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The light glinting off the snow was blinding, a seemingly endless blizzard of refracting shards tumbling about the body of the thundering train.
Shots ricocheted off the walls of the claustrophobic box car, sending sparks over his shield. The side of the car was already blown open - when did that happen?
He stopped, starring out the tear in the metal. Something was out there. He turned to Bucky, standing on his left, using his shield to deflect bullets. A dark shape emerged from the gloom behind Bucky. It was gigantic, a towering smear against the wall.
"Buck, look out!"
Something impacted the train. It shook, sending Steve tumbling to the ground. When he raised his eyes again he saw the shield laying face up on the metal, the bright light from the Alps making an umbrella of light along it's stripes. He heard a scream - Bucky - a sound he had only heard once, when-
At last he was able to tear his eyes from the shield, his gaze going to the raging snow outside, his body following after swiftly.
Bucky hung on to the rail jutting from the train, one hand swinging in tandem with the train's motion, the other gripping the iron bar with slipping, ice cold fingers. His brown hair whipped around his head like the flag in New Jersey used to snap in the wind. His ocean blue eyes were filled with terror, and pleading, and desperation; and Steve felt his stomach twist in sick, horrible familiarity as he reached through the ragged metal towards him.
"Grab my hand!" he yelled over the howling wind. Bucky tried to swing towards it, but the movement shook his grip on the rail and fresh terror flashed across his face.
He looked up at Steve. Locked eyes. Ocean meeting sky, like he needed the horizon.
"Please," Bucky choked out, voice strangled and faint, but somehow Steve heard it over the wind.
Steve learned forward, reaching as far as he could, as a voice broke the noise.
"Грузовой вагон."
The howling stopped.
All around, the world carried on in motion, but silently, until the rustle of Steve's clothes as he turned to look behind, still sprawled across the car's metal floor.
The dark had coalesced, and now it was a figure, still dark - with black clothing and lank brown hair, eyes smeared in soot. A silver arm, a red star.
In the Soldier's grip was Bucky, dressed for a day out in Brooklyn, 2016.
The Soldier's right hand was under Bucky's jaw, gripping the place where Steve knew his arteries pulsed under too-pale skin. His left - silver, red star - was wrapped around Bucky's middle, pinning his arms to his torso and Bucky's body to his.
The silence remained.
Bucky's expression was intense, but unreadable. He shook his head.
Steve looked to the Soldier, grip tight and jaw set in determination - face filled with unspeakable fear.
He didn't meet Steve's eyes; staring haunted, scared, into the silent howling abyss outside.
Freight car.
"Please."
Suddenly Steve saw nothing but darkness, blackness so eternal. Then he caught a hint of blue, a silvery light, blankets sliding over his body as the person beside him writhed.
"Please no," Bucky whimpered. "Please- please don't- I'll do it, I'll do it, please-"
Steve was hovering over him in an instant, reaching out to smooth the tormented look on his face.
"Bucky," he said urgently. Whether it was real or not (and he thought it was), he could help. "Bucky, please wake up. It's okay, I'm here. We're in Brooklyn, to you're safe -"
"NO!" he screamed, twisting away and out of Steve's hands. "No no no no no no no-" he dissolved into Russian, muttering and screaming and pleading.
Steve's blood was pure panic, his heart pumped horror and anguish through his veins in equal measure. He couldn't bear it - couldn't bear to see Bucky screaming like this - like nothing in heaven or hell could save him.
His eyes snapped open, and there was iron around Steve's wrist. Buck's eyes were wide, almost perfect circles, blue invisible in the dark that did nothing to conceal the raw fear in them.
Steve froze, not trying to break free from the grip on his wrist or the eye contact.
"Bucky," he murmured very slowly, softly. "I'm right here, Buck. You're okay. We're safe."
The terror in his eyes ebbed slightly, but no recognition took its place.
"I'm gonna touch you, doll, that alright?" He moved even slower than his words, his fingers extending in minute fractions until they reached his hair, brushing aside the slightly outgrown locks, barely caressing the skin just behind his ear, the softest spot on his whole body.
Steve knew there weren't a lot of nerves there, so he hoped the sensation wouldn't overwhelm him, but ground him.
"Bucky?" he asked again, even quieter than before.
Bucky stared longer before he spoke in a very small voice.
"Stevie?"
Steve couldn't stop the smile spreading across his face. Buck's grip loosened.
"Yeah," he said. "We're okay. We're safe now."
Bucky searched his face, as if for untruth.
"Oh," he said, still small. His gaze drifted past Steve, fixing on the wall before returning to his eyes. That desperate horizon.
"Hold?" he asked, in the timid shorthand he always used when he was like this. Gutted.
Shattered.
Steve nodded, endorsed the slightly smaller man in his arms. He stayed mostly limp, but Steve tucked his chin over his head nonetheless.
"It's going to be okay now," Steve said.
They were alive.
"Okay," Bucky said after a long pause, at last returning the embrace.
After all they had been through, they were still alive.