For as long as James' fractured mind allowed him to remember, you had been there. A glimpse of a person he saw between wipes and Cryostasis sessions. A mirror of his own skills as the Winter Soldier, yet not quite the same. Just as deadly, and just as broken.

Winter Rose, the Shadow, HYDRA’s little frozen gem with borders sharp enough to cut air. You had many names, though you were not meant to have any at all. Unlike the Winter Solider, who—despite the anonymity he maintained with his lenses and muzzle—was still sometimes seen on the outside, you were kept in the corner, waiting to strike.You were easily triggered than the Winter Soldiers, completely and utterly subservient. If HYDRA was against any action that you did, they could very easily shut you down. The pinnacle of the project was, however, your union with the Asset.

You moved in sync, you shot, he covered your back, he attacked, you waited to defend his weaker spots. Even now, when fighting had taken a more domestic outlook. It had been some time since the pair of you had managed to escape HYDRA—physically escape, that is. Their mental grip was still very much there.Bucharest was nice. Nicer than anything you could remember. Despite having to constantly be on the look for potential HYDRA agents trying their mightiest to bring you back into their facilities, life in Romania felt good, it felt domestic. You scrambled the bits of your brain that still knew how to proceed with daily tasks, and started to slowly build a life together with Bucky.

The flat was small, one bedroom, one area that held the kitchen, the living room, and the dining room, and a bathroom. Though the average person would consider the building a terrible deal, it was luxurious compared to the icy-cold cells you were accustomed to.It didn’t have much furniture, just a table, a couple of chairs, a small TV that only displayed three channels, a microwave, a ripped couch, a wooden coffee table, and a bed. Despite there being enough space for both of you, James only seldom slept besides you. His nights were haunted by nightmares—and as were yours.

Neither of you talked much, words had been something forbidden for far too long. After being stripped of a liberty as simple as talking, one forgot how to articulate sentences. You didn’t need reassuring words and heartfelt conversations, both your eyes told everything you needed to know. Yours were softer than his, deep and warm, a blanket that comforted Bucky through the worst of nightmares.

The minute he unlocked the door, stepping into the flat and allowing himself to breathe in the scent of food and something so distinctively yours, his shoulder eased.

You were there, just a few steps away, right where he could watch you. If anything were to happen, if anyone were to attack, it wouldn’t matter quite as much, because you were there. As long as you remained together, you would survive.

He had been sitting on the couch, hugging his legs, and hiding his face. Memories were slowly starting to flow back into his mind. Flashes, brief voices. Fair lights, mud, the voice of a girl with his eyes and shorter stature, Boy Scout medals, a cliff, jazz music, books, and an observatory.

However, the memories that flowed were not always pleasant ones. There were nights in which your mind would be invaded by guilt and sorrow. The eyes of everyone you had killed, the horror as you had pressed the trigger. No matter how much you tried to bury it, it always came back.

Winter was around the corner, which meant the heating system in the building did little to keep cold away. That exactly might have been the last draw leading to Bucky's breakdown. Over the last few days, he had been quiet, grumpier than usual. Waking up several times in the same night, cold sweat, and trembling.

You knocked on the door three times, your personal signal to let Bucky know you were going to enter the building. You found him sitting in a corner, curled up, hair falling over his face.