Had to take a break from Chapter 18 of Will You Go Out With My Big, Green Alter Ego? It's driving me insane. So, since I've really been digging the Steve/Darcy/Bucky stories I've seen, I thought I'd toss this out at everyone. It's a little bit of angst, and a little bit of fluff. Hope you enjoy.

When it happened, it was always the same.

He was falling.

People always said that your life flashes before your eyes when you know you're about to die. James Barnes, known as "Bucky" to his friends, dropped into an icy abyss, screaming out the denial of his upcoming death. Never once during that long fall had his life flashed before him. His past had been unimportant. It was the present, and the future, that tore through his soul.

Regret had risen up like bile in his throat as he fell. Regret that he wouldn't be able to go all the way with Steve to the end of the war and see America triumphant. Regret about the effect of his death on Steve. America, and the world, needed Steve Rogers. Would Steve be able to continue? Underneath the muscles, he was still that skinny kid from Brooklyn, and he needed someone to remind him that it was okay to be a little selfish. Without that, Steve would burn himself out in the service of country.

The impact with an icy wall sent a ripping pain tearing through his left shoulder and Bucky went spinning in a parody of a carnival ride as he continued to fall. Anger coursed through him at the injustice of it all. He had lived through so much, survived the destruction of seven weapon factories, but a simple information gathering mission would be the end of him. Life was cruel.

The anticipation of death was exhausting and grim. Knowing his life would end in a terribly painful fashion put Bucky into a strange state of bitter acceptance. Of course this was how it would end. He was a supporting follower of Captain America, a superhuman hero. Regular guys like him were breakable, vulnerable…disposable.

He stopped screaming, determined to meet his death in stubborn silence.

It always ended the same. Impact with icy water that shattered bones and drove the breath from his shattering body. The same icy water flowing into his lungs, his heart, his blood, turning him to ice from the inside out.

Bucky sat up in bed, screaming hoarsely. He was drenched in sweat, shaking, hands clenching in the bed sheets. For that first awful moment, he was still broken, in the ice. Then solid bands of warmth wrapped around his torso, thawing the ice. Arms slid around his waist, warming him from the outside in. A cheek pressed to his shoulder. Another cheek pressed to his chest.

"We have you," a gravelly low voice assured. The solid bands tightened around Bucky's torso. Steve.

"Caught ya, Barnes," a smoother voice assured. The arms around his waist squeezed tight, anchoring him. Darcy.

Bucky relaxed into their embrace with a shuddery sigh, the last vestiges of his icy dream leaving him. He was safe, and whole, and warm once more. They never let the dream linger. Their warmth chased it away.

Slowly, his racing heart calmed. Warmth and peace filled him, bringing him back to life. With a soft sigh, he reclined back onto the pillows of their bed, sheet puddling around his waist. Two heads, one light, one dark, settled onto either side of his chest, arms still anchoring him

Bucky wiggled a little to free his arms, so that he could wrap them around the man and woman who had become so integral to his survival and happiness. "I don't know what I'd do without you two," he uttered, squeezing his eyes shut.

A hand pressed over his heart. "You don't have to find out." Darcy. "You've got us."

"Always here for you," Steve assured softly.

James Barnes had been dying a slow death in the ice since he first fell into it. But his best friend, having had his own slow death in ice, found someone to rescue him from the cold. Steve never expected to be rescued from his own personal hell, and when he learned that Bucky was alive (sort of), Steve knew that he'd do anything to rescue his oldest friend as well.

It had only taken Darcy seconds after seeing Steve's reaction to the news of Bucky's survival to decide to help and support her man 100%. It couldn't have been easy. Deprogramming the Winter Soldier, recovering Bucky Barnes, had taken its toll on all parties. There was so much emotion involved, and Bucky had lashed out at everyone who tried to help him. It had to have cut Steve's soul to shreds.

But Darcy had been there to keep Steve in one piece, to remind Steve that Bucky had to purge the negative in order to be himself again. She had held Captain America together while Bucky tore himself from the Winter Soldier, and left the assassin's coldness in the ice. Bucky was pretty sure she didn't expect her boyfriend to totally commit to his childhood friend, in every way possible. Steve had been ready to release her, since he didn't think it was fair to Darcy to always be second in his priorities. Darcy completely surprised him by committing herself to Bucky's recovery.

He had overheard the conversation between them, as he lay on the floor in his cell, a panting, shivering wreck of a man.

"I can't ask you to stick around for this," Steve had told her in his soft, sad voice. "It's going to get worse before it gets better, and it's already been pretty bad. It's not fair to you."

"You can shovel that shit right out of your ass," she had snapped at him. "He's your best friend, Steve. And he's been through shit even worse than you. What kind of girl would I be if I let you push me away just because things were going to get tough?"

Bucky fell in love with her a little that very day.

It had taken months of super-intensive work with him to pull him out of the icy abyss he had fallen into. When he finally surfaced to regular life, it was with Steve holding onto his human arm, and Darcy clutching his metal one. It only took several months after that moment for the three of them to realize that they all belonged together.

Bucky heaved a content sigh, warmed completely through by the cuddling bodies to either side of him.

"Thank you," he said softly, as he did every time the nightmare struck.

No other words were spoken, but then again, there wasn't really anything else that needed to be said.