Fire and Ice

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By the time he was on the ground, metal arm ripped off, it was all already a blur.

Bullets didn't touch Tony's armor, so he was fighting mostly hand to hand. He flew through the air, landed on his back several times. Did his best to fight back, and Steve helped. Everything began crashing down around them, and Bucky ran. Steve stayed back, tried to stop Tony. But Tony kept coming. Bucky had almost resigned himself to dying there, but he didn't. Selfishly, he wanted to live. He kept climbing out, until Tony closed the doors.

They all fell, crashing down to the opening in the bottom of the base. Steve was getting beat up. Bucky had to help. He did everything he could, tried to pull out the blaster on Tony's chest. That's when his arm came off.

He couldn't feel it. He could never feel anything with that arm.

His emotions were another story.

Everything hit him like a wave. He knew guilt and fear. He knew anger. And then they all started tangling together. He couldn't tell one from the other, what new ones were showing up. He could tell that, even though they had won, even though Steve was helping him out of that place, alive and heading for some semblance of safety, even as Steve left the shield behind, he wasn't happy. About anything.

He hardly has room for the surprise he feels when they come across T'Challa and the psychologist in the snow. T'Challa is holding him down in a chokehold, but he isn't trying to kill him. He isn't trying to kill Bucky either.

They lock eyes across the snow. The psychologist doesn't even seem to notice, staring up at the sky. T'Challa nods at them, and they nod back. They stumble into the Quinjet. Steve eases Bucky into a seat, then closes the ramp. "There should be some medical supplies in here."

"You know how to use 'em?" Bucky jokes, face smarting and feeling off kilter. He hasn't been missing an arm since he first lost it. That thing didn't just come off.

Steve shrugs, searching. "I think I'll be okay. Kate, Barton, and Nat are the best at this stuff. Unfortunately, though, they aren't here right now, so we'll have to make do." He finally comes over with a first aid kit and starts doing what he can. "We also need to get out of here. They're already looking for the jet, and Tony won't stay in there forever. T'Challa has to contact authorities about the psychologist, too, I'll bet. They'll be here soon enough."

"Where will we go?"

"I don't know yet. But we don't have an endless supply of fuel. And we'll have to leave the jet somewhere and go on foot."

"Can we at least get out of this climate?" They might end up holing up somewhere without heat, and they don't have the supplies to deal with that in this weather.

"Yeah, I think so." He steps away, taking the first aid kit with him. "That's good for now. We need to go."

He helps Bucky get strapped in, then gets into the pilot's seat and takes off, to where Bucky doesn't know. Steve probably doesn't know either, but he doesn't quite go back the way they came. He's avoiding meeting the authorities on the way out.

"How's your arm?" he asks.

"Off."

He laughs. "I mean, how's it feel?"

"Like nothing. It always has."

Steve hums in response, then turns to figuring out where to fly. By the time he seems to have some sense of direction, Bucky can no longer fight the exhaustion crashing onto him from the past few days.

When he wakes up a few hours later, they're still in the air, and it's much less snowy. He groans a bit, about to rub his eyes before remembering that he only has the one hand. "Where are we?"