Work Text:
Steve shivered as a cold wind swept through the trenches. He pulled his jacket closer to his body in a vain effort to keep himself warm. The hard-packed snow he was sitting on had seeped through his trousers and if it hadn't been for his gloves Steve was sure he would've lost a finger to the cold.
The night was creeping up around them, but the sky was clear; the stars and the moon were enough light for Steve to be able to see the frosty flakes stuck to Dugan's moustache. Falsworth's breath rose in white clouds towards the sky; Steve could see someone smoking further away.
He hadn't expected to spend Christmas Eve at war. They should've won. Steve could remember the happy faces and the cheers that had sent them off to war: it was supposed to be quick, easy and glorious. Instead they were freezing, waiting out an enemy who was doing the exact same thing less than a mile away.
”Fucking Germans”, Falsworth muttered. He repeated it so often it had become his new motto.
”Rogers! Package from home.” Steve tried to stand up, but the soldier handed over the package faster than Steve was able to move his frozen limbs. He thanked the soldier, who nodded before hurrying away, back bent so his head wouldn't stick up above ground. Nobody wanted to get shot, least of all on Christmas Eve.
Steve opened the parcel and picked out a photograph with a small smile. Peggy smiled confidently at him and Steve remembered to feel homesick. He had somebody waiting for him at home; this war wouldn't be his end.
There was a letter as well and underneath it a bar of chocolate. Steve smiled as he tucked it into his pocket and started reading the letter.
All the men looked up as they heard a familiar melody. The song came from the German trenches: they were singing Silent Night. As the sound grew stronger and he could make out the words, Steve realized they were singing in German. Dugan started singing along and Steve smiled as he heard the English soldiers take up the song.
He joined in:
”Radiant beams from thy holy face
With the dawn of redeeming grace...”
Steve hadn't felt that warm since he joined the army.
The following day dawned bright and chilly. The sun was barely breaking through the light clouds that shrouded the sky and it felt peaceful. As it should, Steve thought as he shaked himself awake. It was Christmas, after all.
Steve was a small man. He had barely made it into the army because of his scrawny body, but thankfully the ills that had so often plagued him as a child hadn't returned at the front. In all honesty, he felt better than ever.
Steve was a small man, and he had often been called stupid as well. Reckless by those who were fond of him. Falsworth was one of those, but even he was shouting idiot as Steve started climbing out of the trench they'd dug.
”Get down here!” Falsworth shouted, but Steve ignored him, only raised his hands higher so the enemy would see he wasn't armed.
Steve was a small man, but no one had ever accused him of being a coward. As several guns were pointed at him Steve took a deep breath, but he didn't back down. It was Christmas: the enemy wasn't an enemy, they were humans for this one day.
He could hear orders being shouted across the empty white field and just as Steve was sure he would be shot down, someone climbed out of the German trenches. A man, his hands mirroring Steve's, started walking towards him. He was followed by others; Steve could hear his men following him.
As they got closer Steve could see more than the grey jacket and the cap with the red band: black hair, a day's stubble on a strong jaw, blue eyes, red lips: a human. The German offered his hand and Steve took it without hesitation.
”My name is Steve.”
”Bucky”, the German answered and smiled. Steve grinned.
”A pleasure to meet you, Bucky.”
”Freut mich.” The man's grin spread and though Steve didn't understand the words, he understood the meaning.
Christmas out on the front wasn't as bad as Steve had feared. Pictures were taken, food was shared, several games of football were played. Steve didn't even feel the cold as he chased the leather ball one of the Germans had provided. He was tackled to the ground and someone else took the ball, but Steve only laughed under Bucky. His warm breath ghosted Steve's cheek and his eyes crinkled as he smiled.
”Whiskey?” Bucky asked and Steve nodded. They left the playing field and sat down on the ground further away, but close to each other. Bucky's coat was still on the ground as one of the goal posts. Bucky produced a flask from the back pocket of his trousers and took a pull before offering it to Steve. The spirit burned as he swallowed, but after a second mouthful the warmth started to spread.
”Do you think we'll get to go home soon?” Steve asked as Bucky raised the flask to his lips again. The other man shrugged; he could clearly understand most of what Steve said, but his own English was stilted and heavily accented.
”I hope so”, he answered, his eyes on the ongoing game. Steve hmm'd in response and thought of returning home. He wouldn't be the same man that left months ago. He wasn't sure if he would ever again fit in with the people he'd left back at home.
”This is my fiancée”, he said and pulled out the picture Peggy had sent him. Bucky took it carefully with a crooked smile.
”Sie ist schön - beautiful.”
”Yes, she is. And a tough girl, too. I think she'd have finished this war already if they'd let her come.” Bucky laughed, though Steve wasn't sure he had understood every word. He had a nice laugh; a pity they were at war. A war was no place for carefree laughs. ”Do you have anyone back home?”
The ball would've hit Steve in the head if Bucky hadn't pushed him to the side. The snow was freezing against Steve's skin as he landed face-first, but Steve didn't care: Bucky was laughing. He let Bucky help him to his feet.
”I'm sorry.”
”Don't be.” Steve grinned and kicked the ball back to the players, who cheered.
Their cheers were drowned by the sounds of bombs falling further away. They could hear planes closing in: suddenly everyone was in a rush to get back to their respective trenches. With the planes came the reality of war, and war wasn't a time for games.
Steve picked up Bucky's coat from the ground and brushed off the snow from the coarse material. His smile was careful as he handed it to Bucky.
”Danke”, Bucky said and smiled as they shook hands again; his grip was firm and his hand warm. ”I hope you survive.”
”You too, Bucky.” With a nod and a last shared smile the two men turned away from each other. They were among the last on the field, but once Steve was back in the English trenches, it was as if nothing had changed. Everything looked like it had the day before: the snow, the timber, the mud.
Everything was the same, except that Steve wasn't freezing anymore.
He put his hands in his empty pockets and smiled, hoping Bucky would as well when he found the chocolate Steve had slipped into his coat pocket. Steve wished he could see his face when he discovered the present Steve had left him. Once more Steve wanted to see that smile of his that made his eyes crinkle at the corners; he wanted to see that smile that warmed Steve more than the whiskey had.