Author's Note: I'd had this whole chapter in the back of my mind while writing the MMW version, but of course I couldn't show what Winter was up to while they were all separated. In the end, I decided not to go into great detail about how exactly Crossbones set this fire and trapped everybody in there, and just went with Winter noticing more clues while rescuing people. After all, he knows better than the other two exactly what to look for. And even though this all gets thrown on them really abruptly, I think this incident is really important for Winter's growth. This is the first time all three of them go on a "mission" of sorts, all of them working towards the same goal in a life-or-death situation.

This chapter takes place during Make Me Whole chapter 10, "Into the Flames."

Requested by Meztli14 on FFNet

If I freeze you are the flame
You melt my heart, I'm washed in your rain
I know you'll always have the best of me
Destiny's got a hold on me
Guess I never knew love like love knows me
'Cause I...I need to feel you here with me

...

Let it all fall down to dust
Can't break the two of us
We are safe in the strength of love

- "Fire and Fury" by Skillet

As Winter hopped out of the car, he looked up at the burning school building. The fire had clearly started at opposite ends of the building, rushing towards the middle. And it was burning much too hot and fast to have started naturally. Someone had to have set this fire. Winter had never been the one to set the fires, but he'd been involved in too many arson cases under Hydra's command to not recognize the signs. The evidence was clear as day to someone who knew what to look for, even if not for the unbelievable coincidence of it starting at the same time as another fire at the other end of town.

A glance at Steve's stricken expression, and Sam's determined frown as he pulled off his sweatshirt and buckled on his wings, told Winter all he needed to know: They were going in there. He hastily shrugged out of his coat and unwound the scarf that hid his mask from view. He needed to be able to move as quickly as possible, and clearly stealth wasn't an option.

A strange shiver passed down Winter's spine when Steve pulled his shield out of the trunk, where it had lain hidden all these months. Winter had grown so used to Steve, he had almost forgotten Captain America. The last time he'd seen Steve hefting the shield, they'd been fighting each other. This would be the first time they would face physical danger as allies.

"Okay, there's three floors," Steve said briskly, returning from consulting with those who had already made it out of the building. "Sam, you take the top floor; I'll take the second. Winter, the ground floor. Sweep every room for stragglers, even the bathrooms. Stay out front when you're done; I don't want you getting trapped."

"On it," Sam said, opening his wings and rocketing towards the top floor of the building.

As soon as he'd gotten his orders, Winter immediately started running towards the building. This was so natural to him, much more so than many of the strange things he'd been doing the past few months. He had his orders, he had his mission objective, and all he had to do now was carry it out efficiently. Yet somehow...this felt so much better than the missions Hydra had given him.

The front door of the school building was still open from when most of the people had evacuated, so Winter took the front steps three at a time and ran into the front hall. The front door was in the middle of the building, which branched off in three directions. Smoke was already drifting through the hallways, thin wisps clinging to the ceiling. But he knew there was no time to waste; soon, the smoke would grow too thick to breathe.

He started by heading down the hallway in front of him. It was wider than either of the others, and led to a large room that seemed to double as a gym and a cafeteria. Basketball hoops hung on either end of the room and bleachers lined the walls, but out in the middle of the floor were rows of long folding tables, set up as if for lunch.

Winter quickly checked the restrooms and locker rooms, but they were all empty. When he stepped through the last door into a hallway at the very back of the building, he heard a distant banging sound. He reached for a weapon, but of course he'd given his knives to Steve, and he hadn't brought any of his guns with him today. Stupid.

Winter cautiously made his way down the hallway to a set of double doors. He peeked through and saw a large kitchen, with an array of sinks and two ovens. Once he was reasonably sure the room was empty, he slipped inside.

The pounding sound started up again, and Winter's gaze immediately locked on a walk-in freezer in the corner. The pounding sound was coming from in there—the sound of fists slamming on the inside of the door. He could also hear muffled shouts, though he couldn't make out what they were saying. A cart had been wedged up against the door, but that wouldn't be enough to hold it shut—the handle must be broken.

Winter swiftly crossed the room and pulled the cart out of the way. The pounding on the inside of the door grew more frantic. Now that he was closer, he thought he could make out one phrase among the muffled shouts. "Ayuda me!" Help me.

The door handle was broken off, leaving no way to open the door even if it were unlocked. Winter glanced at the hinges, taking note of how this walk-in freezer was constructed. It opened outward, but obviously whoever was trapped inside wasn't strong enough to kick their way out.

"Step away from the door," Winter called in Spanish. He heard at least two sets of footsteps scurrying to the back of the freezer.

Winter slammed his metal fist into the steel door. It didn't break the door down, but it did leave a large dent in the middle and make the entire freezer ring like a bell. Winter threw all his strength into another punch, then another—and then he finally saw the edge of the door beginning to pull away from the latch as the metal bent in the middle. He wedged his metal fingers in the gap, and in one violent movement, the door ripped free of its hinges and flew across the room.

A wave of cold air escaped the freezer, along with three Hispanic women whose aprons and hairnets indicated they were kitchen staff. They gaped at Winter as they stumbled out, shivering. He wondered how long they'd been locked in there. They all talked over each other, their chattering teeth and hysterical tears making it hard to understand what they were saying, but Winter gathered that someone have shoved them all from behind into the freezer, saying they would be shot if they turned around.

"The building is on fire," Winter said, breaking through their babble. "You need to get outside." He pointed at the door at the back of the kitchen.

Steve probably would have said something calming, or at least would have softened his voice so as not to frighten the ladies any further, but Winter didn't know how. The kitchen workers hurried out the door, one of them glancing fearfully at his exposed metal hand. Oh well. At least they were safe.

Winter quickly backtracked to the main hall. Smoke filled the air now, dimming the fluorescent lights on the ceiling. He hurried down one hallway, checking each classroom, office, and restroom as he went. He made sure to duck down and check for feet under the desks, in case someone had gotten scared and decided to hide. But every room was empty, thankfully. Fire raged at the end of the hallway, hungrily eating up a trail of something that looked like gasoline spread between the last two doors at the end of the hallway. A scorched but still legible sign next to one read Chemistry Lab. Winter hastily retreated. Probably all the flammable substances had already caught fire, but he didn't want to stick around and see if something was about to explode.

He hastened down the other hallway, where he could see more flames spreading, hungrily devouring the cheerfully-decorated bulletin boards and posters. It was getting harder to breathe. His mask helped filter the smoke, but it wasn't a gas mask. Sweat rolled down his neck and trickled down his forehead into his eyes. He wiped it away as he checked the first couple of classrooms, keeping an eye on the flames snaking towards him.

Then he saw a door that was almost completely blocked by a tall bookcase that seemed to have tipped over and landed crookedly on the locker standing on the other side of the door. Except that there were no other bookcases in the hallway. Someone had moved it there and deliberately blocked that door.

When he approached the door, Winter paused, listening. Beneath the crackling of the flames, muffled behind the wood of the bookcase and the door, was the sound of crying. Many voices, calling for help. Small voices begging for mothers that weren't there.

The bookcase was heavy, but Winter easily heaved it to the side. It fell to the floor with a crash that silenced the cries behind the door. He tried the door handle, but wasn't surprised to discover it was locked. "Stand back!" he yelled through the keyhole, hoping they could hear him. "I'm going to break down the door!"

He peered through the keyhole, but he couldn't see anything, so he just had to hope they'd listened to him. This door was only made of wood, so it was easier to break through than the freezer door. Two solid kicks, and the latch broke. The door swung inward, revealing a classroom with tiny desks and chairs arranged in a semicircle before the whiteboard. A crowd of small children huddled in a pile of large pastel-colored pillows, all staring at Winter.

One little boy piped up, "Are you a fireman?"

"No." He stared down at the ten or so children, some of them sniffling, one little girl sucking her thumb. Spanish was one thing...but how on earth did he communicate with small children?

"Follow me," he said bluntly. "We need to get out of here before the building burns down."

Oops. Wrong thing to say. The smallest girl began wailing, "But I d-don't want the building to burn dowwwwn!" The rest of the children looked frightened too—even more frightened than they'd been before. Great job, Winter, he snapped at himself.

"Just follow me," he said, trying to sound reassuring. Why couldn't Steve have taken this floor? Or Sam? They would have known exactly what to say. "I'll keep you safe. Just do what I say."

Winter glanced out the door. Smoke filled the hallway, but it was still clear of debris, providing the easiest and quickest route to get outside. "Okay. Everyone cover your nose and mouth like this—" He demonstrated by pressing his face into the crook of his elbow. "Head out into the hallway, okay? Single file, don't run..."

Despite his words, the children all rushed forward at once, crowding towards the doorway in a panic. Then Winter heard a crashing sound, and saw burning pieces of the ceiling falling down into the hallway. Moving faster than the children could react, Winter dashed forward and shoved them back out of the doorway. A huge beam crashed down from the ceiling. Winter shielded the children in front with his body, raising his metal arm to protect his head and neck.

The beam glanced off his arm, sending shudders through his body, and catching his sleeve on fire. He hastily tore the sleeve off before the flames could spread and stamped it out underfoot. The children all gaped up at his shining metal arm, but there was no time to worry about that. Waves of heat were now crashing against his back, and he could feel a cough tickling the back of his throat as his lungs protested the amount of smoke in the air.

Winter glanced around for another way out, and immediately found one. "Okay, we're going out the window," he said, trying to herd the frightened children away from the blazing inferno in the doorway. It wasn't hard to convince them; coughing and crying too much to speak, the children stumbled over to the large windows that offered a view of the playground at the back of the school.

Smoke billowed through the open doorway now. Winter bent over as he crossed the room, trying to stay low enough so he could breathe. One of the boys fumbled at the window latch, but Winter motioned them to step back. Instead of taking the time to open the window normally, he smashed through the glass with his metal fist. He knocked out as many shards of glass as he could so the children wouldn't cut themselves, then hesitated when he realized they would be jumping down onto all those shards of glass outside.

Another quick glance around the room presented the solution. He grabbed two of the large pillows on the floor and stuffed them out the window, so they fell the three or four feet to the ground and landed on top of the broken glass. He looked at the children and poked his thumb at the window. "Out."

As quickly as they could, the children scrambled one by one out the window. Winter boosted the smaller ones out, dumping them unceremoniously onto the pillows, while the nimbler ones clambered out on their own. Once they got outside, the children huddled in a fearful group only a few feet away, staring up at the flames engulfing their school. Finally, they were all out, and Winter grabbed the window frame to follow them, when he heard a wheezing sound behind him.

One of the girls gasped and pointed back inside. "Oh no! Marcos!"

Winter whirled around and saw a skinny little boy, crouching on the rug behind him on hands and knees. He clutched his chest, his dark eyes wide with panic as he strained to draw a breath of the smoky air. He coughed pitifully, his neck straining with the effort.

And suddenly, though this boy's skin was a dark tan and his hair was black, Winter could only see a blond-haired, blue-eyed wisp of a boy, gasping desperately for breath as his own lungs betrayed him.

It felt like the fire had invaded his body. Hot, sickening rage scalded his veins as it rushed through him. Up until now, this rescue mission had been just that—a mission. He worked to save these people because Steve had told him to, and he put his all into it not because he was afraid of what Steve would do to him if he disobeyed, but because he trusted Steve to know what was best.

But suddenly, everything that had happened shone with dazzling clarity, and he thought he might understand at last why Steve had been so determined to run into a burning building. These children were people. Someone out there felt the same overwhelming need to protect this little boy that Winter did about the skinny, coughing Steve of his memories. And whoever had set this fire had known some people would die. That had obviously been his intent. But that man had no right to take away this little boy's life. He had no right to touch one hair on his head. Winter wouldn't let him.

These thoughts flashed through Winter's mind in the second it took for him to turn around. He scooped the wheezing boy into his arms and ducked through the window, landing on the pillows. Still cradling the boy in his arms, he beckoned to the other children with a tilt of his head. "Come on," he said, setting off at a brisk walk around the corner of the school, giving the burning building a wide berth. The children trotted along beside him, some of them still coughing.

The boy in his arms clutched at him desperately, still trying to gasp though his throat was closing. Winter found words tumbling from his lips, before he could even think of them. "Easy there, pal," he murmured, pitching his voice so only the boy could hear. "I know it's scary, but you can relax now. I've got you. Nothing bad is going to happen to you, I swear. I just need you to breathe, okay? Can you do that for me? Just take it slow. You don't have to fight it. It'll all be over soon, you'll see. Just breathe."

The boy's grip on his arm slackened, and Winter glanced down, afraid the kid had passed out. But he simply looked up at Winter with his big, dark eyes, and took tiny, measured gulps of air.

As Winter led the children across the street to where the rest of the survivors stood watching the conflagration, the wail of sirens met their ears. The emergency vehicles were finally beginning to show up. An ambulance pulled to a stop right in front of them, and Winter was able to hand the boy over to the paramedics immediately. Several of the adults rushed forward from the crowd to make sure the other kids were unhurt.

There were too many people. People on all sides, speaking quickly, staring at his mask and his arm, asking him if he was injured. Nerves jangling, heart still pounding with adrenaline, Winter slipped away as soon as he found a chance. He spotted a red pickup truck parked at the edge of the crowd, with the tailgate down. Winter sank down on it—just for a few minutes. Just to catch his breath.

He noticed Sam walking up to the ambulance, speaking briskly with one of the paramedics and helping a woman put on an oxygen mask. He looked as exhausted and filthy as Winter felt, but he didn't appear to be hurt. That was good. But where was Steve? Was he still inside?

"Are you a angel?"

Winter looked down sharply and found the smallest girl that he had saved standing in front of him, gazing up at him with round, sparkling grey-green eyes. Her sweaty, sooty red hair was straggling out of its pigtails.

Stunned, Winter could only stammer out, "No, I'm not a... Wh-Why would you ask something like that?"

"'Cause Mommy says my guardian angel pertecks me from bad stuff an' doesn't let anything bad happen to me an' he's real strong an' shiny." She stuck her thumb in her mouth, not taking her eyes off him for a moment.

Winter stared back at her. She had no idea how much blood was on his hands. How could anyone call him an angel?

"'Course he's not an angel!" another voice declared from his other side. Winter started and turned to find one of the boys clambering into the bed of the truck next to him. "See the metal arm? That means he's a robot!"

"Nuh-uh! Robots are all metal, but he's only a little bit metal, so maybe he's just a half-robot!"

"Hey, mister, is your other arm metal too?"

"How 'bout your legs?"

"Do you hafta plug your arm in at night?"

Before Winter knew what was happening, he was surrounded by the children he'd helped out of the classroom, who were all chattering and tugging on him as though they hadn't just narrowly escaped a burning building. One of the boys knocked his knuckles against Winter's knee, as if to check and see if it were made of metal.

"How come you're wearing a mask, mister?" One girl asked brightly. "Are you a bank robber?"

"Um...no..." How was it that such tiny, innocent people could be so intimidating? Why wasn't he more intimidating to them?

"'Course he's not a bank robber," another boy scoffed with a huge eye roll. "My brother said Captain America is here! I bet you're with Captain America, aren't you, mister? You're a superhero, aren'tcha?"

"Making friends, I see."

Winter looked up and found Sam approaching, wearing a gleeful grin. Winter almost thought he would welcome the incessant teasing if Sam would just save him from this childish interrogation.

Still smiling, Sam sidled up to Winter and tweaked the redheaded girl's messy pigtails. She looked up at him, sucking her thumb and running the fingers of her free hand up and down Winter's metal arm. He hadn't even realized she'd been doing that.

The blare of sirens caught all the children's attention, and they turned to watch the large red fire truck pull in front of the school. As the firefighters hopped off the truck and began their battle against the flames, the children pointed and chattered excitedly among themselves.

While their attention was elsewhere, Sam asked Winter in an undertone, "You seen Cap yet?"

Winter's stomach dropped into his shoes. It was obvious at a glance that Steve wasn't in the crowd of survivors. He shook his head, sharing a worried look with Sam. "Should I...?"

"Nah, I'll be faster," Sam said, stepping a safe distance away before unfurling his wings again.

The children gasped and let out a chorus of oohs and wows as Sam rocketed back towards the burning building, this time heading for the second floor. He reversed in midair, then crashed through a window feetfirst. There were no flames shooting out that window, but the wall of fire was close to engulfing the entire building. Winter sat on the back of the truck, his stomach churning at the knowledge that there was nothing he could do.

Less than a minute later, though Winter could have sworn it was an hour, Sam emerged from the building again, carrying the limp form of an unconscious man—not Steve, he realized with a breath of relief. This man had grey hair. Sam landed next to the ambulance to hand him over to the paramedics.

Steve followed a moment later. Winter saw him as a blackened blur holding the shield, falling from the second-story window. He rolled to absorb the impact, then needed two tries before he could get back on his feet. But other than looking sweaty and exhausted, he didn't seem to be any worse for the wear.

As Steve and Sam made their way back over to Winter and the children, a van with the logo of a news channel pulled up. The crew piled out, preparing their equipment to catch a view of the fire before the firefighters could put it out. "Sam, Winter," Steve said, his voice growing tense. "We need to leave. Now."

Winter suddenly became aware of how exposed they were. He'd known from the moment Steve pulled out the shield that they wouldn't be able to hide, but so much had happened all at once that he hadn't had the time to consider all of the ramifications yet. But now he realized how many people were staring at Steve's flashy shield, at Sam's shining wings. And how many people had seen his metal arm and his mask.

They couldn't get out of there fast enough.

Winter sat in the back of the car, a chill settling in his bones as his sweat dried. Everything was fitting together with a horrible, familiar precision—the jaws of a trap snapping shut around him. Arson. Two fires, where they didn't have the resources to fight both at once. Forcing Steve into a situation where he'd have to emerge from hiding.

Maybe someone had recognized Steve on one of his trips to town. Maybe it was just a hunch, or maybe it was only one incident of many, a net cast wide in the hopes of catching their prey eventually. But this incident bore all the hallmarks of Hydra's cruelty. This was exactly how they liked to flush someone out of hiding.

And if there was even the slightest chance that someone had seen him... A shudder ran down Winter's spine. If someone had snapped a photo of him while he wasn't looking...or if the arsonist had been watching from a distance...they would know he was alive. They would know he was with Steve, that he'd rescued people from that fire under Captain America's orders. They would hunt them down. They would kill Sam and Steve. They would capture Winter, and then...

He was vaguely aware of the others talking and moving about. In a distant corner of his mind, he knew he was standing in his room in the cabin, and that the others were bustling about busily. But all he could see was a white blur. The ice stretched out in all directions, clutching at him in a smothering blanket of white. The wind roared in his ears, not letting him think about anything but how cold he was. How alone. The only living thing, while death surrounded him on all sides.

Oh, how sweet death sounded, compared to the fate that he knew waited for him instead. A specter rose before him—a chair with wires and electronic panels with metal plates that locked around his head and bonds that held his arms and legs in place.

How had he ever dared to relax here? How could he have believed he was safe? There was nowhere in the entire world that was safe from them.

And the pain. How could he go back to that after all these months of peace and rest? Just the thought of it was unbearable. He'd often thought he'd rather be beaten bloody every day for the rest of his life than sit in that chair again. Now...it was the only thing he could see.

He couldn't stop shaking. He had so much to lose this time. Losing any amount of memory was bad enough, but for such a long time, the memories they'd stolen had been so muddled anyway that he wasn't even sure what he'd lost.

But now...they would steal everything he cared about, all over again. He wouldn't remember freedom. He wouldn't remember making choices, or discovering what he preferred. He wouldn't remember laughing in the rain. He wouldn't remember that feeling of joy, like his heart would burst through his chest, when he ran next to the others. He wouldn't remember Sam's cooking. He wouldn't remember the way Steve looked at him when—

"Winter?"

He blinked, and the whirling white immediately faded away. Steve was there, looking at him with concern, the same as always.

"Hey," Steve said gently, squeezing his shoulder and shaking it slightly. "You okay?"

It was too much. He couldn't lose this. He'd rather die. What kind of a fool was he, to think they wouldn't hunt him down and strip away everything he held dear? "It's happening," he groaned, dropping his head into his hands, as if the darkness would protect him from his terrifying reality. "I knew it would, and now it's finally happening."

The icy wind was back, roaring through him, strong enough to send him spinning into that empty white expanse. His knees buckled, and he hastily sat down. Distantly, he was aware of the softness of the mattress beneath him, and the way it sank lower as Steve sat next to him.

"They're coming for me. They'll find me. They'll...They'll take me back." The words spilled out, fleeing from the danger as he so desired to do. He gripped his head, staring into the freezing wind and shuddering as every gust hit him.

"I can't, I-I-I can't can't go back. Not now. Not...a-after this. They'll h-hurt me...I-I don't..."

He hung limply from the cold metal bonds that held him in place. If not for them, he would have tumbled out of this chair and sprawled on the floor. Every inch of his body ached, and his brain sloshed around in his head like they'd liquefied it. He couldn't remember how he'd got here or when this pain began. He couldn't even remember his own name.

He could only cry weakly and cling to the last thin shreds of the man he once was. "Steve..." he mumbled around the rubber mouthpiece that kept him from biting his tongue. "Steve..."

Was that his name? Was that why he clung to it like a drowning man, as he floated through this ocean of pain? No, somehow that didn't feel right.

"Steve," he sobbed, over and over again. No face appeared in his mind, nothing that he could distinguish from the swirling mess of his thoughts. But...this 'Steve' had been...important. He'd been special. More valuable than he was himself. "Steve..."

Dark shadows surrounded him, calmly discussing what settings they would have to adjust to make sure he never remembered that name again.

"Hey, hey, shhh..."

Warmth enclosed him. The darkness lifted, the freezing clouds of white parted, and he found himself sitting in his room, looking into Steve's calm, steady gaze. His intent expression summoned Winter's attention, but didn't grab it roughly or demand anything of him. Not like his memories and fears.

"Listen to me." Steve held his gaze, holding Winter's head in place with his warm, strong hands. "You're not going anywhere without us, understand? Hydra's not taking you away."

"But..." He swallowed with difficulty, trying to hold the tears back. "L-Last time..."

"It's not going to be like last time," Steve soothed, one thumb brushing a strand of hair out of Winter's eyes. "Sam and I are going to be right beside you every step of the way. Don't you remember what I promised you when we first met? I'm going to do everything in my power to keep you safe from them, to make sure they don't lay a finger on you ever again."

He wanted to believe. He wanted to hope. "But...it's Hydra. Even if you say that..." It won't be that easy. Do you realize what lengths they'll go to get me back under their control?

"Winter," Steve said calmly. "Do you trust me?"

The whole world shifted, reoriented, locked into place. He looked into those warm blue eyes that had watched him for so many months—eyes that had seen him at his very best, eyes that hadn't turned aside even at his very worst. When those eyes looked at him, they were always filled with compassion, concern—even delight. If there was anything he could trust in this perilous, terrifying world, it was that those eyes would always look at him the same.

Warmth flooded through him. If Steve had rushed off at a moment's notice to save the lives of dozens of complete strangers, how much more would he fight to protect someone he called a friend? Maybe Steve couldn't exactly give him a guarantee that Hydra wouldn't touch him again. Maybe it was enough just to know what lengths Steve would go to keep him safe.

Winter let out a long breath. Did he trust Steve? "Yes."

Steve beamed at him, as if to confirm everything Winter had just been thinking about him. "Then let me worry about Hydra," he said, patting Winter gently on the shoulder. "All you need to worry about right now is putting your things in this suitcase. Can you do that for me?"

Winter looked down at the suitcase sitting on his bed, and nodded.

Once he was able to focus on the task at hand, it didn't take long for Winter to fill the suitcase with all the clothes and other belongings Steve had given him. Before long, he took the suitcase down the stairs and outside, where the others were piling the last of their luggage into the trunk of the car.

Winter stuffed his suitcase in with all the others, then left Steve and Sam to their discussion of which safe house they might be able to reach in a reasonable amount of time. Winter climbed into his usual seat in the back of the SUV, behind the driver's seat, and stared fixedly out the windshield. Now that there was nothing for his hands to do, he could feel the anxiety mounting in his chest again.

He watched the curve of the driveway that turned out of sight through the trees, hiding it from view of the road. Every minute, he half expected to see a car with tinted windows, or the van from the news station, appear through the trees. What would they do then? Or what if Hydra agents were already hiding in the bushes, watching and biding their time for an opportune moment to strike? Why hadn't Winter paid attention to their surroundings as they left town? Steve and Sam were competent and careful, but they didn't know what to look for when being tracked down by Hydra.

He forced himself to take a deep breath and tear his gaze away from the windows. He trusted Steve. He trusted Sam. They were his friends. They wouldn't let anything happen to him. They wouldn't just stand by and let Hydra have their way with him. If Hydra did show up...they would fight. They would protect each other. That was the difference from every other time he'd failed to break free of Hydra's clutches. This time, he wasn't alone.

Sam climbing into the driver's seat broke though Winter's thoughts. Winter expected Steve to get in the front passenger seat as usual, but instead the back door opened. Winter looked up in surprise to watch Steve get into the back seat with him. And instead of sitting next to the other window, once Steve closed the door, he slid across to the middle seat.

As Steve fastened his seatbelt and settled in next to Winter, Sam started the car and adjusted the rearview mirror, smirking back at them. "What's this, am I your chauffeur or something?"

Steve put on a lofty expression and flipped his hand carelessly. "Drive on, Sam," he said in a British accent. "Drive on!"

Sam stuck his tongue out at Steve before putting the car in gear and pulling out of the driveway.

It was strange, but in the space of a minute, all of Winter's anxiety broke down and blew away like dust in the wind. The others were calm. They were even joking. That meant things were okay...right? They had a plan, and they were putting it into motion. Worrying about what might happen wouldn't help a thing.

Steve's presence was helpful, too. Winter wondered if Steve knew just how much he needed it right now. It was one thing to know his friends were backing him up, but it was another to feel it. Steve's shoulder rubbing against his, their knees knocking against each other as the car took the curves of the mountainous road...even just the warmth of someone sitting next to him was an immense comfort.

Winter felt the tense muscles in his back and shoulders slowly loosen, and it grew easier to breathe without drowning in terror. The icy wind didn't even threaten him anymore, because he was safe in here with his friends.

Without saying anything or even glancing in that direction, Winter let his right fist relax on his knee. He let his fingers fall open, making a silent request that he was too ashamed to voice. Especially after all the fuss he'd made, requiring Steve to waste precious minutes talking him down. He was okay now. He wasn't afraid anymore. But...still...it would be nice if...

Steve didn't say anything either. His arm slipped between Winter's arm and his side, and his fingers laced through Winter's. He held Winter's hand with a gentle, warm pressure. With a sigh of exhaustion and relief, Winter settled against Steve's side. It was the safest place in the world.

My times are in your hand;
rescue me from the hand of my enemies and from my persecutors!
Make your face shine on your servant;
save me in your steadfast love!

...

In the cover of your presence you hide them from the plots of men;
you store them in your shelter
from the strife of tongues.

Psalm 31:15-16, 20