(A/N: This is a Christmas gift for my dear friend EA/Order of the Aether, who is amazing and you should all go follow right now! I wrote this back in November lol X'D I haven't watched a lot of Marvel and I'm just going off of some random AU where everyone lives in Stark Tower… so… yea! EA, I hope you like it, and to anyone else who reads this… hope you like it too I suppose XD Merry Christmas!)

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Screaming. Gunshots. Blood. More screaming.

Suddenly, silence.

Bucky shot up in bed before he'd even opened his eyes. When he did so, his outstretched metal arm was confronted with a dark, empty room in perfect stillness. He let out a quiet sigh and lay back down, now fully aware of the chill surrounding him. The cold was just one of the many reasons why winter was Bucky's least favorite season.

Unable to go back to sleep, he pulled a blanket around his shoulders and started sneaking down the hallway. If he couldn't rest in his own room, at least he could wait for the others to wake up. Likely, he wouldn't have to wait long— some of them would probably awaken early, as their childish instincts regarding Christmas still hadn't worn off. Secretly, Bucky envied them.

He made his way to the living room, which was as dark and quiet as all the other rooms in the house, except for the twinkling lights on a tree in the corner. Bucky grimaced— the colorful lights didn't bother him, but the red ornaments they illuminated did. That was one of the things he hated about winter. There was too much red. He went over to the light switch, intending to shut the twinkle-lights off.

"Hey," came a soft voice from behind him.

Bucky whipped around faster than most would think possible, and barely managed to stifle a cry of alarm.

The shadowed figure put his hands up and spoke in a low whisper. "Hey, hey, whoa, it's okay, it's just me. I didn't know how to tell you I was here without scaring you… sorry." He dropped his blond head slightly in shame.

Bucky blinked a few times, adjusting his mindset away from combat and escape. "Oh. S-Steve. Sorry." He bit his lip.You should've told him HE didn't need to be sorry first! You didn't even comment on his statement, he reprimanded himself silently. After all these years, he still couldn't seem to get the his mouth to say what it was supposed to.

Steve took a step forward reassuringly. "No, no, I should've let you know as soon as you walked into the room. It was my fault." He glanced at the light-switch, then at the tree in the corner. "Are the lights bothering you?"

"N-no. 'Course not." Bucky took a quick step away from the switches. He felt bad for lying, but didn't know how else to approach the situation. If he told the truth he'd be saying that he wanted the colorful lights off, and that would be asking for a favor, and he couldn't very well do that. He hesitated, then tried to change the subject.

"Why're you up?" he asked, his voice still in a whisper. However, he immediately regretted asking. Why'd you ask that? What if he doesn't want to tell you? You shouldn't be invading people's privacy like that!

"Me?" Steve responded casually, though his voice was also hushed. "Oh, I was praying. I come out here to pray every Christmas Eve. Kinda nice to be awake to enjoy the night sometimes, huh?" he asked. Then, as gently as possible, he added, "What about you? Were you having trouble sleeping again?"

Bucky shifted uncomfortably. He couldn't lie about that one— Steve would see right through him. Instead, he gave a barely noticeable nod.

"Ah," the blond replied. He seemed unsure whether or not to push the subject. Apparently he decided against it, for after a moment, he pointed to the blanket wrapped around Bucky's shoulders and commented, "That was smart. It's a little nippy out, eh?"

Bucky stared blankly back at him and immediately removed the blanket, holding it out like a peace offering.

"No, no, I'm fine. I was just— I'm good, really. You take it," Steve responded quickly, pushing the blanket back to him. Bucky felt himself start to panic. He won't take the gift. Why won't he take it? You have to give it to him. He said it was cold. That means HE'S cold. He was vaguely aware of the fact that his best friend wouldn't hold anything against him for simply keeping a blanket to himself, but years of brainwashing to put his superiors first weren't easy to erase. He continued to hold out the bundle stiffly, not confident enough to force the offering onto Steve but not comfortable enough to take it back for himself.

"C'mon, Buck. I was only trying to change the subject. I'm not cold, really." The blue-eyed man rewrapped the cloth back around Bucky, and then led him over to the couch.

Bucky sat obediently. "Sorry," he mumbled, feeling horribly guilty. He didn't mean to cause so much trouble for Steve, and he was well aware of how much his best friend went through to make him feel comfortable. He glanced down at his feet, thinking desperately of a subject to talk about other than himself.

"What were you prayin' about?" he asked after a few moments silence. He knew praying made Steve happy. And reading his Bible. He still didn't wholly understand either— he supposed it had something to do with the gaps in his memory— but they made Steve happy, so they were all right by Bucky.

The blond hesitated and smiled awkwardly, although in the shadows of the room it was barely noticeable. "Actually, I was praying about you when you walked in."

The winter soldier felt a mild flush of embarrassment rise to his cheeks. That hadn't really worked as he planned. He silently grasped for another subject to bring up, but automatically defaulted to silence, as he had been programmed to. Thankfully, Steve seemed preoccupied in his own thoughts.

There were several minutes of silence until it occurred to Bucky that Steve might be praying again. Does he want privacy? Should I leave? He was about to say something when Steve abruptly stood up and made an announcement.

"Say, I'm going to go get a cup of hot chocolate. Do you want any?"

Bucky blinked. Several thoughts flew through his head at once. What's hot chocolate? It sounds familiar. Say no, you don't want to bother him. But what if saying no offends him? Does he want to get away from you? If he's getting something hot, maybe he's cold after all.

"S-sure," he managed to blurt out, cutting off his own dislocated train of thought. Worry immediately started taking over— why had he resorted to a "yes" instead of a "no?"— but the anxiety dissolved as soon as he saw Steve break into a surprised smile at the answer.

"Alright. I'll be right back," he replied, and hurried out of the dark room. Bucky readjusted his blanket and beamed to himself as he waited for him to return. He didn't mind waiting. He said the right thing for once. He made Steve smile.

The twinkle-lights in the corner flickered briefly, drawing Bucky's attention to the tree they donned. The red ornaments against the green needles glared back at him, and he quickly shut his eyes to block the onslaught of emotions. He didn't dare open them again for fear of going into a flashback; instead, he chose to focus on the information provided by his other senses. How soft the blanket around him felt against his skin. How comfortable the couch was, even compared to his bed. How the faint scent of old leather told him that Steve's Bible was on the table nearby. How the hardly perceptible white noise of the entire building was so nice and quiet… and peaceful… and…

Where am I?

Bucky sat up slowly. He was on a grass hill— no, that wasn't quite right… he could feel the grass underneath him, but he wasn't actually on a hill. He was just looking at one from the sky. He noticed movement and glanced down. A flock of white, fluffy animals walked around lazily and munched on the grass. Some were lying down, asleep.

Sheep! Those are sheep, he realized. Then he reprimanded himself quietly. Of course they're sheep, dummy.

One lamb started straying away from the group, not noticing that it was walking away from the pack. Bucky panicked slightly and tried to cry out to it— call it back, maybe— but for some reason he couldn't. He noticed then with little alarm that he didn't have a body: he simply was. He would have speculated further on the observation, but suddenly, a man came running down the hill and scooped the lamb up, carrying it back to the rest of the flock. The shepherd, Bucky figured, relieved. He was glad that the animals had someone watching over them (although he felt a bit silly for feeling as such).

All of a sudden, the entire sky lit up with a brilliant flash of light. Bucky tried to back away, instinctually fearing it was a bomb, but was unable to. Accompanying the light was a chorus of voices, more beautiful than the winter soldier had ever remembered hearing. They filled the air with song, but were very faint, as if thousands of miles away. As the all-white light dimmed down into a soft glow, Bucky could just make out one figure descending from the sky, appearing as if it planned to speak to the shepherds. The figure was beautiful, but looked nothing like a human. Bucky couldn't find the words to describe it: it shifted and changed, yet remained the exact same as when it had first appeared. Then it spoke— to the shepherds, as predicted, but it gave off an odd vibe, as if it were truly speaking to everyone in the vicinity, or everyone in the world, for that matter.

"Do not be afraid," it said, its voice as unearthly as its appearance. A smile adorned its face as it addressed the trembling shepherds. "I bring you good news that will cause great joy for all the people. Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is the Messiah, the Lord. This will be a sign to you: You will find a baby wrapped in cloths and swaddling in a manger."

Then, the faint voices from before were suddenly as clear as ice, but a thousand times more beautiful and a thousand times less harsh. A multitude of figures similar to the first one appeared in the sky, all the same and yet each different and unique, and all of them shifting and floating on air as they sang out with heavenly voices. Bucky became vaguely aware of the fact that they were singing in another language— ancient Hebrew?— but he understood them with perfect clarity nonetheless.

"Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth peace to those on whom his favor rests," they sang. Instruments accompanied their voices, but it was unclear whether they were being played or not, or whether they were actually instruments or perhaps simply another type of voice altogether. The song lasted either several minutes or an hour— somehow, time didn't seem to affect the voices— and was mesmerizing the entire way through. Eventually, the song came to a close and they stopped, although Bucky wished they would continue on.

Angels, he suddenly became aware as they ascended back into the cosmos, those were angels.

The shepherds down below immediately started talking amongst themselves, but they were too far down for him to make out exactly what they were saying. He supposed they were going to search for the baby the angel had spoken of— the Messiah. He sat down with a sigh and in doing so, realized he was able to move. Finding himself still bodiless but at least having freedom of motion, he tested gliding back and forth in the sky. As this drew no stares, he suspected that the shepherds could neither see nor hear him, but he didn't care. I'm going to go with them, he thought to himself. I have to see this child the angels spoke of.

He descended until the shepherds were in earshot, planning to follow them as they traveled. However, he paused, distracted by another watered-down noise coming from somewhere both close by and far away.

"Wait," he said to the shepherds, forgetting momentarily that he had no impact on them. He listened intently for the noise, wondering if another angel had returned with news. The voice grew slightly louder, and he could barely make out what it was saying.

"Buck?"

Who's that? he wondered numbly.

"Bucky, wake up."

Me, he realized suddenly, that's me. I'm Bucky.

"Hey, you okay?"

Bucky stirred slowly. Someone was rubbing his shoulder gently. He opened his eyes and blinked a few times. Steve was on the couch next to him, cross-legged and holding two mugs of… something.

"W't happ'ned?" Bucky mumbled, still trying to adjust to being awake. It was still pretty dark… no way it was time to wake up yet. Why was he in the living room, again?

"You fell asleep after I left," Steve explained. "I left you alone for a while, but then you started moving and making noises, and I worried you were having another nightmare." He paused, then awkwardly held out one of his mugs. "Here… It's still pretty warm, if you want it."

Oh. Hot chocolate, Bucky remembered. He was about to deny the drink when he remembered how happy Steve had been when he accepted his earlier request. So he nodded, took the mug, and murmured a quiet "thanks." He pressed the cup to his lips and took a small sip. It was surprisingly sweet, and pleasantly warm. He wasn't sure if he'd had hot chocolate before— there was a very faint ghost of a memory somewhere in the taste— but he decided that he liked it.

It then occurred to Bucky that if Steve had waited up watching him, he'd never gone to bed himself. He frowned. "You tired?" he asked, a bit louder and harsher than he'd intended.

"No, I'm good. I'll wait up with you for the others— I mean, if you want," Steve replied. Despite the light shadows underneath them, his blue eyes were lit up with hopeful optimism. He took a drink from his own mug, which Bucky suddenly noticed was plain white. He thought he remembered the tableware getting changed out for the holidays, but pushed the thought aside to nod and accept the offer of company.

"All right," Steve said with a broad smile. Bucky swore the entire room lit up when he smiled— then he realized there actually was a soft orange glow, peeking through the window blinds. Steve noticed it, too, and glanced up.

"Hey, look, Buck," he said, his excited little kid voice edging into his calm and collected leader voice, "the sun's coming up. Wanna watch it?"

Bucky nodded, set his mug of hot chocolate down on the end-table of the couch, and re-adjusted the blanket shawl over his shoulders. He was happy to see his friend so excited over something so trivial. The two walked over to a pair of sliding glass doors leading to a porch, which opened without a sound.

The air outside was freezing cold, as should probably have been expected. However, Steve made no motion other than a slight, suppressed shiver, so Bucky continued to follow him outside, closing the glass doors behind the both of them. The porch provided a bench to sit on, but when Bucky sat down, it was colder than ice. Steve yelped a little when he made this discovery for himself, which actually made Bucky have to stifle a laugh. He sat anyway and turned his head toward the sky, which was a slowly shifting array of purples and yellows and reds. At least the reds are more like an orange, Bucky thought to himself. But even if the whole sky had been as red as blood, it still would've been worth it for the smile on his partner's face— a sight prettier than any sunrise, in Bucky's opinion. Nostalgia beat visual aesthetics any day.

Steve shivered a bit and crossed his arms, trying and failing to hide how much the chill affected him. Panic rose up in Bucky's chest. Why didn't you make him take the blanket? Keeping it was selfish! Now he's cold! He frantically removed the blanket from around his shoulders and tried to hand it to Steve, who once again laughed weakly and pushed it back to him.

"Buck, really, I'm good, I don't want you to catch cold—"

Now too panicked over the thought of having caused Steve discomfort to panic over the possibility of disobeying him, Bucky forcefully wrapped the cloth around the blond, not listening to his protests.

Steve sighed, a tired smile on his face. "Fine, fine. But at least let me share it with you." He moved closer to his shaggy-haired counterpart and wrapped the blanket around both of them, then turned back to the sunrise. By now, brilliant beams of gold pierced through the remaining colors of the sky.

Bucky didn't fight the added body warmth, or the hand that now rested on his shoulder. Now that all the red was all gone, he joined his companion in watching the last of the sunrise. As the view became brighter, so too did flickers of noise grow louder. The quiet stillness of the night was slowly replaced by the chirping of birds and the sounds of waking life… including a distant crash from inside. The sound was quiet— probably all the way from the kitchen— but both soldiers were able to pick it up. They shared a look: once the other Avengers started waking up, all would be chaos for the rest of the day. (Every year, Tony insisted that they would "act like grown-ups" and have a nice, quiet Christmas. Every year, broken coffee cups, childish presents, and fights over how to decorate the cookies ensued.)

Steve grinned sheepishly, as if apologizing for the noise. Bucky cast his glance downward, but shared a smaller version of his smile. He felt a comforting pressure on his shoulder as Steve squeezed him reassuringly.

"Merry Christmas, Buck," he chuckled gently.

Bucky took a deep breath and started mentally preparing himself for the chaos that lie ahead. It was going to be a loud day— probably full of red and arguments and too many noises. But he also knew that it was going to be a good day, with cookies and smiling and sharing blankets. Taking a deep breath, he pushed himself to return the earlier gesture of affection, and clasped his own hand over Steve's before mumbling back quickly.

"Merry Christmas."