Bucky hates all of this. He hates the cold that's seeping into their bones, he hates the fact that he probably just wasted more of the oxygen left in the freezer with his little tantrum, he hates the way Sam is the one comforting him while he's the one dying.

"Stop talking like that," he mutters, clinging just a little tighter, like maybe if he could just pull the other man close enough, he could trap enough heat in him to save him. "just stop talking," he says with a soft huff, though there is no mirth found in it to be considered a laugh at all.