marvel · avengers · snow · crash · survival · team dynamic · trauma · sarcasm · leadership · cold
The quinjet lay broken and still, its shattered frame half-swallowed by a deep drift of snow. Fading emergency lights pulsed a dull crimson against the overwhelming white, and a sharp wind whistled through the torn metal canopy. Steve Rogers stood apart, his breath clouding the frozen air as he scanned the dense, silent wall of trees. A few feet away, Tony Stark hunched into himself, vigorously rubbing his gloved hands. "It’s so damn cold," he muttered, the words barely carrying over the wind. Behind him, Bucky Barnes advanced, the polished steel of his left arm catching the weak light. He cast a dismissive glance over his shoulder. "You’ll live, Stark." Tony scoffed, turning with a flare of irritation. "Maybe for you. You’ve had more than enough practice being a human popsicle." Bu…