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The moment Bucky opened his eyes, he knew it was going to be a bad day. His bed loomed around him, quiet and empty. It should've been warm under the blanket, but instead, the cold pressed down like a weight. An icy, inescapable chill seeped into his bones. He shivered involuntarily. A momentary spike of panic permeated his sleep-addled mind. It forced him into abrupt, unpleasant wakefulness before it mercifully retreated.
He was used to being cold. It had nipped at him in 1945, on the train and in the mountains. It had burned into his skin when he fell. By the time Hydra took him to Siberia, it was a story that could never be unwritten. Bucky Barnes was always freezing.
Sometimes, he wondered if his life was actually a dream. He wondered if a small corner of his brain was awake in the cryostasis tube. Maybe Steve and the Thunderbolts were a fabrication of his uneasy stasis, and the cold never left because his body was still frozen solid. He shivered again, turning the thought over in his mind. It was easier in bed, when things were quiet and still. He could bear it then: the knowledge that none of it was real.
Suddenly, his door slammed open.
"Hey–" Yelena started.
"I told you not to bother him."
That was John.
Ava: "Oh, whatever. He'll be fine."
"I assure you," Alexei rumbled from somewhere in the scrum that had forced its way into Bucky's bedroom. "He will understand. This is Christmas!"
"Guys, uh…" Bob trailed off. Everyone spun around to look at him. "He's awake."
Bucky rubbed his face. He heaved himself into a sitting position. The blanket dripped off his chest, pooling around his waist. He didn't bother to collect it. The fabric wouldn't stave off the cold.
"What?" he grumbled. His voice sounded like grating coals. Had he been screaming in his sleep again?
The rest of them looked at each other, suddenly dead quiet. Maybe they hadn't expected his sour mood. Maybe they'd expected a smile and good cheer. Unfortunately, he couldn't offer them either.
"Merry Christmas!" Yelena broke the silence. "Now get up, we have presents."
Bucky frowned.
"You're such a Grinch," Ava rolled her eyes.
"Here," John stuck his hand out. There was a steaming mug of coffee in it.
Bucky took it reluctantly. He waited in vain for the heat to permeate his fingertips. John pulled back, putting his eyes anywhere but on Bucky's exposed chest. Bucky couldn't blame him for that. The socket for his vibranium arm went farther back than most people realized. A good chunk of his left side was solid metal. It had to be, otherwise the mechanism would rip straight out of his skin. He straightened his back unconsciously, feeling the connection ports in his spine shift.
"Come on," Alexei practically bounced on his feet. "There is American tree and everything."
Bucky sipped the scalding coffee. It almost burned his tongue. He could feel it going down his throat, but the heat didn't quite reach his stomach.
"Only if you want," Bob held out a pair of crumpled, dark jeans. He looked like he was earnestly trying to help, and that, above everything else, finally did Bucky in.
"Alright," his facade cracked. He motioned Bob over, taking the jeans before he could talk himself out of it. "Give me five minutes."
"You can have three," Ava generously offered.
How'd they get her in on this? Didn't she hate holidays? Mercifully, the group filed out of the room without any further ribbing. The door closed quietly behind them. For his part, Bucky gargled the coffee and finger-combed his hair. He pulled on the jeans and a similarly nondescript shirt from off the floor.
Two and a half minutes later, he cracked open his door.
The others were milling around, chatting animatedly about whatever celebration they'd thrown together. Bucky closed his eyes. He suppressed another shiver. Then he plastered something approximating a pleasant expression on his face and spun out the door.
"Someone said something about a tree?" he said.
"Yes, yes," Yelena waved her hand. "It is very glamorous."
"It's truly something," Ava's sarcasm bounced off Alexei's good mood.
"Let me show you, Mr. Soldier! You will not be disappointed."
Bucky ignored the way his bones were screaming. He ignored the shadows that gathered at the corners of his vision. He even ignored John's eyes on his back, lingering across his shoulders. So he was cold. So what? He was always, always cold.
Together, the group moved up toward the bar. It was the unofficial headquarters of the Watchtower. Sure, they had the command center, but the couches in there were uncomfortable and nobody really liked the color scheme. The bar was different. Cozy. Bob had pummeled them in there, but after the void, those memories were practically fond ones.
Bucky didn't have a lot of fond memories.
He took a sip of his coffee, prepared to see a sad little tree and whatever passed for decorations, only to nearly choke.
There was Christmas, and then there was Christmas. There was a full-blown Douglas fir. Lights. Tinsel. A big fuck-off star. A trail of presents covered the ground. Garlands hung on the walls. Their two mismatched couches–thanks, random guy Bob knew somehow–were shoved close together. The coffee table sported a massive plate of cookies. Alexei's TV was somehow hooked up to a laptop, both of which played a video of a roaring fireplace.
"We, um, got a little carried away," Bob muttered.
Bucky slurped his coffee a smidge too loudly.
"Oh, shut your face," Yelena punched his shoulder. "You love it."
He didn't love it, but he didn't exactly hate it. It was big and loud and a little bit sloppy around the edges. But that was the Thunderbolts to a T, wasn't it?
It was dark outside. The city sparkled behind the windows. Bucky wasn't surprised, necessarily. He frequently kept odd hours. Waking up in pitch blackness was business as usual. In fact, he couldn't remember the last time he'd had a good night's sleep. He paused. Had the rest of them thrown this together just today? A little pulse of warmth bloomed in his chest, only to vanish in the chill permeating his skin.
"Here!" Alexei threw something at him way too fast. Bucky caught it on instinct alone. "You first."
"I, uh," Bucky turned the box over in his hand. "Didn't get you anything."
"Pff," Yelena scoffed. "Do not worry, you can take credit for whatever Walker did."
"Hey," John scowled.
"You're here," Bob chimed in softly. "That's enough."
Bucky's expression didn't break, but it was a near thing. He knew they expected him to leave. They expressed it in different ways, but it was like a specter hanging over the group. Bucky's here, but only for the time being. Bucky's going to leave any day now. He'll go back to Sam and his real life–
"Just open it already," Ava said.
Bucky huffed. He was never very good at the whole talking thing. He didn't know how to express himself, but he knew one thing for certain: for better or worse, this was his life. It was the life he chose. The one he wanted. Sam could be mad about it–frequently and emphatically–but nothing was going to change. Not even the cold could stop that.
The wrapping paper, which was surprisingly tasteful, tore under his hands. The box underneath was small but not too small. He set his coffee down on the coffee table. Yelena grinned out of the corner of his eye, surprisingly cat-like.
Bucky opened the box to reveal a thick, fluffy ushanka. He pulled it free from its confines, astounded by the craftsmanship. Because it wasn't just a ushanka, it was a nice one. It looked warm. Real warm. It felt almost sinfully soft under his fingers.
"Put it on," Yelena waved at him.
Bucky slid the hat on his head. It fit perfectly. Of course it did. Yelena might act like she didn't care about anything, but she noticed far more than she let on. If she wanted to get a custom-made Russian cap to his exact measurements, she had the skills to do it and then some. Despite himself, he smiled.
"Look who finally decided to imbibe the Christmas spirit," Ava said.
Bucky crossed his arms.
"Well, back in my day…" he started, only to stop when he was met with a familiar wave of groaning.
Seemingly satisfied that he was alive and firmly in the present, the rest of the group quickly devolved into a gremlin-like mob. They tore open their presents with wild abandon. Bucky, meanwhile, pulled the hat down around his ears. It was nice. It felt nice. He waited expectantly, hoping it would do something to erase the ever-present chill in his blood. When nothing happened, he told himself he knew better. He told himself to ignore the little throb of disappointment under his ribcage.
"You awake over there, grandpa?" John drifted closer.
Bucky sat down on the couch. It put him back in range of his coffee, which he decided to chug before it got cold. He couldn't feel the heat, but that didn't mean he wanted to waste it.
"Alright, well," John cleared his throat. He held out a little box. "Here."
Bucky fixed him with a glare, but John was virtually immune to that trick lately. He leaned forward, and Bucky heaved the least dramatic sigh in his repertoire before he reached up to take the gift. Their fingers brushed for a millisecond when the box changed hands. John frowned. Bucky opened his mouth to apologize. It figured that John didn't want to touch him–
"You're freezing," John interrupted his train of thought.
"Metal is cold," Bucky shot back automatically. He rolled his vibranium shoulder.
John fixed him with a surprisingly appraising look. Bucky froze. He went to scoot away, but John was faster. He snatched Bucky's wrist, wrapping it up in a firm grip. Bucky glowered, only to realize a startling truth. John was warm. He felt like a furnace.
Steve was like a furnace, too, Bucky's brain supplied unhelpfully.
John lifted Bucky's right arm, waving it around in front of his face like he didn't know what it looked like.
"Not metal," John enunciated.
Bucky tried to yank his hand back, but John was strong enough to fight him. The two of them tussled for a long second before John deliberately dropped his fingers.
"Seriously," John said. "Let's get you a jacket or something."
"No," Bucky's voice came out completely toneless. Fuck. He hadn't meant to lapse back into old habits.
John's eyes narrowed. He stared down. Really stared.
Bucky hated it. He hated feeling exposed. Flayed open. Vivisected. It was like John could see all the rot inside him, frozen in ice. But that was always the problem, wasn't it? John saw him: not the Winter Soldier, not Steve's second or Sam's begrudging coworker. Him. And Bucky had never let anyone that close before. He wasn't about to start now.
"Hey," John's voice echoed over the team's bickering with an ease that took Bucky by surprise. He'd never heard that tone, and he was pretty sure the rest of them hadn't either.
Army Ranger Captain, and wow, Bucky's brain was really determined to piss him off today with the random tidbits.
"Bucky's cold," John said.
Ava and Yelena exchanged a puzzled glance. Even Alexei fell silent.
John sighed. Abruptly, he flopped down on the couch. Bucky blinked at him in noncomprehension, then dawning horror. John slung an arm over his shoulder. He yanked, and suddenly Bucky was pressed against him from torso to hip. Warmth flared a line against his skin.
Surprisingly, Bob was first to react. He seated himself on Bucky's other side, casual as could be. He wasn't hot in the way that John was, but he burned with a fire all his own. Bucky could feel it radiating like a miniature sun. At the sight of the three of them, Yelena's expression shifted. She bounced over. Bucky raised an eyebrow. Sometime in the last few minutes, she'd acquired a fluffy, bright orange sweater. It was too big for her; the sleeves pooled around her wrists.
"Move," she shooed John to the side.
Under normal circumstances, John would've moved. He would've stood up, because none of them really wanted to mess with Yelena. Instead, he simply grabbed Bucky and yanked him to the left. Bucky landed summarily in John's lap, which was both disconcerting and very solid.
Yelena folded against his newly freed side. Ava appeared next to her, squishing them toward Bob. Not to be outdone, Alexei flopped down on top.
Suddenly, Bucky was surrounded by people. It was heavy and sweaty and it smelled like a combination of Christmas cookies and whatever was going on with Yelena's new sweater.
It was also warm.
It was so, so warm.
Bob let out a little chortle, and then they were all laughing, even Bucky. Alexei leaned into it the hardest, belly laughing so loud he vibrated on their legs.
"You know we're here for you, right?" Yelena elbowed Bucky in the ribs. "Even Walker."
"Hey!" John protested for the umpteenth time.
"I can't breathe," Ava remarked breezily.
It took Yelena about a minute to shove Alexei off, but she managed it eventually. His exit rippled through the rest of the group. The separated one by one, returning to their presents, or else the prodigious pile of cookies on the coffee table. All of them, that was, except for John. Bucky was still perched on his lap, pinning him in place. He should've been embarrassed, but he couldn't quite manage it.
"Last one in here has to clean everything up!" Yelena suddenly shouted.
The Thunderbolts raced off in a herd, leaving John and Bucky alone on the couch.
Bucky almost stood up. Almost. But… John was warm.
John was warm, and that meant Bucky was warm. He was warm and–
He was alive. He was real. He– He wasn't in a cryo tube. He wasn't Hydra's weapon or Zola's experiment. The memories carved into his body didn't fade, but suddenly, they weren't so overpowering anymore. Suddenly, he could breathe again.
Neither of them said anything. Neither of them needed to.
Bucky listened to John's regular, even heartbeat for a long, long time. He didn't realize he was crying until his tears dripped onto his shirt.
"Bucky?" John rumbled against his neck.
He didn't reply. He couldn't speak around the frog in his throat. Instead, he reached for John's hand. Their fingers interlaced as natural as breathing. Bucky squeezed, putting everything he couldn't say into that one, lingering gesture.
Behind him, John relaxed. He squeezed back, soft and gentle.
"I'm here," he said quietly. "I'm always here."
To his own surprise, Bucky believed it.