violent-darts:

When Morita pulls the blanket-cover aside, too-bright winter morning light stabs right down into the foxhole, but Bucky might not actually mind so much if Jim didn’t manage to get snow down the back of Bucky’s neck while he did it. 

Maybe he should blame the snow, though. Seeing as it managed to do it despite only being a little bit, and despite having to somehow get by Bucky’s coat which is draped over two layers of blanket over both him and Steve. Maybe it’s specially designed, evil HYDRA snow. Right now he wouldn’t put it fucking past them. 

Steve stays asleep, which is fine; he’s been taking watches to let everyone else rest and he’s starting to run out of margin, and Bucky’s not really interested in getting more precise about the edge of exhaustion where Steve starts seeing things. Ballpark is good enough, and they’re in the ballpark. And Steve can sleep through anything he decides to sleep through. 

Besides, he’s warm. Even with Morita standing there letting the damn warm out. 

And the thing is, using Steve as a heater actually works better if all available coats and blankets go over both of them, which is why Bucky’s actually in his shirt. The air on his face was already chillier than the rest of him; with Morita holding the covering blankets and tree-branches aside, Bucky has even less desire to do anything but hide under all the covers even more. 

Jim gives Bucky the sour look of someone who had a cold night. “Lucky bastard,” he mutters. 

“First off,” Bucky says, “you better not be waking me up without coffee. Second off, it’s not my fault you snore so loud Dugan won’t share a foxhole with you so you’re stuck with Monty. And third off, okay then, next time he starts seeing little flying fucking robots you can fucking talk him down.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Morita mutters, but Bucky notices the lack of volunteering. But he also does actually pass down a steaming tin mug of coffee. Which Bucky eyes for a long time before deciding it’s worth snaking one arm out from the warm to get. 

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he says, “why is it so fucking cold.” 

“Because God hates us and wants us to suffer,” Morita replies. “It’s 0700 and Major Whatshisnuts wants to see Cap at 0800.” 

“Major Whatsisnuts can go fuck a donkey,” Bucky mutters, and rubs his eyes. “Fine, go find something they’re passing off as fucking food around here and I’ll wake him up in half an hour or something.”