Chapter Text
The wind howled with a fury that seemed to rip the trees from their roots. Snow fell in waves so dense it was nearly impossible to see the path ahead. Bucky pushed forward with firm steps, every muscle in his body screaming from the effort. Zemo stumbled behind him, wrapped in a coat far too thin for the harshness of winter.
“We won’t last much longer out here,” Bucky muttered, turning his head just enough to make sure Zemo heard him.
Zemo nodded faintly, lips numb, eyes half-shut against the icy wind. He didn’t answer. He had learned that with Barnes, silence was sometimes better than words.
The storm had come faster than expected. What had begun as a simple scouting trip in neutral territory had turned into a desperate fight against the fiercest cold either of them had faced in years.
At last, through the white haze, Bucky spotted a dark silhouette. An old wooden cabin stood among the pines, like a fragile promise of shelter.
“There,” he said firmly, gripping Zemo’s arm to keep him from stumbling.
The baron muttered something unintelligible, his feet dragging across the hardened snow.
Bucky shoved the door open, the wood groaning with a rusty creak. Inside, the air was freezing, but at least the walls shielded them from the storm. A fireplace stood on one side, covered in dust and cobwebs, waiting to be alive again.
“Sit,” Bucky ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument. Zemo obeyed, collapsing into a chair that groaned under his weight.
The soldier moved quickly: gathering damp wood from the floor, splintering old boards, and carefully coaxing a fire to life. The first spark lit up the shadows, and warmth began to breathe into the room.
Zemo rubbed his hands clumsily. Memories of past winters cut through him like invisible blades. He had lost too much on nights like this: his family, his faith in the future, his ability to trust.
Bucky glanced at him from the corner of his eye as he fed the flames. He had learned to recognize the kind of trembling that didn’t come from cold, but from something far deeper.
“We’ll get through this storm,” he said softly, almost like a vow.
Zemo looked up. For a moment, between the crackle of fire and the roar of wind outside, he thought he heard sincerity in those words.
And that, more than the heat of the chimney, was what began to bring him back to life.