, though it'd be pretty grim pickings."
"We grew up in Brooklyn during the Depression," Steve said, "It can't be that grim."
Natasha gave a small smile, and moved around the apartment, closing the blackout drapes over the thing lace curtains. "I know. Get in the shower."
"I - I don't have anything to change into."
Natasha gave an exasperated sigh, and lifted one of the bags onto the table. "Arms out."
Steve held out his hands.
"Bathroom travel kit. Shampoo, conditioner, body wash, deodorant. Use it. Miniature first-aid kit. Use that, too. Underpants. Thermal long-sleeve top and pants. Thermal socks. To the bathroom."
"Nat…"
"The hot water should be working. There are towels in the cupboard under the sink."
"Nat, I…"
"Steve, is someone about to die?"
"What? No."
"Then right now, I don't care. Get in the bathroom."
There was no point arguing. Steve shuffled into the bathroom, this time finding the light switch straight away.
"Well," Natasha said as the bathroom door snipped shut, "Sorry I'm not an engineer, Barnes. I can patch you up, I'm one heck of a trauma first-aider, but I can't do much about the arm."
Bucky nodded.
"Anything really bad? Other than the arm, of course."
"Don't know," Bucky said. "You kind of just learn not to feel it."
"Ok, well I'm guessing some level of concussion, and judging by your breathing, a few good kicks to the ribs," Natasha said. Bucky didn't respond.
"You want to eat something? Or will you be sick again?"
"Don't know."
"Steve needs to eat."
"Yes."
Natasha picked up another bag and placed it on the table. She unzipped it. "Instant noddles, tinned soup, tinned beans, energy bars…"
"Chicken soup?"
"Yeah, one of these," Natasha said, shifting through the cans. "Here we go."
"Water… it down," Bucky murmured, "And add… a thing of noddles. He needs carbs."
"He needs a kick in the pants, but we'll get to that. What the hell were you two doing?" Natasha said, grabbing a packet of instant noddles. Bucky didn't respond. "You know what, never mind. Tell me in the morning."
The kitchenette consisted of a sink, a stove-top and a square-foot of bench space, but it was enough. Natasha took a pot from the cupboard and emptied the tin of soup into it, then filled the tin with water and added that too. The whole building shuddered as Steve turned on the shower and the pipes cranked to life.
"Haven't been here for a while," Natasha said, "Remote corners of Siberia aren't exactly top of my vacation list."
"Where are we?" Bucky asked.
"Best if you don't know exactly," Natasha said, "I need to keep my safe houses safe."
"S'k."
Natasha lit the gas stove and put the pot on. "Just tip the noddles straight into the soup?"
"Why not?"
"With another cup of water," she said, as much to herself as to Bucky. She found a spoon and gave the chicken soup concoction a stir. She was starving, and this smelt surprisingly good.
"Natasha?" Bucky said.
"Yeah?"
"I... I do remember you."
"Yeah," Natasha said, and felt her stomach drop, glad she had something to do so she didn't have to face Bucky quite yet. "I know."