Archive of Our Own

“Wait, hold on. Can we stop? I just need a minute.”

Tony held back the pained whimper he wanted to make and let himself slump against the snow-covered bark. The pain had become unbearable about a mile back, but they needed to keep moving, so he tried to push through, but he just couldn’t keep up anymore.

The Winter Soldier stopped, turned around, and regarded Tony with his patented, intense neutrality; Tony took a few breaths in silence before his companion said, “We have to get to the safehouse before nightfall. The blizzard will make it impossible to navigate otherwise.”

“I know, I know.” Tony kept huffing, hating that he was also out of breath. He was in fantastic shape, damn it—for a forty-something, at least—but his ankle was busted, the adrenaline had worn off three miles back, there were probably other injuries he couldn’t feel over the stabbing pain in his leg, and he was stuck in the middle of what looked like Siberia in the dead of winter—it was Wyoming, but the point still stood—and Tony was freezing to death here with the Winter Soldier as his only company.

Everything went to hell so quickly too. 

An explosion on the other side of what was supposed to be an abandoned Hydra base took out their Quinjet—he was definitely sending no-longer-Senator Stern the damn bill, after he scoured their intel sources and figured out who was responsible for this mess—and while their jet was exploding, Bucky and Tony had to deal with an ambush and one panicked Hydra minion who rushed in first and thought he had nothing to lose.

The jackass pointed a gun at Tony’s chest, and because the Iron Man suit in its sentry mode wasn’t quick enough to reach him, it was Bucky who pushed Tony out of the way.

When the bullet didn’t hit Tony however, it hit the explosives Tony came here to deactivate in the first place and this time the suit did make it in time, sacrificing itself to protect them both from the intense heat and most of the crumbling building.

Once the remains of the base had stopped shaking however, it was no longer Bucky who murmured a stern, “Don’t move, stay right here,” into Tony’s ear and given the large cinderblock keeping his ankle trapped, Tony had no choice but to obey and watch the Winter Soldier strut into battle. Tony felt little shame in admitting he looked away after the first Hydra agent went down. 

Other than the Winter Soldier himself, Tony had been the only person to walk out of that base alive.

“Just give me a second, okay?” Tony asked, breathing through his nose, hoping to ignore the pain. “I’ll be right as rain, I promise, I’ll keep walking—”

“The sky is already growing darker and—”

“I know! Okay? I just— Fuck!” Tony slammed his fist into the innocent tree holding him upright. His leg hurt and he was out of options. “Damn Hydra straight to hell, those pieces of shit.” With a desperation that edged into panic, Tony looked around and scowled at their surroundings. “And for once, could they have their stupid ‘evil lairs’ in some place like Hawaii? Why can’t their base be some cutesy little cabin in the woods where we wouldn’t be freezing our asses off?”

The Soldier’s neutral expression didn’t budge. 

“These are the woods,” he deadpanned and that right there, that was the difference between Bucky Barnes and the alter ego who happened to take over sometimes, particularly during these dangerous situations.

“These are the woods, doll, but you’re absolutely right. That cute lil’ ass of yours sure does deserve better.”

Bucky Barnes would’ve flirted and snarked, he would’ve winked and played up that charming, lopsided smirk of his. He didn’t always act like the man in those sepia-toned reels, but no one could say he didn’t retain his legendary charm.

The Winter Soldier didn’t do banter and he certainly didn’t flirt.

“I swear, I’m almost good to go.” Tony assured him, but he betrayed his own words by closing his eyes and letting out that stupid whimper. “I promise, we’ll get to the cabin, and I will—ack, wait, what are you doing?” 

Tony yelped when Winter Wonder just appeared right in front of him and lifted Tony into his arms bridal style. 

“Are you kidding me?” Tony smacked a rock-hard shoulder, probably hurting himself more than he hurt the Soldier. “You are not carrying me all the way to the cabin!”

“It’s the most logical option. Stop squirming.”

Tony did as he was told, but only because he didn’t want the Soldier to drop him—and because this close, those blue eyes were too damn mesmerizing.

“You—no, you can’t just carry me.” He tried again, admittedly with less zeal. “You’re already carrying the bag, you’re not strong—”

“I am strong enough.” The Soldier leveled Tony with another unwavering gaze, but this close, it no longer looked like that cold neutrality. The Winter Soldier didn’t emote the same way Bucky Barnes did, but now Tony could see the tension in the press of his lips, the exhaustion pulling at his eyes. A trickle of blood had dried on his cheek and his breath was foggy and warm. “When the snow begins to fall, it will fall quickly. We need to get to the safehouse. This isn’t ideal. I know that.”

But it’s our only choice, he didn’t say, but Tony heard it just fine. He gave a resigned nod and Terminator took that as permission to resume his march. With no other option, Tony let himself sag, securing himself further by looping an arm around the Soldier’s neck. He pulled the jacket tighter around his middle—he was pretty sure it was taken from a dead Hydra agent, but he tried not to think too hard about it—and burrowed his face into the leather combat suit. He listened to the crunch of snow beneath the Soldier’s boots, to the eerie stillness of the ancient forest around them, and tried to ignore the pulsing pain in his ankle, tried not to think at all, but his thoughts kept coming back to the man carrying him to safety.

There were several theories about the Soldier and how he came to exist within Bucky Barnes. Some claimed it was magic, some believed it was Hydra advancing science beyond its limits again. Several doctors who had examined Bucky when he surrendered himself to the Avengers believed it was a defense mechanism, a splitting of his mind to protect his more tender parts from the horrors he’d endured. Tony and Bruce theorized that the botched super serum was at play here too. After all, Bruce messed around with it, threw some gamma radiation in there and boom—got himself a Hulk.

The situations weren’t the same, but there were similarities. Bruce and the Hulk were two distinct entities, two souls, if one believed such a thing, while Bucky and the Soldier were two sides of the same coin, with the Soldier manifesting as a version of Bucky, one with no filter, but also less talkative, broody and sharp, less hung up on societal norms and all those other silly human conventions. He was a terse, no-nonsense soldier, laser-focused on whatever he deemed his mission, a combination of instinct and training, terrifying in battle and an enigma everywhere else.

Bucky confessed to allowing the Soldier to take control during their tougher battles, despite expressing his own discomfort over this cold, calculating entity taking space in his head. 

After particularly brutal nightmares Bucky would wake up as the Soldier too and there had been plenty of nights where a half-asleep Tony would wander into the family room only to find their resident assassin sitting on the floor, cleaning out his guns and sharpening his knives while an old Russian film played on TV.

“Stark.”

“Winter Wonder.”

“Do you need me?”

“Nope, just, uh, just grabbing a midnight snack. Carry on with your sharpening of this… very intimidating knife collection.”

That was usually when Tony would turn tail and run, but he swore he could feel the Soldier’s gaze on him until the last second.

For the most part, the Avengers were used to this now, accepting that the Soldier was a part of the path Bucky Barnes had taken in order to recover, but of course, it wasn’t all roses.

Steve had a contentious relationship with the Soldier, which made sense in a way, since Bucky had complicated feelings about Steve too. Without a doubt, those two loved each other, but they struggled to find common ground after being separated for so long. Bucky was ready to jump head-first into the future, to leave old, unneeded bits of Bucky Barnes behind, supplement the remaining ones with shiny, new pieces, and figure out who he was from there. 

Steve struggled to do the same and while his desperate need to preserve the past was understandable given his circumstances, they butted heads over this often. However, while Bucky and Steve usually wound up in tense, half-whispered arguments the rest of them pretended not the hear, the Soldier stuck to growled Russian expletives and punching Steve in the nose.

In other words, they were still working on it.

The Soldier seemed to get along best with Natasha and Sam though, which was also true for Bucky, but while Bucky was perfectly willing to flirt up a storm with Tony, to follow him like a duckling around the workshop, to let Tony drag him to every food place in Manhattan that was worth trying, the Winter Soldier kept his distance. 

The thing was, Tony did too.

A particularly loud crunch of pine needles under the Soldier’s boots pulled Tony out of his thoughts and he shifted, trying not to slip out of the Soldier’s grip. The Soldier hefted him up to get a better hold without a word, but carrying both Tony, their weapons, and the pack of provisions they managed to save had to be strenuous, even for a super soldier. The snow was getting deeper too, impeding the Soldier’s steps, but he kept going without rest, knowing as well as Tony that with the snow slowly starting to fall, their window to find to the safehouse was rapidly closing.

All at once, Tony felt pathetic and useless, unable to do anything but be a goddamn burden. At the same time though, he was also so grateful that the Soldier was here with him—and by extension Bucky was here too, because you couldn’t separate the two, no matter how much Steve wished that were true. 

“Thank you,” Tony said, barely above a whisper, and burrowed a little deeper to shield his freezing nose from the cold.

The Soldier still didn’t answer, but he brushed his thumb over Tony’s shoulder in a gesture of comfort and held onto him tighter and now, under layers of frustration and gratitude, there was guilt there too. After all, there was a reason why Tony usually avoided the Soldier.

Because while Steve resented the Soldier for irrevocably changing his best friend, while Natasha sometimes struggled to distinguish this man from the one who trained her in the Red Room, while some treated him with caution, others with fear, and others still simply preferred Bucky, there was also Tony.

Tony and his ridiculous, ill-advised, borderline obscene attraction to this side of Bucky Barnes.

In his defense, the attraction to the Bucky side of Bucky Barnes was just about the same. Two sides of the same coin and all, but Tony seemed to be the only one enamored with both the snarky, flirtatious man who got starry-eyed the first time Tony took him to a planetarium and with the man who watched the world with a healthy caution, who didn’t put up with anyone’s shit, and who not two hours ago snapped a man’s neck with his bare hands because he pointed a gun at Tony. 

Bucky and the Winter Soldier were both so capable and intelligent and gorgeous and breathtaking, and the way the Soldier carried Tony now without complain, determined to get them to safety, didn’t help matters either. 

Sure, Tony and Bucky flirted like crazy, used cutesy nicknames that annoyed everyone, and spent a lot of time together bonding over shared interests, but Bucky had never made a move to take things beyond their easy-going friendship and Bucky’s emotions about the Winter Soldier were complicated too, so Tony never had the courage to confess that it didn’t matter whether it was Bucky or the Soldier at the forefront, Tony couldn’t help but want.

Tony felt like a voyeur for thinking that, for enjoying even this shitty day all because he got to spend a part of it in the Winter Soldier’s arms.

He sighed, tried to forget about the way he craved every aspect of this complicated man, and tried to ignore the cold seeping into him.

“You know, you’ve been with us for almost a year and you’ve never given us an actual name.”

Tony’s attempt to start a conversation was met with silence and he huffed, hoping the Soldier knew Tony would only take this as a challenge.

They had reached the dilapidated, abandoned ‘safehouse’ through a frankly inhuman determination on behalf of said Winter Soldier, with the snow already coming down in sheets and the world around them pitch dark by the time they crossed the threshold. Now, even after swallowing a few painkillers, Tony was still in pain, still cold, and he needed a distraction.

“Snowflake, if you give me the silent treatment, I’ll be forced to take extreme measures.”

“My designation is the Soldier, or the Asset,” said Soldier answered, already free of the snow that had piled up on his head and shoulders and got stuck in clumps to his boots. He was taking stock of the cabin now, circling its inner perimeter, probably doing a security check. Tony eyed the tiny cabin with unease. At this point, the Soldier would have to catalogue all the easiest ways for Hydra to murder them in the middle of the night.

Tony abandoned their salvaged pack—there was more medicine inside, arc-reactor flashlights he could take apart, other tech Tony had no use for here—and he stepped into the tiny kitchen to look through cupboards, raising his voice to say, “Those were your Hydra designations and we’re not Hydra. Hell, I just got to see what you do to Hydra, so no, we need something else and I’m tired of coming up with increasingly ridiculous nicknames for you. There are only so many movie characters I can reference.”

“Is this really a relevant line of inquiry at this point?”

Tony did not roll his eyes, but only because most of him was frozen by now, but he did let out a sigh of relief when he spotted actual food in one of the cupboards. MRE packets were no Michelin Star, but to Tony’s hunger pangs, they sounded amazing.

“Having a name is always relevant!” he shouted back. “What, you can’t think of a name and check out our sad little cabin at the same time, Robocop?” When that didn’t get him an answer, Tony continued with an extra annoying pitch to his voice. “Oh come on, Winter Wonder—hey, that one actually fits today—give me something here or I’m gonna keep using up all my stupid nicknames. Should I just call you Winter? That sounds nicer than Soldier, at least. Or James maybe? But no, Bucky goes by James sometimes.”

Nothing but silence again and Tony was about to pop back out to see whether the Soldier was still even there, but he beat Tony to it, already at the entrance to the kitchen when Tony turned around.

They watched each other, a study in unspoken questions, but priorities kicked in and they continued Tony’s effort to see what they had to work with.

The silence wasn’t the worst thing, so Tony let it stand, reluctant to fill the air with his chatter if it was going to annoy his surly, silent companion. They needed each other now more than ever and while Tony never thought the Soldier would hurt him, he also didn’t want him more aggravated than necessary. 

Too focused on digging through a pile of discarded wires and circuit boards in a box stashed beneath the sink, Tony stood up out of his crouch too quickly and nearly collided with the Winter Soldier leaning over him to reach something on a top shelf. 

Quick reflexes saved them both and with the Soldier’s hand still on his shoulder, Tony stood up slower, wide-eyed and hyper-aware of lack of space between them and the way the Soldier’s body bracketed Tony’s against the ancient-looking kitchen counter.

He blinked, willing himself to ignore the need to lean closer, but all he could think about was the body heat he could feel. Jesus, super soldiers really were like walking furnaces, weren’t they?

“Sorry, Tastee Freeze, I swear I wasn’t trying to headbutt you, I was just—”

“Yasha.”

“…What?”

“You asked me to choose a name. Yakov, the Russian form of Jacob, which has a common etymological origin with James. So it’s still James… but it isn’t.”

“Oh.” Tony blinked again, processing. This had to be the first time the Soldier made such an explicit choice in the matters of his own identity. “I guess that makes sense. Is, uh, is Buckaroo on board? Or is he not around right now?”

“Bucky won’t mind. Much.” 

Cryptic, and Tony wanted to ask more questions, but he reminded himself of two crucial details. One, he shouldn’t be so gleefully curious about Bucky’s brain because the Soldier’s existence wasn’t some natural anomaly to be studied, and two, they were currently stuck in the middle of frozen nowhere.

The pesky detail of how his body couldn’t help but sway into the warmth radiated by the Soldier—by Yasha—however? That he definitely needed to ignore.

Tony coughed and forced himself to move away, bracing himself for the chill that descended immediately. 

He just had to focus on the situation at hand. They were out in the wilderness, caught in a snowstorm, with limited provisions, no current contact with the team, and Hydra possibly still on their tail.

All in all, a terrible time for his libido to have moral quandaries.

He cleared his throat again. “It looks like there’s enough food, so that’s good. The MREs are self-heating, we just need water—I checked the faucet, nothing came out, so if there was plumbing here before, it’s dead now.”

“There were metallic pots on the top shelf. We can start a fire and use those to melt the snow.”

“Which will gives us the water for the MREs. There’s also some oatmeal, salt, sugar, several cans of beans. So we gotta start up that fire, see if there’s dry clothing anywhere—blankets too—and hunker down for the night.”

Tony turned to step over one of the boxes and was too late in realizing he stepped onto his injured foot the wrong way. The leg gave out from under him and he let out a startled cry, bracing himself for the fall, but there was no impact save for two arms catching him around the middle.

“Shit, almost forgot about that,” Tony mumbled and breathed through his nose, eyes squeezed shut. His whole body shook, both from the cold and the pain.

“You need to rest, Stark. I can deal with the provisions.”

Tony looked up into the steel-grey eyes—and maybe they were never neutral to begin with because he could see so much determination in them now. 

“Yeah, maybe you’re right. I guess I can go sit down and tinker with whatever parts we have, see if I can cobble up a radio.” Tony tried to turn his grimace into a smile, but Yasha didn’t seem to be all that impressed. “Miniaturized an arc reactor in a cave, so I should be able to make a functional comm link here, right?

As if on cue, the wind howled and they both turned to watch the snow pummel the window. In the most selfish way, Tony wished he could close the space between them, press himself into the body holding him up, and wait the night out that way.

“I doubt a signal will get through with this weather,” Yasha noted absently. He turned his attention back to Tony and let him go. “Go sit down.”

“Fine, fine,” Tony waved him away and with gritted teeth tried to step around the boxes again. However, his ankle protested and he scrambled to grab for purchase and it was Yasha who kept him upright again.

“Shit,” Tony hissed, frustrated with himself, with his leg, with this whole stupid mission. “Sorry, I’m just— I’m so fucking useless right now.”

“You’re injured,” Yasha said. There was no judgment, no chastisement, nothing but a simple statement of fact. Tony was injured, therefore it was perfectly fine for him to stumble around like an idiot, unable to walk, needing to be carried around like a child. 

Tony swallowed back the self-flagellation. He could hate himself when they got back to civilization, but right now he just leaned into Yasha and let himself be steered out of the kitchen and onto the old, dusty sofa situated by the dead fireplace. 

Yasha didn’t linger, going back into the kitchen, so Tony took the time to get his stupid ankle elevated, but Yasha did reappear, first with the box of parts and then again with several blankets. They were moldy and dusty and made Tony sneeze, but he wrapped one around his shoulders eagerly, covetous of every bit of warmth.

This time Yasha stayed hovering nearby. He didn’t seem to know what to do with himself, which was vastly out of character, so Tony prodded him along. “It’s probably best if we get enough supplies to start that fire. We need the heat and the water.”

Yasha nodded, but didn’t move, eyes darting to Tony’s leg where it was now propped up on the tiny stool Tony found behind the sofa. 

“You’re injured,” Yasha repeated and this time Tony frowned.

“I’m aware?”

“We need to examine the wound, get it treated—”

Tony waved his hands frantically when Yasha made a move to get closer. “No, no, no, you just— you stay right there. Listen, it’s fine. It’s not broken—god knows I wouldn’t have been able to walk if that were the case—and there wasn’t a lot of bleeding. It’s just bruised to hell, so I dunno, I’ll just go stick my foot in a snow bank later or something.”

Yasha didn’t appear convinced, but he didn’t try to get closer. 

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, yes, I’m fine.” The last thing Tony needed was Yasha fussing over him. Tony needed to focus on this radio and on forgetting about his stupid feelings and all the regrets and the guilt and maybe later he wouldn’t feel like his heart wanted to explode every time Yasha was close, with his damn eyes and damn body heat and all that damn worry. 

With a terse nod, Yasha went back into the kitchen and Tony refused to own up to the loneliness closing in on him as soon as Yasha was out of sight.

Now, however, that loneliness lingered even when they were in the same room. 

Their merry little fire was the result of some serious work, but instead of sitting near it—near Tony—to keep warm, Yasha had huddled up in the furthest corner of the cabin.

Tony didn’t need to look back to know Yasha was eating what had to be his third beef teriyaki MRE with the same rote ‘scoop, chew, swallow’. 

Admittedly, Tony approached his own meatloaf and gravy with a similar level of enthusiasm, but food was food, even if he did make himself a promise to fly to California as soon as they were back home. Sunny, sixty degrees weather and his favorite burger place? Yes, please.

The wind howled again, startling him, and Tony looked around the cabin, the need to check every nook and cranny overwhelming, and honestly, being out in nature was no good for him. It was pitch dark outside, the wind howled, the snow battered their tiny cabin without mercy, he was in pain, his companion hadn’t offered more than a grunt since their exchange earlier, and all of this misery added up to Tony wanting to crawl out of his skin with dread.

The only bright spot was their ‘radio’, which was going to patch a signal through to the team as soon as the blizzard was over.

Tony watched as Yasha carefully placed the now-empty pack of food down and got back up to perform another check of the cabin.

A violent shiver ran through Tony again and he pulled the blanket around him tighter and scooted closer to the fire, but nothing seemed to work anymore. The cold had seeped into his bones by now, chilled his blood, slowed it to a damn crawl.

The physical misery was bad enough, but now the cold was seeping into his brain too. Every time Tony closed his eyes, he saw the walls of the caves, remembered wisps of vapor from Yinsen’s mouth as he told him stories while they huddled together under thread-bare rags.

Tony bit back a whimper and forced his eyes open to stare into the fire, chanting in his head that he wasn’t in that damn cave anymore. He wasn’t in the hands of terrorists, this wasn’t enemy territory, and he wasn’t going to die.

Another glance over his shoulder confirmed he wasn’t the only one struggling. Yasha stopped in front of the tiny window and stood there, listlessly staring outside. 

Neither one of them handled the cold very well, apparently.

He wondered if Bucky—the cheeky, confident, talkative Bucky—would’ve had the same reaction and now self-pity wiggled through all the misery too. Bucky wouldn’t have left Tony sitting here and freezing to death. 

Tony smacked that thought away with extra vigor. He wasn’t dying. He was just lonely and scared and cold and growing more desperate with every chatter of teeth and every echo of memories.

“You need to sleep,” Yasha declared when Tony sat back up and hunched over the edge of the mattress they dragged to lay next to the fire. “You’re exhausted and we have no way of knowing how long rescue will take.”

“You need to sleep,” Tony muttered petulantly and kept staring into the fire. Yasha wasn’t wrong, but Tony couldn’t sleep like this. Sleep would only turn into violent nightmares and Tony couldn’t deal with that mental strain on top of everything else.

“I do not require sleep to function tomorrow,” Yasha said and Tony bit back a comment about learning to recognize sarcasm. “I will stand guard and I will function as needed, even after missing one night of sleep. You won’t.”

“Oh, yeah, just rub it in that I’m a sad, pathetic human who can’t take care of himself!”

Yasha’s eyes flashed dangerously. “I’m just as human as you are.”

“Oh, bullshit! Pumped full of premium grade steroids and now you don’t need to sleep, eat, or get carried around like a child! You’re fucking perfect!”

Oh god, oh fuck, he needed to stop talking. What the hell was wrong with him? This whole mess wasn’t Yasha’s fault—wasn’t anyone’s fault but Hydra’s.

“Shit, that was— that was uncalled for, I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. You’re belligerent. I have to assume it’s because of the lack of sleep.”

Never mind, Tony was right back to seething. “Oh wow, so you are capable of being sassy just like your counterpart. Will the wonders never cease?” Tony harrumphed and pulled the blanket back around himself with more dramatic flair than necessary. “I’m sure you’re sitting over there and regretting that you volunteered for this mission, huh? Sorry you got stuck with me.”

“I never said that.”

“Don’t bullshit me, alright? I don’t know what happened earlier, but it’s obvious you don’t want anything to do with me—don’t think I haven’t noticed you’ve been giving me a berth so wide—”

“I am on lookout!”

“—that I’m starting to feel like I’m contagious. Don’t worry, I promise you won’t get ‘sad, pathetic human’ from me if you come closer than five feet.”

He heard Yasha let out a frustrated growl and that was actually heartening, to get real emotion out of him. Probably said nothing good about Tony’s self-preservation, riling up the Winter Soldier like this, but he needed something so he could remember he wasn’t stuck in this snow-covered hell alone.

“You think I’m sitting here just to be stubborn?” Tony continued and turned around to glare at Yasha. “You think I don’t want to sleep? Here’s the thing though. I’m cold. I haven’t stopped being cold since we crawled out of that damn lab and nothing is helping, not these stupid, moldy clothes, not these moth-eaten blankets, not that swill you called tea, and not even the fire! And I can’t sleep when I’m cold, okay? Why do you think my room at the Tower is a sweltering 80 degrees? God knows everyone loves bitching about it!”

He heaved a sigh, so many words hurting his throat, his lethargic body getting worked up too quickly, but when Yasha didn’t say anything, when he kept sitting there with his arms crossed and mouth in a severe, tight line, Tony decided to let the rest of the words spill.

“Every time I close my eyes, I see Afghanistan. Do you know how cold it gets in the desert during the night? It’s bad enough when you’re stuck in a cave, even worse when you’ve been starved and you have no fat on your bones to keep you warm and you have no decent clothes, nothing. There’s nothing but a tiny fire and broth that tastes like rotting vegetables that you can’t help but choke on greedily because it’s warmth and it’s food and it’s all you’re going to get. So I— I can’t, okay? I want to sleep, god, it’s all I want, but I can’t, not when I won’t stop shivering, not when my leg hurts, and not when I close my eyes and see that damn cave.”

He wheezed, the cold air cutting into his lungs, and when Yasha didn’t even bother to meet his eyes anymore, Tony turned himself back into a tiny ball in front of the fire, feeling so goddamn exposed, like he bared his soul to the world and the world found him wanting.

He was so deep into his pity-party that it took him by surprise when Yasha appeared right behind him and Tony startled, watching wide-eyed as Yasha settled on the mattress and dragged the other blanket over his lap.

“What are you doing?” 

“You need to sleep,” Yasha replied simply, which didn’t explain anything until Yasha laid down and burrowed his way beneath the blanket before holding it out for Tony in an obvious gesture.

When Tony didn’t move though, when he just sat there and stared, Yasha visibly clenched his jaw.

“Stark, damn it, you need to sleep,” he snapped, the anger showing hints of Bucky coming through, but this was still unmistakably the Winter Soldier in control. “I know this isn’t ideal.”

But it’s our only choice, echoed through Tony’s mind again and he shook off the surprise. Yasha was only doing what was needed. 

Jesus christ, Stark, get it together. A man gets into your bed to keep you from freezing to death—after you rant and bitch him out—and your first thought is, wow, he’s in my bed! I’ve wanted this for so long!

Apparently Tony’s self-recriminations were taking too long, because the expression on Yasha’s face was nearing discomfort, if not outright distress, and Tony hurried to crawl over, still keeping the other blanket wrapped around him.

“So, how, uh, how are we making this work again?” he asked, eyeing the soldier spread out next to him. Yasha sighed, sat up to grab the other pillow, plopped it over his metal arm laying out in front of him, and held up the blanket again. 

Tony didn’t hesitate this time, but what he didn’t expect was Yasha’s flesh arm wrapping around him, pulling Tony in until Tony’s back was pressed against his chest, one leg swinging over Tony’s, essentially trapping him in, before the blanket settled back over to cocoon them in warmth.

Tony froze, all brain functions going right back to absolutely useless.

Holy hell, that was a lot of sudden body contact and he needed to process everything because sweet, merciful heaven, Yasha’s body still radiated heat like it was made for it and Tony didn’t begrudge a morsel of the food Yasha scarfed down earlier. They didn’t plan to be here long anyways and that energy was being put to such good use now.

For the first time, Tony began to feel the first inklings of warmth. There were tingles of heat, sparks everywhere they touched, but Tony couldn’t settle into it properly because his nerves were on fire now too. The man he’d been dreaming about—fantasizing about—had him tucked against his body, had his lips and nose pressed against Tony’s shoulder blade where warm air pooled every time he exhaled, and Tony couldn’t convince himself he wasn’t supposed to be enjoying this.

He took a deep breath. This wasn’t dire, but it was serious and he needed to get his mind out of the gutter—or wherever fantasies of snuggling up next to Bucky usually lived. Tony had strangely chaste fantasies sometimes, alongside the kinkier ones.

Another shiver ran through him, one strong enough that Yasha must’ve felt it because he curled even tighter around Tony, and Tony couldn’t help it, he keened, a tiny whimper of repressed pleasure escaping him. He couldn’t exactly get hard under these circumstances, but his body was certainly giving it a valiant try and he knew, if they had been anywhere else, this much glorious contact would’ve had him going from zero to sixty in two seconds flat.

Of course, the cabin was silent save for the wind outside, so Yasha would’ve heard that pathetic noise even without the super hearing, but Tony hoped he’d ignore it. He burrowed his nose into the blanket, tried to will his body to relax into the embrace so it could start using that wonderful body heat to defrost and he thought he was doing a decent enough job of it, but after a few minutes, Yasha moved and his lips ended up by Tony’s ear—and oh god, Tony was going to die in these woods and it wouldn’t even be the hypothermia that got him because that warm breath was even more distracting like this and—

“I’m sorry,” Yasha whispered and Tony tensed all over again, his first delirious thought that he finally pissed off the Winter Soldier just enough he was willing to murder Tony—but higher brain functions kicked in, pointed out the heartbreaking tone behind those words, and now Tony was more confused than terrified.

“W-what?” he asked, eyes blinking to adjust to the fire dancing in front of them.

“I’m sorry,” Yasha repeated, the raspy words quiet. “I know this isn’t ideal, I know you’re scared, but I won’t hurt you, I promise. I would never hurt you. I just need to keep you warm.”

The arm and leg around him pulled him in tighter, delicious heat spreading, but Tony couldn’t enjoy it this time, still processing, derailed even further by the second apology whispered into Tony’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry, I promise you’re safe with me.”

“What—are you talking about?” Tony asked again and he probably sounded like an idiot, but sue him, he was running on processed beef, hopped up on crappy painkillers, and he had a super soldier pressed up to him and apologizing.

Apparently Yasha decided this was a good time to confess the rest of his sins. “You’re scared of me. You always avoid me, you look distressed in my presence. Even today, whenever I was close, whenever I touched you, you tensed up. I know I… hurt people, but I would never hurt you.” 

Oh god, oh no. Was this how Bucky felt too? Was that why Bucky never moved past the flirting stage, because he thought Tony was terrified of the Soldier?

He’d blame the painkillers and the pain and cabin fever for what happened next.

Tony wriggled around until Yasha loosened his grip, flipped over to face Yasha—who did look like he expected Tony to shove him off the mattress at any moment—and shimmied his non-injured leg in between Yasha’s, grabbed the slack arm to sling it back over his middle before pressing in himself, one arm over Yasha’s waist, the other squished between them.

Tony pressed his nose into the crook of Yasha’s shoulder and wondered if Yasha still had that vaguely terrified expression on his face.

“Let’s get one thing straight. I’m not scared of you,” Tony mumbled into the musty sweater Yasha put over his uniform. “I’ve never been scared of you.”

He felt Yasha swallow, laying stiff in Tony’s arms—Tony knew how it felt now to hold someone whose every muscle was tense and ready for something and okay, he could see how this could’ve been interpreted as fear. Tony kept clinging though, kept rubbing his nose into the scratchy sweater to warm himself up, and his stubbornness was rewarded when Yasha tightened his own hold, wrapping the blanket around Tony’s back properly and setting his hand on the back of Tony’s neck and Tony let out that stupid whimper again. That hand was so warm. 

Despite that embarrassing noise, Tony’s body finally began to ease into the wonderful heat, greedy as it was for it. Still, there was no hint of sleep to be had, which left too much time for more confessions and questions Tony would regret in the bright light of day.

“Why would you think I was scared of you?” he asked, hating himself for the impression he’d given. Bucky—and by extension Yasha—had enough people treating him like a bomb ready to go off at any moment.

“You avoided me whenever you could. You’ve never liked me as much as Bucky.”

It would’ve been cute at any other time to hear that hint of pout in Yasha’s voice, but now, right here, it was just heartbreaking.

“Would you believe me if I said that it’s me and not you?”

“No,” Yasha mumbled and that was definitely petulant. “Wilson taught me what that means, you know.”

“Of course he did.” 

“Means it is me.”

“It’s not you,” Tony assured and tried to match words with action by rubbing his hand up and down Yasha’s back, and if Tony wished he could explore the length of that broad, muscular back under better circumstance, well, that wasn’t exactly new. “I have been avoiding you, I won’t deny that part, but it’s not because I was scared. I actually think you’re… great.”

“Great?”

“Wonderful, amazing, whatever word you want to use.”

“You think Bucky is amazing.”

“No, I think you’re amazing.” In his effort to warm up his cheeks, Tony ended up brushing his face along the edge of Yasha’s jaw, which meant his lips brushed over tantalizing sliver of skin. He stilled, but kept himself there. In for a penny, right? “I think you’re both amazing and that’s the problem. I didn’t know what Bucky would think if he knew I liked you as much as I liked him. And when I say ‘like’… I mean everything that goes along with that. I—” 

His breathe hitched, vulnerability more effective than any cold in rendering him speechless, but if he couldn’t confess his heart’s desires in the dark of a snow storm in the middle of nowhere, where could he?

“I don’t know when I fell in love with both of you, but I did… I know Bucky is interested—well, maybe, who knows, but I didn’t know if you would ever be. Didn’t know if Bucky would hate me for finding you so ridiculously attractive. I mean, I think about you both all the time and I want you and—oh god, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” Tony hid his face in the sweater again and wished he could just disappear. “I swear I’d never take advantage, I care about you both so much—”

Yasha shifted, causing Tony to panic. He didn’t want to lose this embrace—please, no, not tonight—but the shift was only enough to put them both at eye level, Yasha’s big hand cradling Tony’s head now, keeping their foreheads pressed together while their breaths mingled.

“Tell me more.”

“W-what?”

“Tell me more. Tell me what you think about.”

Oh god, did he want Tony to spill every sordid detail of his fantasies? This was a bad time to ask because Tony was just delirious enough to do it.

“You strut through the room and all I can think about is what it’d be like to be between those thighs,” Tony whispered, letting his eyes fall shut. Hell, maybe this was a fantasy too. Maybe Tony was out there in the blizzard somewhere, dying, and this was the final mercy of a cruel universe.

The fire crackled behind him though, the thigh between his legs shifted to press closer and the exhale Yasha let out was burning against his skin. Tony couldn’t be dead, not with these clear, visceral sensations flooding him.

“I wonder sometimes what it’d be like to kiss you. I bet it’s different from how Bucky would kiss me—I bet he’s gentle, all that Brooklyn boy manners coming through, chaste kisses and holding hands, but you… You probably kiss like you fight. Determined, unstoppable, all perfect execution and finesse.” Their lips were so close, but Tony didn’t dare close that distance. He didn’t even know what he was doing anymore other than laying out his every secret at Yasha’s feet—and Bucky’s too and Tony didn’t know what would happen when Bucky took back control. Would he be disgusted by these late-night confessions coaxed out of Tony with nothing but touch and one simple command?

“What else?”

Tony couldn’t seem to keep his mouth shut anymore.

“I think about what it’d be like to have you both as mine. To spend my days with Bucky, exploring some new exciting thing together, to spend my nights in the workshop with you, watching over me. To fall asleep laughing over something ridiculous Bucky and I had done earlier, to fall asleep like this, with you, and help each other through the nightmares. I don’t know. I just think about what it’d be like to be there for both of you, to have you both all to myself.”

Tony couldn’t handle the proximity anymore—not without taking the final step into delirium and kissing the lips only inches away from his own—so he carefully pushed them apart, enough that he could see Yasha’s face in the flickering light of the fire. 

Of course now Tony couldn’t read his expression.

“Please tell me what you’re thinking.” 

The plea was needy and pathetic and Tony would regret all of this later, but he didn’t regret it now when Yasha’s face visibly softened—if he were smiling, Tony would’ve thought it were Bucky in control, but there was no smile. Yasha, who did so much of his talking with his eyes, didn’t seem to need it.

The hand at the back of Tony’s head slid over to his cheek, thumb brushing the corner of Tony’s lips, but moving no further. Tony tried not to whine again.

“I always thought you were scared of me.”

Tony shook his head. “Never. I wasn’t scared, I was— I was stupid and horny, that’s what I was, and I didn’t want either of you to know just how badly I wanted you.” The thumb still brushed back and forth, driving Tony out of his mind. “I’m sorry and if you hate me—”

“I don’t hate you. Could never hate you.” 

Yasha pushed until Tony rolled onto his back and he pressed Tony into the mattress with the weight of his body when he shifted to be on top. Even like this though, Yasha was still aware enough not to jostle Tony’s injured leg and Tony didn’t know if this was heaven or some divine punishment, but he allowed himself to sink into the all-encompassing pressure, enjoy how safe he felt, how warm, and how Yasha’s hand seemed unable to stop touching Tony’s face.

He felt the sigh Yasha let out as he nuzzled Tony’s cheek and the lips that just barely brushed over Tony’s goatee and Tony never thought these simple caresses could elicit so much in him. 

“I’ve wanted you since the first day I saw you,” Yasha whispered, all husky tones and promises, and—oh, alright, forget the touch, Tony didn’t know words could do that much to him. In more desirable circumstances, he would’ve been rock hard and so needy just from this, but all he could do now was commit each word and each sensation to memory. If he could have nothing else, he could at least have the memories to keep him warm later.

“Tell me,” Tony whispered and like a good soldier, Yasha obliged. 

“Saw you through Bucky’s eyes first, but that makes no difference. We’re no different—not when it comes to you. Your perfect body— strong and lithe and still small enough to fit perfectly against me. Your mind, how brilliant you are. Saw you smile and wanted to taste it. Heard you moan over a sip of coffee and wanted to hear you moan my name while I’m buried inside you. Since the beginning, you were kind when others weren’t, you opened your home to us, you even welcomed me, you gave and you gave… I thought you were scared that I would hurt you and you still helped us both.”

“You’d never hurt me though.” It was simple, really, once you knew where to look. “No, you and Bucky, you’re the same at the core. You’re good, you’re so, so good. You’re kind and brave and you want to do good in the world. That doesn’t change no matter who’s in charge.”

He felt Yasha heave a trembling breath, felt his whole body shiver, and Tony couldn’t tell if it was the cold or the press of their bodies or the words he just whispered that had Yasha hiding his face and pressing his forehead into Tony’s shoulder. 

The wind howled again, rocked the cabin until it creaked ominously, but Tony barely paid it any mind, his world reduced to the heat of the fire, the heat of their bodies, and the way Yasha still trembled against him and before Tony’s brain could disagree with his gut, he pressed a kiss to the crown of Yasha’s head. The long hair was cold beneath his lips and Tony’s tired mind conjured up an image of Bucky—or Yasha, or both of them, really, one cohesive person with two distinct edges—lounging in the California sun. What would it feel like to press his lips to that hair, that skin, to all of him, when they were both sun-kissed and warm?

“I know this must be the worst time to get all this out,” Tony whispered, “and I’m sorry if I ever made you feel like you were someone to be feared. I’m sorry it took this whole mess for me to be honest.”

He felt Yasha nod and that helped, the acknowledgement, even if Tony still didn’t know what would happen come morning.

Yasha moved again and the rock of his hips as he shifted to take some of the weight off would’ve led to all sorts of wonderful things anywhere else, but here, arousal was non-existent, too spooked by the cold, and the bodily contact only brought with it safety and warmth. Half of Yasha’s body still blanketed Tony and his arm and leg wrapped around Tony again while a cold nose pressed into Tony’s cheek and Tony wondered if there would be any more dramatic confessions, but all Yasha did was let out a tiny huff.

“I am to be feared though,” he said and the sulky tone startled a laugh out of Tony.

“Okay, I guess that’s fair. I haven’t exactly forgotten what happened earlier today.” Tony swallowed thickly. “Thank you again, by the way, for getting me out of that base alive. Thank you for getting me here alive. If it weren’t for you, I’d be—hell, I’d have a bullet in my chest. So thank you. Today has been a shitty day—and that’s putting it lightly—but I’m really glad it was you who volunteered to go with me.”

That barely-there brush of lips grazed Tony’s cheek again and maybe Tony was in hell, to be teased like this and never find relief. 

He’d still take this over actual heaven any day, he decided.

“I would never let anything happen to you,” Yasha whispered. “I will kill anyone who threatens you. You have nothing to fear, so long as I breathe.”

“I know.” So much in those words, too much, and Tony wished he could accept them without doubt, but beneath the pain and the exhaustion and the bliss of their body heat, the thin strand of fear remained.

For all he knew, Bucky would hate him for this, would never forgive him for taking advantage of Yasha’s obvious feelings. Maybe he’d be disgusted that Tony was just as enamored with Yasha, that it was Yasha who got to hear all of this first.

So many unknowns, so much doubt, and Tony was so very tired.

“Let’s try to get some of that sleep you were talking about, yeah?” 

Yasha nodded, pressed one more uncharacteristically tender kiss to the apple of Tony’s cheek and dropped his forehead to the same spot that now burned from the heat of his lips.

After all the confessions and with the cacophony of emotions swirling beneath his breastbone, attempting to sleep felt a little silly, but Tony was bundled up safe and warm and the physical exhaustion began to slowly overwhelm the mental panic. Between the crackle of fire and the weight of the man he loved next to him, Tony’s mind finally slipped into dreamless sleep.

Tony’s first conscious thought was that despite being warm everywhere else, his face was freezing.

“Hey, J,” Tony mumbled, smacking his lips, “could you turn the heat up? My nose’s about to fall off.”

The chuckle to his right was distinctly not JARVIS.

“Sorry, doll, no central heating here. Blizzard’s mostly settled though, so hopefully Stevie gets his dumb ass here quickly once we contact him.” 

Tony’s eyes flew wide open and the rest of his senses quickly followed, recognizing the press of the body wrapped around him, the caress of warm breath against his cheek—and Bucky’s distinct drawl in his ear.

“Oh god,” Tony whined, squeezing his eyes shut. He was not strong enough to deal with this yet, not with his body staging a full-on protest. The throb in his ankle was back, he was nauseous and hungry, and oh, hello there, caffeine headache.

Tony could kill a man for a perfectly roasted cup of coffee right now and he wouldn’t even regret it, at least not until that sweet nectar of the gods hit his system and he could think again.

“Everything alright?” Bucky asked, sounding every bit like himself now.

“I’m— processing, so just— just give me a second. Please? I mean, I’m definitely glad you’re back in charge, of course, that’s good, I’ve missed having you around too.” Oh god, he was babbling now and there was no stopping it. “But, uh, I’m currently feeling about four distinctly different kinds of pain, my mouth taste like a gym sock, and I, uh, I—” He braved a glance at Bucky. “I’m mostly just wondering how pissed you are right now.”

“Pissed?” Bucky furrowed his brows before his face lit up in recognition. “Oh yeah, I suppose I am, I mean—”

“Oh god,” Tony threw his arm over his eyes and groaned. “I’m so sorry, Bucky, I swear I would never—”

“First that bastard picks ‘Yasha’, which just makes my all-American heart bleed. I could live with that though, but then he also gets to be the first to snuggle up next you? I mean, that asshole. If he thinks I won’t force him to sit through Steve’s debriefs for the next month, he has another thing coming. Oh, and I get to be the one to kiss you first, that’s non-negotiable, but not now, you’re right, the sock-in-mouth thing isn’t sexy.”

Tony went perfectly still, forgot how to breathe, and spent what was probably an embarrassingly long time parsing that out.

Cautiously, he lifted his arm. “You’re not… mad at me?”

The confused furrow between Bucky’s brows returned. “Doll, you could blow up half of New York and I wouldn’t be mad at you. Hell, I’d help, probably. Depends on which parts we were blowing up.”

“I— don’t think I follow, I’m sorry. My brain fused together from all the cold. You’re not upset over the whole— the whole thing I said yesterday? About liking you—you and the Soldier? I’m not even sure if you remember everything and—”

“I remember enough.” Bucky pulled Tony closer and shifted to hover over Tony, just like his counterpart did last night. The cocky smile was new though. “I remember you saying you think about me and my thighs and my lips and my laughter. I remember you saying you wanted him and me and the whole mess that comes with us being who we are.” He leaned in and brushed the tip of his nose against Tony’s. “I remember you telling him that we’re both good, which isn’t something I believe in most days, but if you keep saying that, if I’m lucky enough to hear that from you again, sweetheart, I swear I’ll do my best to believe it. He didn’t lie, you know. Wanted you since that first day. He didn’t lie about a damn thing, and I’m just sad we all wasted so much time we could’ve spent together.”

“Bucky, god…” It was too damn bright outside and too damn cold inside to be doing this again, but Tony needed to say this. “I didn’t think you would— thought you’d hate me because I loved him too.”

Bucky huffed, kissed Tony’s temple, and carefully eased off to sit back up, bringing Tony with him and taking the time to pull the blanket back around Tony’s shoulders.

“I thought you’d hate me,” Bucky said as he fussed, “because he loved you too.” 

“So from what I’m hearing is that all three of us are complete idiots?”

“That seems to be the gist of it, yeah.”

“Hmm… Damn it. I hate it when the others are right about these things.”

“Eh, the Avengers are punks, who cares what they think?” Bucky winked and hugged the blanket cocoon Tony had been turned into. He kissed Tony’s cheek and said, “All I care about is hearing you say that you love us again.”

Tony gathered whatever courage he had left and whispered, “I do love you both.”

“And we love you too, sweetheart. I love you more, but I’m sure Yakov will have something to say about that later.”

Another kiss, again just shy of Tony’s lips, and then Bucky was leaving Tony behind, springing into action, putting that super soldier stamina to good use.

“I’ll restart the fire, get some snow melted, see if that box of instant coffee is worth a damn—at this point I know you’d drink anything, but I rather not poison you with it—and then you, sweetheart,” he added, mumbling through the hair tie he popped into his mouth as he worked to tie back his hair, “you just sit there all snuggled up and whenever you’re ready, you can get that radio working and get us the hell out of here.”

Tony grinned despite himself. God, he missed Bucky’s general enthusiasm so much, even if he did also miss Yasha’s deadpan snark. 

Bucky blew him a kiss before marching into the kitchen and Tony spent a good minute gathering the willpower needed to burrow out of his cocoon and limp over to the table with their makeshift radio. 

The signal came through and the cavalry arrived quickly and Bruce began fussing over Tony’s ankle before the jet even had the chance to take off. Changed into clean clothes and bundled up in a blanket that didn’t smell like dead moths, Bucky did not help by telling everyone that Tony had walked for miles before admitting he was too injured to do so and then cheerfully offered to carry Tony around the Tower while he recovered. 

Tony retaliated by informing everyone that Bucky threw himself in front of a bullet and poor Steve, who seemed to have had a long, sleepless night himself, continued to fuss over everything.

And maybe this would’ve been a good time to start panicking—bright light of day and all—but the good painkillers were kicking in and once Bruce had Tony’s ankle wrapped up and the rest of the cuts and bruises treated, Bucky sidled in close and wrapped an arm around Tony, pressed a kiss to his temple and called him ‘doll’; he talked and talked, about nothing in particular, until the painkillers overpowered Tony’s exhausted brain and he passed out against Bucky’s shoulder, the last words in his ear a soft, “I got you, sweetheart. You’re safe.”

When all was said and done, Tony was wrong about one thing.

It was Yasha who kissed him like Tony were made of glass, every press of his lips reverent, every brush of his fingers tender. He was the one who took his time exploring Tony’s body, who kissed and touched every part of him like he had all the time in the world, intent on driving Tony crazy and turning him into a writhing, begging mess.

Bucky, on the other hand, had no problem with dragging Tony into a dark hallway with a wicked laugh full of promise, slamming him into the wall, and kissing him senseless, until Tony couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, could do nothing but wrap his legs around that perfect waist when Bucky hefted him up like he didn’t weigh a damn thing, and hang on for dear life while trying to give as good as he got.

The smile pressed against Tony’s lips tasted exactly the same though, each time, and Tony already knew he’d never get enough of them both.