Cursing under his breath as the relentless German wind swept under his blankets and chilled his toes through his woolen socks, Bucky reluctantly abandoned sleep as the lost cause that is was. As quickly as he could, he tugged his faded shirt over his head, shoved his worn pants over his legs and jammed his feet into his muddy boots. Even with as little time as he had given it, the early morning cold had managed to chill his skin straight to the bone. With a few more choice grunts, he retrieved his coat from the floor, gladly encasing himself in the thick material. As he finished fastening the last button, his eyes fell on the bedroll beside his. It was still rolled up. It hadn't been touched. His foul mood not improved by the sight, Bucky scowled and angrily yanked aside the tent flap.
More wind smacked at his face, eliciting a grimace from him. It was then that he made a promise to himself. Once the war was over, he wasn't going back to New York. He was moving out to Oregon. Or California. Or Hawaii. Somewhere warm where the word 'winter' was not in the vocabulary. Hazy clouds, masquerading as mist, sheltered the horizon, hiding the first rays of the waking sun behind a curtain of shifting moisture. Sniffing in the frigid air, Bucky wrapped his arms around himself, tucking his chin into the collar of his jacket. He hated the cold. And someone just had to be out sitting in it.
Bucky took extra care to ensure that his heavy footfalls made plain his displeasure with the snowflake air, the hardly-able-to-be-called-morning sky, and his friend's irresponsibility in matters of health. He stomped through stale pine needles and frozen dirt to where a figure was outlined by the dawning light. A huff of irritation left Bucky's mouth, dissolving in a swirl of steam. Plopping down next to his comrade, he pulled his legs to his chest, preserving body heat. For a little while, he was content to allow the silence to go undisturbed until his lungs were warm enough to allow talking.
"Do you even try to sleep?" he eventually questioned.
Broad shoulders rose and fell.
Bucky sighed. "Come on, Steve. You gotta get some rest sometime."
Another shrug.
Shaking his head, Bucky fought down his growing frustration. "I don't know what they did to you when they made you all tall and everything but I'm pretty sure you still need sleep, same as everybody else."
"Maybe," Steve conceded.
Rolling his eyes at Rogers' stubbornness, Bucky caught sight of the familiar sketchbook. In neat clean strokes, a battle plan had been outlined, as if it was merely another drawing of the European countryside and not a dangerous and potentially fatal situation filled with bullets, bombs and blood. Shivering (and not just from the temperature,) Bucky switched his gaze back up to Steve. Smooth skin caught the sliver light of the approaching day, blue eyes pieces of a sky unsullied by clouds and Bucky wondered again how Steve had gone from playmate to soldier, companion to leader.