Chapter Text
"Winter is the time for comfort, for good food and warmth, for the touch of a friendly hand and for a talk beside the fire: it is time for home."
- Edith Sitwell
The sound was muffled by the snow, the flakes coming down in thick waves as the late evening shifted permanently into the dead of night.
Steve lifted his head from where he’d been staring into the flames of the fire, his knees cracking slightly as he rose from a crouch and replaced the fireplace poker back in it's holder.
He almost ignored it; there was no one around for miles and the snowstorm had been on the radar for a full week. Surely no one would be out in this mess, much less on the private road of his severely off-the-grid cabin.
Something nagged at him to go outside though, to investigate, the same sense of unease deep in his belly that had warned him when a floor was about to collapse in a burning building, or when there was one more person trapped in a twisted car wreck. That feeling had kept him out of bed and wandering the small cabin aimlessly tonight, when he normally would have found himself asleep hours before. That feeling had also saved his sorry ass more than once, so Steve knew better than to go against his gut these days.
A quick glance out the window confirmed what he already knew instinctively; whiteout conditions to the point where he couldn't see the end of his own driveway anymore.
Still, that muted thump stayed with him and he grabbed his largest fireman’s flashlight before donning his parka and his tallest pair of winter boots, the snow still slipping inside and melting into his socks the moment he stepped outside and into the high banks.
He waded through the snow uncomfortably, cursing his choice of forgoing his ski pants as soon as his jeans touched the snow and started chafing wetly against his skin.
Just a quick look around to satisfy that lingering sense of wrong, he thought, and then he could go back to the house and slip into bed like nothing had happened.
He saw the skid marks before the car, oddly enough. Long, deep trenches cut into the snow where a vehicle had lost control and spun before slamming into the steep ditch at the end of his driveway, headlights still shining uselessly against the literal sheets of snow coming down.
Steve's feet were moving before he could even register the full scope of the accident; the shattered windshield, the smashed in front end of the car. All Steve was looking for was motion from within the vehicle itself, a sign of life, and he was coming up empty on that account so far.
He was at the driver's side door in a heartbeat, clearing snow off of the already frosting window and shining his flashlight inside. The powerful light did it's job, illuminating the interior to show one occupant, the driver, a male, slumped over the wheel of the car, a nasty looking cut dripping blood from his forehead.
Steve tried the door handle only to find it still locked before he pounded a fist on the side of the car, his voice and actions getting swept away in the furious wind of the storm, the driver still not opening his eyes.
Cursing under his breath he sprinted back to the cabin, his heart thumping steadily and his mind narrowing in that way it did whenever he was on a call. Protect, protect, protect.
He threw open the door to the cabin and ran to his hall closet, his spare emergency bag and giant first aid kit neatly tucked away until his time off ended.
He grabbed his window punch and his thick gloves and was back outside in a flash, sliding slightly on the ice forming in the driveway as he darted back to the car.
The dark-haired stranger was still unmoving, slumped over the wheel of the car, and Steve wasted no time in hurrying around to the passenger side door, pulling on his gloves and breaking the glass cleanly out of the window. He leaned through the open window to throw the lock before getting inside the car, his nose twitching and his now-soaked jeans squelching uncomfortably against the rich leather seats.
He breathed a slight sigh of relief as he found a pulse on the man's neck, but it was short lived as the man's temperature made itself known against his fingertips, the open windshield letting in an alarming amount of freezing wind and snow in such a short span of time. Steve needed to get him inside now.
He released the seatbelt the man had thankfully been wearing and used the key fob dangling from the ignition to unlock all the doors, before turning the still running car off and darting back around to the driver’s side, breath puffing out in a white cloud as he moved.
Steve hesitated here for a moment, years of training telling him to not move the man until he could confirm any possible neck or spine injuries, but the imminent threat of hypothermia soon overrode his sense of caution in this area.
Steve moved as gently as possible, getting the man situated in his arms in a bridal-style carry before carefully walking back up the ditch and driveway, his urge to run tamped down as the snow slipped and slid dangerously under his feet. He was surprised by the impulse at all, as he was usually calm and collected under pressure, but something about this man, the way his scent, even muffled by his clothing, was hitting Steve's nose, making him want to move faster, to take risks if that meant getting him help sooner.
It was a long walk back to the door but he let his logic overrule his alpha instincts and kept up the slow and steady pace until he reached the cabin.
After a brief but awkward fight with the front doorknob, Steve was finally, finally, placing the unconscious stranger on the couch in front of the fireplace and throwing his own winter gear off hastily as he ran back down the hall for the first aid kit and his stockpile of spare blankets.
Steve said a silent thank you to the thousands of hours he had poured into his EMT certification, grateful as always for his first aid experience from his time in the Army and his years with the fire department as well. Both situations required a level head and a steady hand, and he put his skills to work now, disinfecting his hands, snapping on a pair of disposable gloves, and taking a steadying breath before moving in to assess the stranger.
First things first; figure out the extent of the damage and deal with the most life-threatening injuries immediately.
Steve gently pushed back the dark mass of hair that had fallen over the stranger's face, revealing chiseled features and full lips. A strange lump lodged itself in his throat as he took in the man's beauty, and Steve forced his attention on to more pressing matters as soon as he caught himself staring. He grabbed his penlight and gently pulled the man’s eyelids open, startled by the intensity of the crystalline grey irises that were revealed. Both pupils dilated evenly with the brightness and reduced back to baseline as he then moved the light away, a positive sign that made Steve’s shoulders slump slightly with relief. There wasn’t much he could realistically do about the unconsciousness, so Steve continued on with his assessment for now.
The man had suffered a black eye and the aforementioned forehead cut, but the blood flow had already reduced significantly, which likely meant it was a mostly superficial wound. Steve grimaced as he looked down the rest of the man’s body, small shards from the windshield piercing his skin through his clothing in places, and one large gash noticeable under his left collarbone. His left arm hung at an odd angle, likely broken, which was particularly poor news considering Steve didn't have the ability to take an x-ray at the moment.
The man was dressed in a thick scarf along with a soft, but disturbingly ugly, mustard yellow sweater, soaked through from the snow, no coat in sight, his pale skin frigid to the touch. Steve didn't hesitate to use his emergency scissors, cutting through the fabric of the scarf and sweater along with a simple white t-shirt underneath that had been plastered to the man's torso, the scent of paper, fresh coffee, and cool air becoming more prominent with each layer removed. He smelled like someone had left a window cracked open in an old bookstore in the middle of December, like the comfort of snuggling up with your favourite novel on a winter morning. It spoke of home, and security, and a sleepy kind of intellect that was hard to pin down, and Steve wanted to bury himself in it, finally understanding why his protection instincts had been screaming at him since he had opened the car door.
This man was an omega.
Steve shook himself into focus and continued cutting away the clothing, exposing scars that littered the man's chest and back as the rest of the fabric was removed, aged and healed to the point that there was no way they were caused by this accident, but alarming nonetheless.
Steve glanced back up to the man’s face, taking a closer look at the black eye he had noticed earlier.
His stomach churned as he now paid attention to the yellowing around the edges, the telltale sign of an injury that was already trying to heal. Whatever had gone on here, the black eye had happened prior to the car accident. That, mixed with the smattering of old injuries on his body, painted an ugly picture.
Steve felt his fists clench and he sat back on his haunches for a moment, attempting to pull in a calming breath, the omega's scent inadvertently helping him find his center. Domestic dispute calls had always turned his stomach, but particularly when the violence was against an omega, and he fought down the unhelpful surge of anger rising in his throat. There was nothing to be done for it at the moment, and he needed to keep moving.
Wet jeans, boots, and socks were the next to go, Steve silently relieved that no other hidden injuries, fresh or otherwise, were unearthed as the layers came off. The man's black boxer briefs were luckily only slightly damp from being pressed against his wet jeans, and Steve sent a tiny mental thank you out into the universe for not having to fully strip an unconscious omega who had recently escaped an obviously vulnerable situation. This night was already crazy enough as it was.
Steve quickly grabbed the blankets he had fetched earlier from the closet and began heaping them onto the man, covering his right arm, legs, and feet in warm, fluffy softness. With the omega’s torso and left arm still exposed, Steve cleaned the gash under his collarbone first, removing pieces of glass and disinfecting the area before adding a few necessary stitches and covering the wound with gauze. A few more cuts along the man’s torso required bandaging, but thankfully the damage seemed fairly minimal considering the shape the car had been in. He set the arm next, doing his best to align the bones correctly by feel alone. He had worked on more severe injuries with a lot less overseas, and although he wasn't completely satisfied with his options, Steve was fairly confident he had gotten it right as he splinted the arm into place and wrapped it up snugly. Hopefully the stranger would regain consciousness shortly, and Steve didn't want him throwing it back out of place accidentally before he could explain what had happened.
The forehead cut was last, having stopped bleeding some time ago, leaving a messy but unthreatening mess on the omega’s face and hair. Head wounds were always nasty bleeders, but this one was shallow, his first impression that it looked worse than it actually was proving correct. He carefully wiped blood away with a warm, damp towel, running it over high cheekbones and a sharp jawline where red had dribbled down.
Steve's adrenaline high was beginning to falter, the extremely late night and sudden stress finally catching up to him, so he rechecked the omega’s pulse and temperature one last time, his overtired alpha brain particularly happy to find both in a normal range now, and finished bundling him up with the blankets. Steve flopped back onto the floor in front of the fire, having just enough of his own physical awareness left to pull his thinnest blanket over himself before falling into a heavy sleep, leaving the rest of the night up to fate.
He had done all he could for now.
Bucky awoke to the smell of the forest, a green and fresh and airy aroma mixed with the smokey comfort of coals burned low in a fire, keeping a home comfortable and warm.
He burrowed further into his blanket nest, practically purring as he pulled the multiple blankets tighter around himself, oh so soft and warm and smelling strongly of a good alpha, notes of Autumn and rainwater and spicy ginger cookies that he wanted to submerge himself him.
Brock had never smelt this good.
Because.
Because Brock didn't smell like this. Brock smelt like damp city streets and second-hand smoke, not this earthy comfort combination of nature and heat.
Bucky lifted his head and took in his surroundings, wincing slightly as the light hit his eyes.
He was currently lying on a worn down but sinfully comfortable couch in what appeared to be a small but homey cabin. It was basically one large room, a grand fireplace, some overflowing bookshelves and the couch making up the living area, with a small kitchen and dining table towards the back of the cabin. There was a doorway off to the side of the living area, presumably the bathroom, and a set of stairs off from the kitchen, leading up to an exposed loft which held a bedroom set.
That was it. That was the entire house.
The oddest fixture in the room though, by far, was the very large sleeping alpha who was currently passed out in front of the fireplace, one measly looking blanket thrown haphazardly over himself and not even a pillow in sight.
Bucky frowned and sat up slowly, his body suddenly aching all over, but his five (he counted) pillows supported him easily as leaned back and considered his situation.
He wasn't worried, oddly enough. He wasn't sure what exactly had happened either, but bringing his right hand up to his eye to feel the tenderness still lingering there, he figured he was probably better off anywhere than back with Brock Rumlow.
The alpha on the floor snuffled in his sleep, rolling over to face Bucky and revealing the handsome features of a man about Bucky's age, if not a little older. He had golden hair that led down to a soft looking beard, a perfectly imperfect nose that looked like it had taken a hit or two in its lifetime (typical alpha male, of course) delicate pink lips, and a body that belonged on the cover of a romance novel. Jesus. Just the eyelashes alone on this man…
Bucky's left arm caught fire as he tried to shift his position more to get a better look, and he couldn't help the whimper that escaped him, his eyes watering slightly with the pain.
The alpha’s eyes snapped open at the sound and the man was suddenly on his knees in front of the couch, his arms outstretched, as if to touch Bucky without actually touching.
“Can I,” the alpha's voice was a little rough with sleep still, deep and thick and very, very masculine. “Can I see your arm again? I want to make sure it didn't shift in the night.”
Bucky wordlessly held out his left arm as far as he could, the man taking it oh so carefully in two large hands, his dexterous fingers feeling gently along Bucky's arm where the pain lived.
“Are you a doctor?” Bucky finally managed to find words, and they caused the alpha to look up from his ministrations, his blue eyes crinkling slightly at the edges as he gave a tired smile.
“Firefighter actually, but I'm trained as an EMT as well.”
“Ah.” Bucky clicked his teeth, looking around again. “That seems like a fine job. So why have you kidnapped me then?”
“Kidnapped you?” The alpha sputtered, carefully resting Bucky's arm back in his lap, apparently satisfied with its alignment. Bucky had the feeling that if he hadn't been injured, the man would have dropped him like a hot potato instead after that accusation.
“Yes, I've obviously been kidnapped. Otherwise I would be at the hospital if something had happened.”
“The nearest hospital is two hundred miles away, and visibility is shit with this storm,” the alpha grouched, a line forming between his brows. “I saved your life when you crashed into my ditch last night.”
Bucky hummed skeptically as he took in this information. “You still could have called an ambulance,” he persisted.
“There's no phone here, nothing to call with.”
“No…” Bucky looked around the small cabin once again, feeling horror descend. “No phone? What about your cell phone?”
“I don't have it with me. I left it in the city before I came here.”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why did you come here?”
“For a vacation.”
“You came to a place with no phone for a vacation?”
“Is this really important right now?” The alpha questioned, the line between his brows deepening even further with concern. “Does your head hurt? Do you remember your name?”
“Where is your TV? Your computer? What is your wifi password?” Bucky asked, ignoring the man's questions.
“There are none of those things here.”
“None of… well. I must have died in this so-called accident and gone to Hell, because that's the only explanation for this. This is my punishment. I knew eternal damnation would be tough, but no phone, no wifi-.” A flash of light was suddenly in front of his face, a tiny penlight wielded by the strange alpha thoroughly blinding him.
“It must be worse than I thought,” the alpha murmured to himself. Bucky swatted the light away and sat back with a huff.
“It's not my head!” Bucky exclaimed. “It's the fact that my 'rescuer ,’” Bucky inserted the necessary air quotes here, one handed because his left arm still hurt like a bitch, “doesn't even have basic amenities in their home!”
“ Again ,” the alpha ground out, eyes narrowed, “you're very welcome that I saved your life. It was no problem really. I'm only sorry my lack of internet will now be the death of you.”
“You don't sound sorry at all,” Bucky sniffed.
“Ok, well, I think-” the alpha stated shortly, finally rising from his knees. He seemed much larger now, more powerful as he towered over Bucky, and Bucky felt a surge of fear spike through him. The alpha’s nose twitched and his sentence dropped off as he looked at Bucky with a mix of confusion and curiosity, Bucky automatically baring his throat submissively.
The alpha’s gaze softened and he knelt in front of the couch again slowly, his head tipping to the side for a moment to reveal the column of his own neck, thick and tan despite the winter season.
Bucky inhaled a deep breath of surprise. No alpha, much less one he had literally just met, had ever submitted to him before, yet here was this man, this stranger, willingly on his knees with his neck exposed.
“I’m not going to hurt you.” The alpha spoke with a low voice, sincere and serious in the quiet cabin. “I promise, I will never touch you without your permission. You’re safe here. I did not kidnap you, and I will take you wherever you need to go once the storm lets up enough for us to be able to drive out of here, although I’d recommend the hospital first, personally.” The alpha’s lips twitched at that, a rueful smile, and Bucky felt himself start to relax again. “I don’t know if you saw the weather reports before you got in your car, but this is predicted to last for at least a week. Until that time, we’re going to have to stay together. No wifi, no phones, no TV.” A wider smile made itself known this time, and Bucky couldn’t help but grin back a little at the easy teasing. “I’m not asking you to trust me yet, but I promise, you have no reason to fear me.”
“Are you going to be giving any more long-winded speeches during our stay together?” Bucky asked with a small smirk.
The alpha laughed, a rich, pleasant sound, his straight white teeth flashing through his lips. “Probably. That a problem?”
Bucky studied him with a critical eye for a long moment before rolling his eyes. Now that he had a chance to really take the man in, he seemed to be much more a puppy than a wolf. “I suppose I’ll survive it,” he finally answered, extending out his right hand. “Bucky Barnes.”
The alpha grinned, meeting the grip. “Steve Rogers.”
“Nice to meet you Steve,” Bucky grinned back. “Now where have you put my clothes?”