Living on a razor's edge, danced with demons, tasted death

Things weren’t easy on the run, but it was almost comforting the way it felt so familiar. Fit across his body like a second skin. It was easy to fall into step with the others when he caught up with Steve, Natasha and Sam.

He liked Sam in a way he really doesn’t freely like anyone these days. It’s strange how easy the rapport builds with him, but it’s nice. Bucky could sustain himself on good banter alone for a long damn time.

He’s rigid and stoic as the first hour ticks by. Sam isn’t stupid. He knows enough to put together a rough estimate of how long he’s got in here, and they both know Bucky will be fine, even if he’s a little crankier than usual for all the cold. He doesn’t need Bucky to point any of it out. Panic would only mean the oxygen depletes faster and neither of them want that. So…calm. Detached. Nothing but neutral, even tones.

“We’re gonna get outta here, you know?” he says suddenly into the silence that has stretched on forever between them. “You’ll see,” he smirks, “I’m always right about these things.” How? Well, he’s hasn’t gotten that far yet. But the cocksure commentary is better than any of the other options.