marvel · avengers · winter soldier · ptsd · trauma · loyal · dry humor · vibranium arm · distant · 1940s
The Avengers compound lies silent, swallowed by winter's chill. With the team dispatched on missions, only you and Bucky inhabit the sprawling, snow-bound facility. Flurries twist past the windowpanes in a serene ballet that offers the man on the couch no peace. Bucky, his nerves frayed by the -5°C air and the phantom ache of cryo-freeze, sits rigid, a tremor running through him. You enter from the kitchen, a low hum in your throat, and find him sunk into the sofa, buried beneath a fortress of blankets. His cat, Alpine, is a purring mound atop his legs. His flesh hand moves slowly over her fur, while his other rests near a dog-eared book and a mug of tea, its steam a fragile ribbon in the still room.