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Long ago, James Barnes fell from a train. He landed in the snow at the edge of a wood, and as he was only a man, he died in the cold. But that wasn't the end. Even if perhaps he wished that it was. While James Barnes' humanity might have died in the snow that day, his body remained wrapped in the cold and wind; he'd become something else.
It wasn't what he'd wanted, and even as the cold became part of him- all of him, he prayed for the end. He didn't get his wish.
~
Steve was not awake when Natasha picked him up at half past three from his apartment. He might be on his feet, holding his duffle bag, with his passport tucked in the folder he'd been given the day before, but he wasn't awake. Not really, and if asked, he wouldn't have been able to tell you how he'd made it onto the plane.
"Look alive, sunshine," said Natasha, jostling his shoulder once they were seated.
Steve grunted. He wasn't good with early mornings. Natasha thought it was hilarious, and he was sure she booked these early morning flights just to spite him.
She chuckled, patting him on the arm.
"Don't worry, Soldier," she said fondly, "you can sleep soon. I know you're useless before five."
"If you know," said Steve, sounding petulant, but he was too tired to care, "then why am I awake?"
"We got a report that one of the missing team members is at the inn."
"No one said anything last night-"
"It wasn't confirmed yet," said Natasha.
"Of course, it wasn't."
"That is how information works; it's not confirmed until it is. I'll fill you in when you wake up."
That was fine with Steve. This wasn't the first or probably the last time SHIELD employees got into a bind, and someone had to clean up behind them. But usually, it was neater than this, less rushed, and involved a bigger team.
Not that Steve was complaining. If he was going to be dropped in the woods, he'd rather have Nat at his back than a Strike Force team any day. Natasha could handle herself; that wasn't a guarantee with Strike Force.
Later, when Steve woke up, his mouth tasted like cardboard, but he no longer wanted to punch the next person who looked at him.
"It's amazing what an extra hour of sleep does for your mood," Natasha said, passing him a bottle of water. "Ready to hear a ghost story?"
"Ghosts?" echoed Steve flatly, eyebrows raised.
"They're not real ghosts," she replied, opening a folder on her lap. "There's no such thing, but that's what the locals say."
"And what's that got to do with us?"
"Our Science division walked into the woods, and then they didn't come back."
"And?"
"That's where the ghosts come in," she said. "They're having a hell of a time finding anyone local willing to go into the woods."
"They’re flying us across an ocean because no one will go in to the woods."
Natasha nodded, flipping through the stack of papers. "There's an intern who didn't go out yesterday, she had a migraine and had to stay in bed."
"She must be losing her mind."
"She is."
"So what's in the woods?" asked Steve.
"You mean besides the ghosts?"
He nudged her shoulder. "Yeah, besides the ghosts. What was SHIELD doing?"
"It's classified."
"Of course it is," said Steve, frowning. He sipped his water and added, exasperated, "You know, if the locals have been avoiding these woods for almost a hundred years, maybe they were on to something."
"Ah," said Natasha, "you're a believer then."
"Maybe it isn't ghosts," he said. "Maybe it's a sinkhole, or bears, or I don't know alien tech- but if a group of people think something's evil for that long, there's got to be a reason, and maybe we should have looked into that before we just walked in."
"Next time you kick in a door without waiting for backup, I am going to remind you of this moment," she said without looking up.
Clara, the intern, was waiting for them in the lobby of the inn when they arrived. She was a slight woman with an oval face and lamp-like eyes. The dark purple smudges under her eyes were proof the past two days hadn’t been kind to her, but she tried to smile anyway, before she led the way to the rented suite upstairs.
Natasha beckoned Clara to sit on the small couch in the middle of the room, and she did, leaning back into the squashy cushions and wrapping her arms around herself.
"You're going to go out today, aren't you?" she asked, twisting the hem of her sweater between her fingers.
"We were planning on it," said Steve, dropping his duffle bag on the desk in the corner.
"Are we?" asked Natasha.
"Sure," said Steve, "what else are we going to do?"
"Make sure the forest isn't full of sinkholes or bears?"
"It's not," interjected Clara. "It's lovely, actually. There's photos and everything. I can show you if you'd like."
"That would be helpful," said Natasha, shooting Steve a look.
Clara dashed off, leaving the two of them alone.
"I thought Clara didn't go into the woods," said Steve.
"That's what the report says," replied Natasha, flipping back through her folder.
Clara returned out of breath, and rosy cheeked a minute later, clutching her phone.
"We weren't supposed to do this," she said once she'd sat down, quickly tapping out her passcode, "but I don't think that matters anymore."
She pulled up a group chat.
"Here," she said, passing over her phone. "You'll see a load of them if you scroll back a bit. When we arrived, everyone was just so sick of sitting, so we thought it couldn't hurt to have a bit of a walkabout. So we'd be prepared when we went out in the morning."
Steve gripped the back of the couch, leaning in to see over Natasha's shoulder.
She flipped to a photo of Clara and the others looking cheerful but tired. Sitting on a jagged group of rocks, surrounded by short, scraggly brush at the path's edge.
"Near the end," said Clara, "there's some photos of the clearing. That's where the group started yesterday morning-"
"Well," she added, frowning, "that's where we agreed we were going to start. I suppose they could have gone somewhere else."
"Who maintains the path?" asked Steve.
"Sorry?" said Clara.
"The path." Steve pointed to the photo. "Someone must maintain it for it to be that clear."
“Oh,” said Clara, “um, I don’t know, it was just like that when we arrived. We weren’t out for very long. It gets dark so early now, we didn't want to get lost on our first night; that'd be a bit silly, you know?"
While she offered to come with them, it was obvious that she didn't want to, but Natasha pushed enough that she didn't dare back out. Steve leaned on the desk once Clara returned to her room to get her hiking gear.
"So what's that all about?" he asked.
"What?"
"Dragging Clara out into the woods," he said, sharper than he'd meant. He hated when Natasha was like this and had even less patience for it than usual.
"She offered."
"Nat, come on."
"There's something she isn't telling us," she said, pulling her hair into a short ponytail. "And there's something you're not telling me either. What's your deal? Someone piss on your Cheerios?"
He didn't answer for a minute, trying to find the right words to explain.
"I've been here before," he said. "A long time ago, and it didn't go well."
"Fair enough," she said. "But if you want this time to go any better, you'll need to pull your head out of your ass."
She wasn't incorrect, and it rubbed Steve the wrong way, maybe more than it should have. But then, at the moment, everything did. Still, by the time they'd met Clara in the lobby and set off toward the forest, he was certain that her coming along was not a good idea.
There was nothing wrong with Clara, really; she was a terrified intern in a bad situation. She was, however, a nervous talker, and at the moment, she had a lot to say. At least until they reached the forest. It was old, full of towering pines and scrubby brush. Once they'd crossed the tree line, all of Clara's words dried up. She froze in the middle of the path, arms wrapped around herself, unable to take another step.
Steve didn't notice until Natasha called him back. He turned, waiting impatiently, and shuffled on his feet until she caught up with him.
"I sent Clara back," she said.
"I don't know why we brought her at all. I thought the point was to get moving, not waste time."
"Have a little empathy," said Natasha, bumping his shoulder, "besides, I learned what I wanted."
"And what's that?"
She ignored his question and set off down the path. Steve hated when she did that, too. But he swallowed down his simmering frustration and followed her.
The path didn't go into the woods. Not really. It skirted the tree line, taking them away from town, and after a few miles, it ended.
They didn't let the end of the path stop them, continuing past its end. The air here had a weight to it, pressing in on them from all sides. It sat on Steve's shoulders as he walked. This felt like a place of silence. The trees huddled closer together the further they went until the towering pines blocked out most of the pale autumn sunlight, leaving them in dull green shadows.
Until they came over the top of a small hill, and on the other side, the trees thinned into a sweeping clearing that followed the banks of a wide rolling river.
Natasha headed toward the water. He didn't follow. This was a familiar scene, one that trapped him in memories of ice and snow, the screech of rails, and Bucky falling.
He'd vanished into the swirling snow, going where Steve couldn't follow. It was an image imprinted on the inside of his eyelids, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't wish it away.
Natasha touched his arm, and he jumped.
"Alright?" she asked.
Steve cleared his throat and nodded. She obviously didn't believe him. Raising her eyebrows, she sat on a log near the water and pointed to the spot beside her.
"Sit," she said.
Steve sat.
"I don't think we have time for this," he said.
"We're going to make time," she said. "Because whatever your deal is, it's getting in the way, so what is it? "
Steve knew Natasha well enough that at least part of her question was genuine, coming from a place of concern, and not just because his feelings happened to be inconvenient.
It wasn't even that he didn't want to tell her; he just wasn't sure he could. This wasn't the first time the last weeks of his past life had come up, but Steve didn't have a way to explain what happened that didn't feel cheap. Mere words weren't enough to convey the enormity of what he'd lost in these mountains.
It was unlikely Steve would be better at finding the words now, but Natasha deserved something, so he tried.
Steve had heard that with moments like this, once you got started, it would be like opening a gate and all the hurt, pain, and desperate guilt would pour out so that afterward, even if it was terrible, you'd feel better.
He thought that was bullshit. Every word was like drawing blood from stone or pulling teeth, and as Steve stumbled forward, trying to explain how his whole world, wrapped up in one person, vanished in the blink of an eye.
"We were on a train in the mountains," Steve said, closing his eyes to force the image out of his head.
"Bucky fell. I let him fall. I failed him," he said with a finality that dared Natasha to argue.
"It might seem like it was a long time ago, and maybe to the rest of the world, it was, but not for me. And maybe it's just me being a stubborn bastard, but I can't let it go, and it's killing me, being here."
She lay her hand on his arm and held on tight. The pale sun sank behind the mountains, drawing long, green-gray shadows across the clearing until Steve couldn't take the stillness any longer and stood, his knees stiff from the cold.
Natasha followed him down the river bank, the beam of her headlamp illuminating a bright yellow path through the brush between them. Steve hadn’t gotten far before she called him back.
"We need to head back," she said, "I’m expecting a call."
Steve wasn't ready to stop.
"We need to find our people," he said, hands balled into tight fists.
"That's what we're doing," she said. "Hill's got drone imagery for me. We're going over logistics for tomorrow. There is potential for a team to come in, and considering what’s going on, I think it's a good idea."
And while Steve didn't like it, he followed her back to town anyway. Natasha's call ran long, and as usual, by the end of it, Steve was entirely out of patience. It wasn't as though the information wasn't good, it was, but there was enough bullshit mixed in that it could have taken about a third of the time that it did.
When the call ended, Natasha pulled up the images she'd been sent, zooming until she'd found the path they'd taken earlier. Steve sighed, scrubbing his eyes, and leaned over her shoulder to get a look.
She jabbed him in the side.
"You look like shit," she said, "go to bed."
Steve knew an order when he heard one and, for once, did what he was told without arguing.
Only sleep didn't come easy, and he lay on his back in the dark for what felt like hours until Steve woke with a jolt sometime before dawn and knew better than to try to go back to sleep.
He went for a walk instead. It was a cold, frosty morning, and the grass crunched under his boots. This was a small, quaint town, and given the views, it should have been crawling with tourists. But it wasn't, and considering how much people liked a ghost story, Steve had to wonder why.
What kept people out of the woods?
The sun was up when he returned to the inn, and Natasha and Clara were waiting for him in the little restaurant off the lobby.
"You were up early," said Natasha, pushing the tall steel pot of coffee toward him.
"I needed some air," he said, filling his mug.
"Clara was just telling me something interesting before you arrived."
Clara nodded, sliding her phone across the table to show Steve.
"Last night, I got a bunch of notifications in our group chat," she said. "They're old, from the day that everyone went out, but I guess wherever they are now, finally has enough service for their messages to send."
"I already told Hill," said Natasha, "she's going to get back to us with a location."
Steve scrolled through the messages. Most were photos, but there was also a voice note.
"You can play it," said Clara, "it's from Amanda."
Steve played it.
"We miss you already, pipsqueak," chirped Amanda, " Hope you're feeling better! Don't worry, you're not missing much, just a load of walking. I swear the weather didn't say it was going to be this cold- it's been bloody freezing. I wish I'd packed my flannel pants-" she laughed. "If I give you a poke when we're on the way back, you think you could order us a pizza? I saw a takeaway place when we came in-," she broke off, calling to one of her teammates, "Eric, do you hear that?"
That was the end. There was one final text message, but it was just gibberish, like someone had rolled their fingers across the keys.
"There's something else, too," said Clara, "I got a notification that our shared drive was updated. I had a look, so now I can show you exactly where they went."
"Show us?" said Natasha.
"If you'd let me," she said, "I swear I won't get in the way like yesterday- I just, I guess I, let the rumors get to me. I'd read these stories online- it was stupid, and I spooked myself."
Steve didn't think that Clara coming into the woods with them was any better of an idea today than it was yesterday, but if she could show them where the group started and explain what they were doing, it wouldn't hurt.
He told her that if she wanted to come with them then she had to go back as soon as they told her to. Clara wasn’t thrilled with the idea, but agreed anyway.
"I really just want to help," she said, "I want my friends to be okay."
They left as soon as they'd finished breakfast. This time, Clara didn't let the woods stop her. She marched right in and pointed them in the right direction.
The woods still held the same weight as the day before, and somehow, in the early morning light, it was even more noticeable that the whole forest collectively held its breath once they stepped inside.
Clara pulled out a tablet to show them the report she'd received that morning.
"See these data points," she said, scrolling down the page, "that's how I know this is where they were, and if we go just a bit further, we should see-"
Clara gasped, shoving her tablet in the pocket of her backpack, and hurried to the edge of the path. She crouched low, beckoning the both of them over, pointing to a small pink and yellow pointed flower. It had circular leaves, grew only an inch above the ground, and seemed entirely unaffected by frost.
Natasha joined Clara, but Steve stayed where he was. He had a feeling, and it was the kind that he knew better than to ignore. Something was watching them. He turned, gaze raking over the trees, but every time he moved, the sensation moved with him until he'd spun in a circle like an idiot and hadn't seen a damn thing.
"Steve-" called Natasha. He jerked, turning back to her and Clara.
"Come see this," she said.
"What are we looking at?"
"This flower was the reason for our trip," said Clara, "it's really rare, but there are markers in the soil from this region that indicate this is the ideal place for it to grow."
"And what is your research for exactly?"
"For the development of a new drug,” she said, “my department’s been working on it for over twenty years.
"A drug?" Steve said, eyebrows raised.
Clara nodded. "Yes, it's supposed to mimic the healing aspect of Erskine’s formula. Of course, the effects won’t last more than a few hours, but it could be a powerful tool to help with critical injuries. We developed the idea to help with burns specifically."
She smiled ruefully. "I wish I could tell you more, but I'm just an intern, so the specifics are way above my clearance level. I just take notes and fetch coffees. Honestly, I'm probably the least helpful person you could have gotten stuck with."
Natasha stood, holding out her hand to pull Clara to her feet.
"You've been very helpful," she said and then sent Clara back to the inn. While Clara wasn't happy about being sent away, she kept her word and didn't argue.
Once she was out of sight, Natasha turned to Steve.
"You up for this?" she asked.
"Definitely," he said.
"Then what was that space case moment?"
Steve frowned.
"I got a feeling," he said.
"You're going to have to be more specific than that, Rogers."
"Something is watching us," he said, "and every time I try to find it, it moves, so it's always behind me."
"This is a forest full of ghosts; of course something's watching," said Natasha, adjusting her pack. "Shall we?"
"You don't believe in ghosts," said Steve, falling into step with her, their footsteps muffled by a carpet of pine needles and moss.
"You said that this area was crawling with Hydra during the war," she said.
"Sure, but that was years ago."
"That doesn't mean they aren't still here. You said it before; there has to be a reason people don't come here, right?"
The sun filled the clear sky, filtering into pools of white light on the dark forest floor. Steve was used to the weight of the forest now; it wasn't crushing anymore; rather, it had become a comfort like a heavy blanket draped over his shoulders.
Or at least that's how it was at first; but after an hour, things changed. The morning had been cold, but not unreasonably so, but as they came over the top of a pile of rocks, they crossed through what felt like a wall. On the other side, it was a terrible, damp cold, the kind that worked deep into your bones.
The wind picked up, whipping through the trees, branches rattling in a chattering chorus while the wind tore through Steve's jacket, leaving swaths of goosebumps in its wake.
They continued, but any conversation from earlier had dried up; the cold was punishing, the wind was bitter, and their trek had become a miserable slog.
Steve resolutely plodded onward until Natasha grabbed his arm, pulling hard.
"Steve!" she shouted, yanking on his arm.
He turned, startled.
Natasha held fast to his elbow like he'd vanish if she let go.
"Something isn't right here," she said, making sure to meet his eyes, "we need to go; I'll explain later."
"Sure," he said, turning back the way they came.
Whatever had shaken her bothered her enough that she didn't let go of him until they'd crossed back over the rocks, leaving the terrible wind behind them.
"You going to tell me what that was about?" he asked.
Natasha might have relinquished his arm, but she stayed close.
"I was calling to you," she said, "but it was like you couldn't hear me. It was weird; there was this sound, like some kind of static."
Steve frowned. He hadn't heard anything but the wind.
"See," said Natasha, "I think you did, and that's why you couldn't hear me."
She thought it was some kind of weapon and that after all these years, Hydra might still be in the forest.
"Maybe I'm overreacting, but I want a team behind us when we go back there."
That night, Steve had a headache. He could hear the constant buzzing now. It was soft and indistinct, and it would have been easy to get lost in.
He'd followed Natasha into the restaurant at the inn and sat nursing a cold mug of tea while she sipped her wine and chatted with the curious waitress.
Steve wasn't paying attention to their conversation. The music was loud, and the echoing voices filling the lively dining area weren't helping his headache.
After the waitress left, Natasha bumped his knee.
"You still look like shit," she said, looking at him over the rim of her glass.
"Thanks," said Steve, frowning.
"You know," she said, "you can just go to bed."
"What did the waitress want?" he asked.
"She's just curious. These people have lived next to these woods their whole lives, but most of them have never gone inside. She told me there's a woman at the end of the bar I might want to talk to."
"Then let's talk to her," said Steve, moving to get up from the table.
"Sit your ass down, and let me finish my wine."
Steve tried not to glower while Natasha serenely finished her glass.
The short, silver haired woman at the end of the bar didn't look surprised when Natasha sat beside her.
"I was wondering when you'd come to speak with me," she said, explaining that she'd grown up at the edge of the forest.
"When I was young, I played in those very same woods, but by the time I was eleven, no one dared set foot in them."
"Why?" asked Natasha.
"That's when the ghost came," she said. "Although I don't think anyone really believes in him anymore, it doesn't change the fact that he's out there, and if you see him he’ll fill your head with whispers and you'll never come home."
Steve hadn't meant to nod off while the woman was talking, but he did twice, and after the second time, Natasha made it clear that he ought to go to bed.
Steve would have argued on any other day, but today had been exhausting, and the thought of being here at all made his chest pull tight. Even without the mounting guilt that this was their second night here, and they hadn't found the missing scientists.
It had been unlikely the group had not succumbed to the elements, when they’d arrived, and now two days later it was less a rescue mission, and more about bringing back the bodies. No one had said it out loud yet, but that didn't mean it wasn't true.
Tonight, sleeping came easy; it had weighed heavily on Steve since they'd been in the woods, and when he lay down, it pulled him under, leaving him in a dream, one that was familiar and warm. He dreamt often, and this was the kind of dream he loved as much as he hated. Full of rattling radiators, warm afternoon sunshine, and Bucky sitting at the kitchen table, half awake, wrapped around a cracked cup of coffee.
Steve cherished these moments, even when they left a bitter taste in his mouth and a longing for things he'd never have. But that would come later, once he woke up, but for now, when this felt so real and full of color, he would enjoy it.
Only, when he took the wobbly chair opposite Bucky, as he so often did, something wasn't quite right.
Bucky looked at him with dead eyes, and a weight dropped into Steve's stomach. Then he heard it. The humming. Soft and indistinct at first, but it grew louder until, when Bucky spoke, his words were lost in it.
Steve sat rooted in his chair, his hands flat against the table. Try as he might, he couldn't move. He tried to shout but couldn't open his mouth. The humming was deafening, ringing in his head until he could hardly stand it.
Bucky sipped his coffee, unaware that anything was wrong, he smiled at Steve, reaching for his hand. Before Steve could take it, cracks appeared in Bucky’s skin, running up his arm like spider webs, and then he crumbled.
All Steve could do was watch, eyes wide; he tried to cry out, but it was lost in the hum. Bucky was gone. Leaving him alone, in a place that had once been home and now was nothing but a nightmare.
He woke with a shout, throwing back the covers, drenched in sweat, and the humming from the forest still echoed in his head.
The walls of the room pressed in around him. Everything felt far too close, too warm, and too much.
He needed air.
Steve couldn't sit still, not when the whole world felt too small and tight, pressing in on his chest like his ribs would crack, caving in at any moment.
Going out at night alone might not have been one of Steve's better ideas, but it was what he was doing, because the idea of doing anything else was unbearable.
It was a cold, clear night. The stars filled the deep blue of the night sky, and the only sound was the crunching of gravel under his boots. The nights here were peaceful in a way they never were in the city, even if the hum still lurked in Steve’s head.
Natasha was right; whatever caused it was dangerous, but knowing that didn't stop Steve from going into the woods, and returning to the clearing at the water's edge.
The wind picked up, whipping across the water, rocking the pines so that they all swayed as one. It would have been easy to stay here, under the glittering stars, listening to the hum. It was clearer now, like a whisper, and calling to him, beckoning him to follow the river.
It had become impossible to ignore, so he didn’t, even if he knew he should. Steve had had a sickening feeling in his gut since that morning that he knew what haunted the wood and if it wasn’t rational in the slightest, he couldn’t let it go.
So here he was, chasing the hum in his head along the edge of a river bank, in a haunted wood in the middle of the night. If he was wrong, and there was nothing in the wood, then it wouldn't matter, but if he was right, it could change everything.
It started to snow, falling in fat flakes that clung to Steve’s hair and his clothes. The wind was a biting, brutal cold that stung his eyes and ripped at his skin, but still he continued.
Steadfast in his curiosity, Steve rounded a bend in the river, where the grass turned to patches of rocks and sand, and there, on the far side of the clearing at the edge of the pines, something glittered in the moonlight.
Gathered together at the edge of the wood, were eight pillars of ice, sharp and jagged, pointing up toward the stars. Their brutal beauty drew Steve ever toward them, and once he was close enough to touch, he could make out something trapped in the ice. A hand, stretched out as if begging for help, and in another was a woman's face, contorted in horror. He’d found his scientists, each encased in a glittering frozen tomb under the swaying trees of the forest.
He stood transfixed, by the tombs of ice. They were as beautiful as they were terrible. A glittering prison for people whose only crime was wandering where they shouldn't have, a crime of curiosity.
Steve's breath came in great white puffs that vanished into the frosty air. It was even colder now; his hands had gone numb, his fingers stiff and painful from the cold, and no matter how much Steve knew that he shouldn't stay, he couldn't make himself move from among the pillars of ice.
The weight of the forest sat heavy on his exhausted shoulders, a reminder that Steve shouldn’t be here, and ought to leave while he still could. Only when he tried to take a step his feet were rooted to the ground. Locked in cruel ice that crept over the tops of his boots, wrapping around his ankles in sharp, shining spikes.
The hum was no longer a whisper, but a roar, drowning out everything but the rising panic trying to claw its way out of Steve's chest. He'd known when he entered the clearing that it was unlikely he'd walk back out, but Steve couldn't let it end like this, not without knowing.
The ice was to his knees now, and it didn’t matter how Steve twisted, and fought he couldn't get free. His desperation poured out of his mouth, begging for the ghosts of his past to forgive him, but his frantic pleas were lost in the wind, while the hum rang ever louder in his head.
Eventually, his voice broke mid-plea, fading until all that was left was a sob.
"Who the hell is Bucky?"
Steve's head snapped toward the edge of the wood. Standing among the shivering pines, wrapped all in white, was Bucky. He was just as he'd been the last time that Steve saw him, only now his eyes were too bright, his skin too pale, like some kind of Fae dripping in ice.
"You are," said Steve; it came out as a whisper; there was no way Bucky could have heard it over the wind.
"You know me," said Bucky.
Steve couldn't answer. This wasn't real, it couldn't be real. That wasn’t Bucky - it had to be something else, some kind of nightmare wearing his face.
Bucky stepped closer.
"If you know me," he said, "you should have stayed away."
"I'm glad I didn't.”
The ice was at Steve’s waist now; it dug into his skin, seeping into his joints, until it burned.
"You're going to die," said Bucky, "they all die when they find me."
He looked away, staring off into the forest.
"A long time ago," croaked Steve, fighting for every word. The ice reached his chest, a crushing weight forcing all the wind out of him. "You made me a promise. You and me until the end of the line, so as long as I'm with you, I don't care what happens to me."
Bucky tilted his head, appraising him.
"I was that important to you?"
"You were everything."
"But you left me," said Bucky, his voice going cold. "You left me in the cold- and it took me and made me this- this thing, and now whatever I am, I can't-"
"I didn't know- I swear-" Steve pleaded, "I would have come for you- I’d do anything for you-"
The ice slid over his shoulder, wrapping around his throat, and squeezed. There wasn't much time left. Steve didn't care about that, not really; all that mattered was that Bucky knew he was sorry.
"I wish you did," said Bucky, "but you didn't, and I was alone for so long. And now, you're going to leave me again, and the worst of it is that I'll miss you."
The edges of Steve's vision had gone dark, blurring. This was going to be the end. But Bucky was here with him, his hand soft against his cheek, and if he was gonna go, then at least they were together.
That's all he wanted. For them to be together, even if it was only for this moment.
Steve closed his eyes, ready to surrender to the ice.
"For what it's worth," breathed Bucky, leaning in close, "I never wanted it to end this way."
His thumb swept over Steve's cheek, burning an icy path over his skin, before pressing his lips against Steve's, just for a second, as something of a farewell. In that second, there was a sound, like the shattering of a thousand panes of glass. The ice splintered, crumbling, freeing Steve from its crushing embrace.
He gasped, eyes flying open; Steve reached out as Bucky tried to back away.
“Wait-” gasped Steve, pulling Bucky close, he kissed him, deep and hungry and desperate, and this time when he cupped Bucky’s cheek, it was warm.
The end.