The air burned as Steve took a deep breath. His feet padded quietly against the frozen ground as he tightened his sweaty grip on his shield. Low voices were echoing from the cavern in front of him and he looked around the ice cave warily. Something cold touched the back of his head and he tensed.

"Drop the shield."

Steve froze as he felt the muzzle of a gun press into the back of his skull. He raised his hands and let his shield fall to the ground. Metal flashed in the faint light coming from the opening of the cave and Bucky moved around Steve to face him, the gun still locked in his grip.

"Captain," came an unfamiliar voice.

The man was standing behind Bucky. His hands were tucked in his suit's pockets, his face betraying no emotion. "Are you here to kill me?"

"I'm here to bring you in," Steve clenched his hands into fists. "Fury can decide your fate."

"Fury will kill me," the man spread his hands on either side of him, as if pleading with Steve to understand. "Is that what you want, Captain?"

"Come peacefully and—" Steve stepped forwards and his breath caught as pain bloomed in his chest. Bucky's hair brushed his cheek as the assassin leaned forwards. "Why couldn't you let it be?" he whispered. His hand tore from Steve's chest, splashing a trail of scarlet blood across the floor. Steve tumbled to the ground, blood seeping from the hole in his chest. He stared at Bucky, blood dripping from his lips. His breath was labored and he felt as if liquid was filling his lungs. Maybe it was.
The man stepped up behind Bucky and rested a hand on his shoulder. His eyes narrowed slyly as he whispered something in Bucky's ear. Steve gasped for air as Bucky tensed and looked down at him. His eyes were cold and unfeeling, but for just a moment something akin to regret flickered through his eyes. Steve's eyes began to close and for a moment the light glinted off of Bucky's arm and the blood looked like marks, but then it was gone, and Steve with it.

Steve jerked awake. He sat up, gasping for air as he rubbed his chest firmly. He hoped this wasn't an asthma attack; he had to stop buying inhaler medicine after it became too expensive, and without it...

The pain eased with every breath he took and Steve leaned back down, only to jerk back as he realized he had been using Bucky as a pillow again. It had to be the height difference, he decided. Bucky was a little taller than him and his chest was a somewhat comfortable pillow, or at least, more comfortable than the ground. Yeah, that was it.
Steve sighed and banished that train of thought as he began to edge off Bucky's chest. Bucky muttered something in his sleep and wrapped his metal arm around Steve, drawing him closer and throwing his heavy arm over Steve's shoulders. Steve scowled and elbowed Bucky in the ribs. Maybe the pillow thing wasn't his fault after all. Bucky snorted loudly and grumbled something. For a moment Steve thought he was going to wake up, but he just began to snore loudly in Steve's ear in a way that really shouldn't have been endearing.

Steve groaned and pushed the thought away. This was getting ridiculous. He turned his mind back to his dream…what had it been about? He remembered cold…pain…the flash of metal. Steve gave up, it probably wasn't that important anyway.

Irritated with himself, and now with Bucky as well for smothering him, Steve pushed away from Bucky roughly, jabbing him in the chest with his bony elbows. If he reached, he could just brush his fingers against the zipper of the pack. A little more distance and…Bucky muttered something under his breath and pulled him closer, letting out a soft snort. Steve grumbled under his breath as his hand was jerked away from the opening. Was this how he was going to die? Suffocated to death by a sleeping supposed super soldier? What were they going to put on his tombstone? He could just picture Natasha snickering with Barton over it.

Steve Rogers. Cuddled to death by the Winter Soldier. RIP.

Steve frowned distractedly as Bucky shifted again. He was muttering in Russian under his breath, his face creased in pain. Was Bucky supposed to be this warm? Steve was cold where his skin was exposed to the air, but Bucky was burning to the touch. He frowned as he rested his head against Bucky's forehead, and then his own.

"Buck!" Steve snapped as the super soldier muttered something in his sleep.

"Steve," Bucky grunted, his eyes opening blearily. "Don't…"

"Don't what?" Steve asked as he pushed away from Bucky. "Let me go!"

"No." Bucky caught his hands, his eyes still half closed, "Stop!"

Steve frowned, "I'm just going to look outside—"

Bucky's eyes flew open and before Steve could blink, Bucky had him pinned to the ground, his hand pressing down on his neck. Bucky's eyes were furious. Wild. He snarled as Steve struggled frantically against his grip. Steve gasped for air, lashing out at the soldier with everything he could think of. He struck out at Bucky's face, catching Bucky's cheek as the soldier turned his face away. Bucky tightened his grip on his neck with one hand as he caught Steve's hands and pressed them over his head with the other. Steve kicked out at him and Bucky growled as he straddled him and began to squeeze his neck tighter. Steve gasped as black began to tinge the edges of his vision. At least this was better than being smothered to death via cuddling, he thought blearily, though he wouldn't put it past Natasha to put it on his tombstone anyway.

"Buck—" Steve choked out. Bucky tightened his grip and suddenly Steve couldn't speak. Couldn't breathe.

"You…can't...hurt…them!" Bucky hissed out. "I won't let you!" He let go of Steve's neck and drew his fist back. The muted light shining through the thermopack walls glinted off the metal and Steve knew he wouldn't survive if Bucky hit him.

"Buck!" Steve yelled, "Stop!" Bucky froze and Steve gasped for air frantically. Bucky gritted his teeth against the battle waging within him. Kill. Don't kill. With a gasp, he fell back against the wall of the tent. Steve scrambled back, away from him.

"It's…you." Bucky slumped against the floor of the thermopack, his chest heaving. "You're Steve."

"Who did you think it was?" Steve raised his hand to his throat, wincing as his gentle touch roused a sharp stab of pain. "What happened?" His voice came out as a rasp and he winced.

Bucky said nothing as he unzipped the entrance and scrambled outside. Steve gasped as a burst of cold air hit his face. Through the opening he could see the sky. It was cloudy and overcast in a way he never seen before. Steve frowned as he climbed out of the thermopack. The ground crunched under his feet and he bent down to touch it. "This wasn't here last night. " Steve brushed his fingers over the cold ground. It was frozen solid. The ice was so cold it hurt his fingers and he drew them back quickly. "The ice…it's traveling." Steve rose to his feet and looked back, over the path they had traveled. In the distance he could see white splashed across the path, and beyond that a huge expanse of cold snow. It was beautiful, but terrifying, like an angry artist had used the land as his canvas.

"It's Hydra." Bucky's voice was quiet. Steve turned towards him as he stood, wiping his hand on his pants. "They're causing this."

"I doubt anyone could cause a natural disaster," Steve said comfortingly, clearing his throat when his voice came out rough and wincing when the simple action send stabbing pain through the sore skin of his neck. "It's probably just because winters coming. Maybe the radiation is dying down and the seasons are returning."
Bucky gave him a long look, and even Steve could hear the desperation in his own voice. "It's not Hydra," Steve repeated. Bucky said nothing as he turned back and began rolling up the thermopack.

"We have to hurry," Bucky said quietly, "there's no shelter here if a storm hits us. Or if…" He looked up and froze. Steve turned, scanning the sky for some sign of what had made the soldier look like a mouse before a cat.

At first, there was nothing. A low boom of thunder in the sky accompanying a flash of vivid lightning, the sound of the wind howling through the empty plain around them. Then, Steve saw it. A small dot on the sky, tiny but recognizable.

"It's a chopper," he breathed and Bucky seized his arm.

"We have to go!" He growled.

Steve shot one last fearful look at the chopper before following Bucky off the path. The plain was empty and desolate, with no cover to be seen.

"Why don't we stay in the thermopack?" Steve demanded, wincing in pain as his throat burned. There was no way they could survive if they kept going. "We can throw dirt over it and camouflage ourselves while it passes."

"Heat sensors," Bucky grunted, quickening his pace, "they'll see us."

"We'll be dismissed as travelers!" Steve protested.

"They're looking for me," Bucky muttered. "They know I'm here. They'll search anyone they see."

"Where are we going then?" Steve protested. Bucky nodded his chin forwards and Steve peered at the horizon. In the distance, he could just see a blot on the horizon.

"It's a Shield base," Bucky said, "it was on your map."

"We'll never make it," Steve whispered. Bucky didn't say anything, only quickened his pace.

By some miracle, the chopper didn't spot them immediately. With every step they took, it grew darker. Clouds blotted out the sun, and small flecks of cold rain began to fall from the sky. Steve frowned as he saw the rain. Bucky quickened his pace, a slow smile spreading across his face.

Then came the storm.

Steve had seen storms before, violent, radioactive, monsters of storms, but never like this. It started as a downpour of freezing rain with thunder booming above them and lightning clashing violently through the sky, and sometimes beside them. Then came the snow, piles of it flying down from the heavens like angels were throwing buckets of the stuff all down at once. The chopper valiantly kept going through the storm, but was slowed by the heavy winds and snow.

"Where's the entrance?" Steve asked through chattering teeth. All he saw before him were a few big rocks. Bucky frantically began searching over the rocks for an entrance, and Steve felt his heart sink as he realized there was no door. He stepped forward and knelt against the nearest rock, trying to shield himself from the majority of the snow. He sighed as he rested his head against the rock tiredly. He was so cold. Something hard scraped across his cheek and he flinched back. He reached up and touched the dot of blood on the side of his cheek. What was that? He felt at the rough patch blindly, squinting at the rock through the flurries of snow. It felt like someone had scraped something into the rock. But for what reason? Before he could look further, Bucky came back, shaking his head and glancing at the sky nervously.

"I can keep going," he said as he stepped forward, but Steve raised his hand as he squinted at the rock. The scratches looked familiar…almost like a bird.

"Look here!" He called over the raging storm and Bucky stepped over, his eyes narrowed as Steve gestured to the rock. "Can you move it?"

Bucky nodded. He pushed past Steve and rested his hands on the side of the boulder. His breath misted out into the air as he tensed and with a groan the boulder began to move. Steve's breath caught as he saw darkness behind it. Steve hurried into it and Bucky hurried after him, pushing the rock back into place.

"Whoops," Bucky muttered and Steve arched an eyebrow as he looked back. Bucky was biting his lip nervously and kicking at a few broken pieces of metal stemming from the stone. "It was supposed to just open, I guess. Do you think they'll mind?"

Steve chuckled, "I doubt anyone will notice."

Bucky bent down and squished the metal back into place easily. Steve rolled his eyes, "It won't work again."

"This way they won't blame me," Bucky smirked. "They'll have no proof."

"I think the squished metal might give them a hint," Steve remarked mildly and Bucky scowled at him.

The pathway sloped downwards for a very long time. Steve trailed his fingers across the wall. He couldn't see anything, but Bucky seemed to know where they were going. Steve yawned tiredly and blinked, wishing he could see something.

"How long is this tunnel?" He asked. Bucky touched his arm, pushing enough that Steve got the hint he should stop walking. There was a soft crack and the whole cave was painted with a soft green light. Steve blinked and glanced over at Bucky, who was holding a glow stick. "You couldn't use that earlier?" He demanded. Bucky ignored him in favor of looking around the small cave.

The cave was circular at the end, like a sideways bowl. It was natural, maybe from years of flooding in the area—the heated, radiated rain they got once a year usually did create floods in the bone dry land—but up against one side of the wall were boxes, and next to them battery powered lamps. On the ceiling was the emblem of the Shield logo. Steve craned his head back to look at it. It looked a lot like the scratches Steve had seen on the rock above them.

Bucky put down his pack and began rifling through the boxes and tapping on the walls, presumably making sure they actually were safe. Steve moved to the lamps, nodding his thanks as Bucky handed him two batteries from the boxes. Steve squinted at the small holes in the bottom, growling in frustration as he blinked at the small signs. Taking a random guess, he put the batteries in and flicked the switch.

Nothing happened.

Cursing, Steve pulled out the batteries and flipped them, hoping that would work. Light erupted from the small globe and he yelped as pain shot through his eyes. Bucky glanced over nervously, but Steve shook his head, "I'm fine." He put the lamp down on the ground. "Find anything?"

Bucky frowned as he finished going through the last box and held up a white version of Steve's golden thermopack.

"Is it for the cold?" Steve asked and Bucky nodded, holding up a detailed map of various cold zones from the box.

Steve shifted uncomfortably; why would Shield need those? There was nothing in those areas. He walked over and picked up one of the maps. Moscow was labeled at the top. He frowned as he looked it over. For that matter, why would they need a map of Russia? He filed the information away. Whatever it was, he could ask Natasha. If she didn't tell him, he would know it was something serious. If she did tell him, and it wasn't something serious, he would know she was lying.

Bucky repacked the box, leaving the cold thermopack out of the box, along with some dried fruit he had found. He didn't look happy about something, but Steve was to cold and tired to care. He rolled out his own thermopack and laid Bucky's blanket on it to make a makeshift bed, then he laid out the cold thermopack.

"Steve." Bucky walked over to him and handed him a packet of dried fruit and a nutrient bar. Steve ate the bar first before he cautiously tore open the fruit pack. Having seen Bucky already give everything in the room a full examination, Steve didn't feel too worried as he popped a piece of dried strawberry into his mouth.

Steve groaned as the flavor exploded in his mouth and immediately set about devouring the rest of the package. When he was done, he reached over and snagged another from the pile next to Bucky. Bucky huffed and pulled the pile into his lap, glaring furiously at Steve.

Steve reached over and took another bag from his lap.

They ate in silence. Bucky finally gave in and handed Steve some of his fruit packages. Steve was halfway through his eighth one when he realized Bucky was staring at him.
"What?" He asked, "Is the fruit bad?" Steve choked as one of the pieces of fruit caught in his throat. Pain flared up in his throat and he flinched. It had healed a little since that morning, but now it was aching awfully. Steve winced as he probed the bruised skin tenderly, flinching as it exploded in sharp pain. He cursed himself and put down his packet of fruit, no longer hungry.

Bucky averted his eyes guiltily. "Does it hurt you?" He asked as he stood and walked over to one of the crates.

"Nah, just aches a little." Steve smiled gently as Bucky came back over holding a tube of gel. He squired some into his hand and sat down in front of Steve.

"You should know better than to lie to me," Bucky said quietly, "I can tell it hurts."

Steve flinched as the cold goo touched his skin, but the pain abated somewhat even as Bucky was applying it. Soon his whole throat could feel nothing but the pleasing buzz of numbness.

"What were you dreaming about?" He asked, "This morning?" Bucky shrugged as he stood to go put the gel back. Steve left it alone. He didn't want to risk pushing Bucky, and besides, it wasn't his place.

Steve sighed as he stood and looked down at his sopping clothes. He didn't want to sleep in them, and he couldn't wear them wet anyway. He peeled off his shirt and laid it out on the ground to dry, then did the same with his pants. He frowned as he regarded his soaked backpack. His change of clothes were probably all wet…

"Here."

Steve gasped as Bucky pressed a shirt into his hand. It looked like an undershirt, the kind soldiers wore under their gear, and like Bucky's armor it was black.

"My bag is waterproof." Bucky began stripping off his wet combat gear. "Everything is dry." Steve stared at Bucky. The soldier had never taken off his gear in Steve's view before, never even removed a glove. Bucky silently stripped off his over shirt and began pulling knives out of hidden pockets and guns out of nowhere. A small pile was already at his feet. How the hell had he fit all those things in his gear?

"Must be nice." Steve tore his eyes away as he pulled the shirt over his head, "I suppose having a waterproof bag is necessary with that big gun you carry around." The shirt went down to Steve's knees and he sighed as he tugged at the material uncomfortably.

"What is this made of?" Steve glanced up and his words trailed off in a stutter.

Bucky pulled a knife from his shoe. "See something you like?" He teased.

Steve shook his head. That wasn't what he was staring at, it was the scars. There were more scars than Steve could count, the worst of them around the prosthetic arm. Steve stepped forwards and Bucky tensed. He took another step and Bucky stilled, keeping his back to Steve as he rested his hand against the scarring between the metal and the skin. Bucky played with the knife in his hands and Steve could feel the movements of the metal under his fingers. Bucky looked back at Steve wordlessly and he traced the marks softly with his fingers.

"Did someone do this to you?" He murmured under his breath. "Did they hurt you?"

"Yes." Bucky shifted and his arm clicked under Steve's fingers, "I lost my arm in combat, they gave me a new one. They liked to call me the fist of Hydra." He added the last part with a low chuckle, "Kind of an inside joke."

"Do you know…?" Steve cleared his throat, "Do you know who your initials belong to?"

Bucky stiffened under Steve's hand and pulled away as the smaller man looked up at him. "I did." He turned to face Steve, his face blank of all emotion. His eyes darted down to Steve's bandaged arm and then away. "But whoever they are, they're dead by now." Bucky smirked. "And even if they were still alive, they would be better off without me."

Steve sighed as he looked down at the bandages covering his mark. "I don't know who mine is," he said stiffly, "but if he or she said that to me I would kick their ass for being so presumptuous."

Bucky cracked a smile and turned away from him. "You're cute." He chuckled without humor. Steve scowled. He hated it when people treated him like that, like he was some innocent child who didn't know what kind of evils took place in the world. He knew better than some, but he chose to see the best in people. Was that a crime?
Bucky's turned away to finish undressing. Steve laid down on the white thermopack and sighed as Bucky turned off the lamp and laid down on his own bed.

"Goodnight, Steve," Bucky murmured.

"Night, Buck."

Steve shuddered as he wrapped the thermopack around his shoulders. It was still cold, and his throat ached. Still, his eyes closed and before he knew it the lines between reality and his thoughts began to blur.

Steve dreamed he and Bucky were sitting in a bar. It was an old styled kind of place, nineteen forties looking. Music blared above them as Bucky sipped his beer in the chair next to Steve. He looked different. Happy.

"You know, Stevie," he drawled over the sound of the music, "I think I like this new place. Cool beer, pleasant company, pretty dames…"

"Of course, you do," Steve teased, "You like any half-decent joint with alcoholic beer." He, himself, wasn't too fond of the place, but Bucky seemed to like it so he stayed.

"Of course you would think a classy place like this is half-decent," Bucky pitched his voice, "Excuse me, I'm Steve Rogers and I'll only taste the best wine and the sharpest cheeses. I dine with Howard Stark every night and never dirty myself with the touch of lowly commoners." He chuckled as Steve punched him in the arm.

"Jerk."

Bucky opened his mouth as if to say something, but then changed his mind and shut it firmly.

Steve shivered and rubbed his arms, "Is it cold to you in here?" He glanced around the bar, but no one else seemed to notice the cold.

Bucky shook his head and leaned forward so he could peel off his army jacket. "Better have my jacket," he smiled as he held it out, "we wouldn't want your punk ass to get sick."

When Steve began to shake his head, Bucky shoved it into his arms. "I'm used to the cold," he said firmly, "take it."

The dream vanished as something warm wrapped around Steve's arms. He blinked open his eyes dazedly as something soft touched his cheek and gently pulled the blanket up around his neck. The wool scratched against his neck as he was sitting in the bar again. This time there were others with them. Men with hats, women in red dresses. Faces flashed blood red in the darkness and Steve clenched his hands into fists as the figures hovered on the edges of the dream, whispering promises of pain and death.