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The expectations inherent of the title Winter Soldier didn’t bother Bucky so much as the reputation it carried. The name in and of itself wasn’t so bad, nor was it particularly unflattering. Winter was brisk, clean, devastating. Soldier implied clinical, tactical, removed. There were worse names a science experiment could acquire. He had been called a collection of bad things. (He had been called nothing at all, and that was the worst.) Winter Soldier sometimes didn’t feel bad; it felt correct. When he stared up at the ceiling, musing on James but Bucky with Sergeant and Soldat, he saw the blank of meaningless white, empty while heavy, and felt within and without that Winter Soldier was correct. Nobody called him that anymore beyond files and case history and even then with careful brevity. It was another curious piece of himself he carried about, not entirely dead but certainly frozen. Pun intended. No better way to break the ice than a good pun, Bucky thought with a smile. Winter jokes made everybody squirm at first, until Natasha gave them all permission to roll their eyes and glare because he wasn’t made of glass, if you encourage him he’ll never stop. But they made Steve smile, and that was enough. He had an endless supply and a stone-cold delivery.
But in spite of all that, Bucky ran hot. He suspected Steve did, too, a result of the serum that moved the thick, rich blood faster and sweeter than a normal human might know. He didn’t feel the cold in a way that distracted him on December mornings, the way that Clint would hop from the icy kitchen tile to the couch in bare feet, the way Sam cursed his cooling mug every fifteen minutes. His blood, viscous and battle born, frenzied his core like a furnace, and when he could manage sleep he did not need the quilt (though he wrapped it tightly around himself just the same.)
It occurred to him that the serum was self-sustaining in that it denied him the need or use of others to keep warm. It was a practical skill, but Bucky noticed in a roundabout and slightly envious way that needing others to keep warm was a little charming. Wanda would burrow into Natasha on the couch during movies and watch as a sweet, singular heap. Pepper often stuck her hands in Tony’s pockets. In front of the fire one night, Thor wrapped himself around Jane like a great bearskin and they just sat like that, gentle, close, for longer than Bucky felt comfortable admitting he stayed to watch.
Though more than once a teammate had offered, Steve didn’t need a cuddle-buddy, as he called them, which honestly was a crime against nature. He was like a living, breathing, pulsating hot mug of perfection that smelled like clean Irish linen air-dried in the woods by birds and squirrels. Here was a body meant to be cuddled. On the other hand Bucky was part scrap heap; he never flattered himself to think he could cuddle. So it happened that the two natural furnaces sat on opposite ends of the couch watching A Charlie Brown Christmas, Bucky glaring at Steve Who Did Not Cuddle all the while for reasons Steve did not understand nor would he trouble himself with asking. Sam was not so passive.
“What’re you grumbling at, Barnes? You like this one,” he reminded him. Bucky was unsure if he meant the movie or the super soldier and he grunted noncommittally in response. Instead he nodded towards the windows behind Sam.
“It’s snowing,” he observed. Sam jumped up. It was the first snow of the season.
“Snow!” If he meant to look mature about it, he failed on the launch and tried to recover in time for the landing. “This is really gonna fuck up my commute in the morning,” he said, clearing his throat. Steve laughed and got up to join him, looking out.
“Weather report said 10 to 14 inches overnight,” he said. “Nothin’ you can’t handle.”
“There’s a joke there that I’m not gonna touch,” Sam said, eyeing him pointedly. Steve grinned and opened the balcony doors. “You’re gonna catch a cold out there in your jammies, dude.”
“I won’t,” he said lightly. Sam shivered, even in his sweater, and retreated to the kitchen. Bucky heard the microwave engage as his mug warmed up again. Steve stood out there silently, staring up into the snow in a t-shirt and sweatpants. Snowflakes landed everywhere about him and vanished immediately. He beamed at Bucky.
“C’mon out, it’s the first snow! You need to catch a snowflake and make a wish!” Bucky watched him in awe. Steve was looking straight up into the darkness like he might spin until he got dizzy. There was a tiny, ragdoll boy trapped in that giant meatsuit. “Buck! C’mon!” Shaken from his reverie, Bucky got up and stepped outside, flexing involuntarily as his mechanisms adjusted in the temperature swerve. “I’m getting them everywhere but my tongue,” Steve said. Bucky opened his mouth and tilted his head back. Immediately a snowflake hit him in the eye.
“Ow. Fuck.”
“Close your eyes,” Steve said softly. Bucky groused.
“Then how am I supposed to catch one?”
“Patience.” They stood next to each other in silence for what was either minutes or days. Bucky opened his eyes briefly to steal a look at Steve, angelic and happy. Immediately another snowflake hit him in the eye.
“Fucking--- c’mon!” Sam snorted from the couch inside.
“When they have to thaw you two dopes out again I will be there when you wake up to say I told you so, no matter how many years I gotta wait.” Steve folded his arms and Bucky involuntarily mimicked him.
“Chill out, Sam,” he deadpanned. Steve grinned.
“It’s beautiful out here, Sam, I wish we had ice cream,” he sassed. A snowflake landed on his tongue as he teased and he jumped in the air. “Ha! Got one. Thanks, Sam.”
“Any time, I guess.”
“Did you catch some?” Steve asked, sweet and low. Bucky nodded. “Good. You have to get that first-snow-wish. It’s tradition.” Bucky took his word for it. Steve slid the balcony door shut behind him when they stepped back inside. Sam had shut off the movie and it was clear that everyone was going to bed. Bucky continued to look out the balcony doors at the snow that made no sign of stopping. An inch had already accumulated on the railing and everything looked sweet in the white frosted glow. Steve turned back to him as he passed through the living room. “Gonna try to sleep tonight, Buck?” He asked. He was kind in his careful words. Bucky nodded. “Okay. Goodnight, pal.”
It was quiet and dark and watching the snow comforted him as singular cold thoughts floated similarly in his head. The wind picked up as time passed and the blizzard wore on. The image of Steve catching perfect crystals, his breath in sweet icy clouds, was tugging something out from a corner in his memory that he couldn’t halfway open. Often he crept around his own thoughts like Minesweeper, which was much easier on his phone than in his mind. Remembering an exercise Dr. Banner had suggested, he replayed the moment that had triggered the deja vu, trying to tease the memory fully into light. Close your eyes--- patience--- it’s beautiful out here I wish we had---
Ice cream.
Shit. Ice cream. They made ice cream out of snow. Little Steve, chattering cold, stuck to each other under one blanket like a twin pop melting together, and that little shit still wanted to make ice cream. Milk, if they had any, cream if they were very patient. Sugar, just a bit. Vanilla, from the neighbors. Fresh, beautiful snow. He checked the refrigerator and scowled.
“FRIDAY,” Bucky whispered. “Hey, FRIDAY.”
“What do you need, sir?” The system whispered back. Bucky smiled at no one. It was a cute machine. He liked her.
“Do you know the closest place to get cream?” He asked the empty kitchen. In a moment she responded with a projected map on the island counter.
“It appears that your local bodegas carry half-and-half but have closed for the night. The 24-hour has also closed due to weather conditions.”
“Shit.”
“However,” FRIDAY continued to whisper, “there is a supply of coffee creamer in Mr. Stark’s lab. Sugar packets as well.” Bucky considered it.
“Interesting.”
“Shall I tell him you’re coming? He is working.” Tony was always working. Bucky privately wondered if any two superheroes were ever asleep at the same time. It seemed unlikely.
“No, I’ll surprise him.” Bucky suspected she would tell him anyway. Tony didn’t particularly like that so many of his housemates were ‘ghost-level stealthy.’ FRIDAY was his last line of defense. “Thank you, miss.”
“Always a pleasure, sir.”
Bucky waved at the ceiling because no one was watching and he liked the idea that she lived there, like some kind of benevolent raccoon in the air ducts. He wasn’t technology deficient, as Steve sometimes pretended to be for comedic effect, but he was charmed by Tony’s android developments. Whether it was because he felt a kinship, he would never admit, but he was nonetheless very supportive of helpful, regulated AI. He slipped past Steve’s closed door and smiled at his newly dusted memory, hard-won. Stringbean Rogers, challenging the world. Ice cream in December. They rarely could afford it in the hotter months, and with snow readily available Steve Prone-to-All-Diseases Rogers refused to be sensible and demanded they dine on fine, slushy cream, even if he shivered the whole night through, pressed into Bucky like a wax seal on his chest. Sweet and happy.
And Steve had wished on his snowflake for ice cream. He would make it come true.
In front of Tony’s lab he waved his arms until he caught the man’s attention, rather than barge in and start any trouble. Tony had his 2 am look about him, the wired but weary, and he welcomed the company.
“Come on in, Barnes, I’m working on something cool. You wanna see?” Tony adopted a dad-voice when showing off toys in production.
“Okay.” Bucky humored him. “Is it a sleeping pill?”
“Unfortunately for both of us, no,” he said. “Hold this.” Bucky glanced at Tony’s outstretched hands and a metal device, and back up to Tony’s eyes. “Won’t bite, I have other toys for that.” Bucky held out his hand and Tony set down the little remote. A hologram tree popped up, a perfect little tannenbaum.
“Cute,” Bucky said. Tony wiggled his fingers above it and little snowflakes fell onto the branches. He poked at the tree and ornaments popped up wherever he gestured. Different hand motions made different decorations. He used his pointer finger and wrote above it in curly-cue cursive, ‘merry christmas you little shit.’ “Motion sensitive. And now I can send this to any StarkPhone with any song I want.”
“The kids’ll love it,” Bucky said, stone-faced. Tony sent it to Rhodey, and it would blare ‘All I Want for Christmas is You’ whenever he inevitably opened it in public. “I need all your half-and-half,” Bucky suddenly said. Tony frowned.
“I don’t have any, per se? I have like a hundred creamer pods in various seasonally appropriate flavors and the odds of it containing real anything---”
“That’s what FRIDAY said. Thank you,” Bucky preempted, as if Tony had already agreed. Tony raised one eyebrow.
“Is this where I get to ask you what you want to do with all of it? You are aware no matter how many half-and-half you put together you will never achieve a full?”
“I’m making Steve snow ice cream,” Bucky said. His honesty caught Tony off guard. “From when we were kids.” Tony blinked.
“That’s--- I don’t know what this feeling in my heart is but I think I saw it happen in a Dr. Seuss book once.”
“Can I have your half-and-half?”
“Yeah,” Tony said, scrambling to extract himself from his desk. “Yeah, obviously yes. Take all of it.”
Bucky sat opening individual pods in the kitchen for the next twenty minutes, pouring their tiny contents into an empty mason jar and stacking the empty cups in a little wall along the sink. He glanced up every now and then to make sure it was still snowing. He stuck a bowl outside and left it to accumulate fresh snowfall while he put together the creamer (which was now a very odd mixture of vanilla and hazelnut that wasn’t altogether offensive but tasted rather like a tootsie roll) and sugar and a pinch of salt, which he didn’t remember but FRIDAY pointed out, making it clear he was being monitored at Stark’s request. Bucky told her to send him a Christmas tree hologram that said ‘go to bed’ and played Clair de Lune. She did.
Bucky was still watching snow fall into the bowl at 4 am when Steve joined him, unaware why they were watching a bowl on the balcony and not needing to ask.
“You weren’t in your room,” he said. “No sleep?” Bucky shook his head.
“Important business.”
“Ah,” Steve said. “Right. The snow.”
“I remembered something. So I’m trying to remember more,” Bucky said, wrapping his arms around his knees.
“Hm? From the snow?” Steve’s face grew dark. “Buck---”
“No, not like that,” he quickly dispelled Steve’s fear. “From Brooklyn. From--- you.” Steve looked back at the snow in the bowl, and back to Bucky, trying himself to remember. His eyebrows shot up.
“Do we have cream?” He asked suddenly.
“Kind of.”
“Oh my god!” Steve’s face lit up and he jumped to his feet. “Snow ice cream! Buck! I remember!” He threw open the door and grabbed the bowl, shoveling extra snow into it before bringing it carefully inside, a precious treasure. Pieces trailed behind him, quickly melting, as he brought it to the kitchen counter. Bucky followed.
“You’re supposed to remember these things, how come I’m doing the heavy memory lifting?” Bucky grinned. His notebook was open next to the jar of half-and-half sugar mix, a ramshackle recipe and a description of the memory that came with it so that he could keep that time, no matter what. He might have been embarrassed in any other moment, to have Steve read what that world meant and felt to hold, but he was happy to bring the memory back to both of them.
Christmastime
Snow melts quickly, our one big porcelain bowl usually for ?? hot water.
Milk bottle, sugar borrowed.
Fruit? Probably not. Rare--
Roof snow, eaten fast while it melts inside. Steve’s hands are red with cold.
Hold him all night.
Very sweet. Soft.
Steve smiled, reading it twice. Bucky meanwhile folded the liquid very carefully into the snow. He was almost sure there would be too much sugar. Very sweet. Soft. Looking up, Steve took in the mixing process, settled in the quiet. The look of pride that lit Bucky’s eyes was so rare and bright that he didn’t want to rattle it even by breathing. Bucky looked satisfied at the slush, and took it without another word to the couch, where he sat cross-legged with the bowl and two spoons laid carefully in front of him. Steve followed. FRIDAY had started very softly playing the jazzy Peanuts Christmas soundtrack in the background and he knew that was Tony’s doing but didn’t mention it. He was transfixed by Bucky, there in the soft glow of the mantle’s Christmas lights, this boy who managed to mine out a precious moment like this from the cold darkness. Steve’s heart ached to think what a process this was, what a life to live beneath those locked boxes in his head, mistrusting but trying, trying so hard. It was a wonder. His strength carried him for years and years while Steve slept unknowing through the ice. It was all he could do to keep from crying. Bucky offered him a spoon.
“No guarantees on taste,” he said with half a smile. “I’m not sure I’ve ever had hazelnut before.” Steve put an entire spoonful in his mouth, the cold giving way to sugar immediately in a melting rush. He smiled and wrinkled his nose.
“Very sweet,” he said. “Exactly like you remembered.” He met Bucky’s eyes with earnest delight. “Don’t take my word for it, try some before it melts!” Bucky took a timid bite before tucking in enthusiastically.
“Way better than the stuff in the carton,” Bucky said between bites. “Tastes like winter.”
“It does. I remember this,” Steve said, seeing this Bucky across from him for the first time in what felt like ages, his legs folded, eyes eager, a shade of something tucked away like mischief. The bowl was empty too fast, the soft laughter and remembrances with it, and Steve set it on the coffee table, no impediment now between them. They settled into the sugar crash then, watching the snow fall outside. Bucky’s arms were stretched over the back of the couch. A shiver caught Steve by surprise. Bucky smiled.
“Super soldiers don’t get cold,” he said.
“Super soldiers usually don’t eat entire mixing bowls of ice cream in front of a drafty door,” Steve pointed out, holding himself with a bit of a pout. The opportunity knocked, a Christmas miracle in the here and now, and Bucky let his arm drop around him. Steve curled into his body just slightly, just enough.
“Well, you made a first snowflake wish for ice cream,” Bucky said, sleep and the comfort of a safer time warming to him gently. “It came true.”
“Guess so,” Steve said with a smile. “Did yours?” Bucky looked down at him, remembering something else of wishing, of Steve, softer, sweeter. Winter.
“Yeah. It did.”
“Magic,” Steve murmured as he drifted off, that ragdoll boy at home at last.
“Yeah. Just like I remember.”