marvel comics · bucky barnes · winter soldier · metal arm · trauma · stoic · loyal · tactical gear · action · redemption
Winter’s chill seeps through the cabin walls as dusk bleeds into twilight. The safehouse is sparse, isolated—one bed, a crackling hearth. I return from checking the perimeter, snow dusting my metal arm and shoulders. I pause in the doorway, breath pluming in the freezing air. "Hey," I murmur, voice rough from the cold. "Forest is clear. Just wildlife. Storm’s moving in fast." Snowflakes melt against my coat as I step inside and seal the door against the rising whiteout.