A/N: HEY YOU GUYS!

This imagine here I rewrote MANY times. This draft came right after I woke up my nap today. I'm sick and have had ZERO ambition to do anything except for drink tea, play Sims, and watch reality TV. But I managed to put this together and I am actually sort of proud!

Hope you all like it! It is indeed a part 2 to the request by hazeleyedroleplayer, an absolute darling!

Stay healthy, everyone :)

Winnie

Warnings: blood, injury

Words: 3K

The world is so cold.

That's the first thing that pops into your mind when your eyes flutter open to a snowy night sky. The little flakes that fall down from the stars shine with the pulsing reflection of a fire's glow—a fire that's erupted somewhere to your right. Smoke fills your lungs along with the smell of pine and gasoline.

You start coughing. The air that swarms your lungs helps knock some sense into your head. And for the first time since you opened your eyes you remember what happened. It was you and Steve driving downhill before the snow got the better of the tires and the SUV started spinning ice-circles faster than Tonya Harding.

"S-Steve?" you croak his name. Sitting up washes you with pain, but you don't stop to inspect the damage now. "Steve!" You try louder this time. Your fits of coughs are dying down, but the only reply to your call is the snow gently whistling through the bare trees.

Numbness radiates out of your cold, drained limbs as you bring yourself to stand. It takes a few tries but eventually you end up on your feet. Slowly you turn towards the scene of the crash, hoping to not fall over with how dizzy you suddenly are, and gasp aloud. The SUV is nothing more than a pile of steaming metal. Flames have burst from the fallen engine that was catapulted between the trees. The cab and rear of the vehicle have been severed completely in two separate parts on either side of the big pine that ended the spinning charade.

"Steve!" You stumble towards the wreckage. You were thrown from the mess—landing rather pleasantly in a pile of snow, it seems. Your legs are working and unbroken and all of your ribs seem to be intact. It appears as if your bad habit of forgetting to buckle worked in your favor today.

But Steve never forgets. Safety is Steve Rogers' middle name, so you know for a fact he's lying somewhere in that mess now—buckled in tight and most likely dead.

"Please don't be dead, please don't be dead, please, please, please," the words tumble out of your chapped, blistering lips on their own accord. Stumbling among the wreck your hands shake—unsure where to start. But you have to start somewhere. So you begin digging—cringing as the hot, torn metal digs into your frozen skin. The only light you have to go by is the sliver of the crescent moon and his neighboring stars.

"I'm coming, Steve. I'm gonna find you," you speak into the brisk air. If you keep telling yourself that he's alive and listening you don't feel absolutely dead inside. So you keep on—digging through the rubble and snow until you find Steve Rogers. "Just hang on for me."

When you first spot the glimpse of a human hand you're filled with relief. It's not a moment later that your tummy is in knots. The hand is no longer taupe—it's dark blue. And when you reach to grab it, you find it's completely severed. Blood has crystalized around the wrist that's no longer attached to an arm.

"No! No," you repeat the single word to yourself. This doesn't feel real... it can't be... but sure enough, you find more blood. You find more carnage. The deeper you dig the more there's to see: first it's the hand, then it's a shoe. Then... then it's a scorched, dented torso. Your head whips away as the smell of burnt flesh fills your nostrils. Taking a breath through your mouth you close your eyes—braving yourself to look again. And when you do... you see that it's a man. A man with dark brown hair.

It's Agent Blake.

"Oh my god." You clutch at your chest. Forcing yourself to go on, you push around the body. Steve's still in here somewhere: you can still hold onto hope that he's alive.

Now that you have sort of an idea as to what part of the vehicle this is, you move upwards. Blake was kept at the back. The portion farther north must've been the cab. So you start digging there instead, on what you assume is the driver's side. It's not long before you come across a trickling stream of warm blood that runs down the side of a plate of broken glass.

Thank god for your super human strength. No other woman of your young age would've been able to lift the wreckage like this now: but you can. In all honesty, though, you'd bring yourself to move mountains if you knew Steve was there needing you on the other side.

"Steve." His name leaves your mouth like a desperate prayer. You see him. He's crunched over on himself with his forehead pressed to the unattached steering wheel. Blood dribbles out of the wound on his forehead. Pressing your fingers to his neck you breathe out a sigh—he's alive.

It takes a lot of coercion to free him of the bent seatbelt. Dragging his unconscious body through the deep, fresh snow is another challenge of its own. Collapsing into a pile on the other side of the road with Steve's head in your lap is easy. You fall onto the forest floor into the soft bed of snow with Steve in your arms. He's a heavy bastard, that's for sure. Your limbs ache from the quarter mile you've just lugged him. You know you can't stay too close to the wreckage. This is still dangerous—you'll need to leave before Agent Blake's people show up. When they come across the mess and find two missing bodies... they'll come looking for you. Normally you'd have no problem taking on a bunch of jackasses in a fight, especially with Steve on your side, but with him insentient and your body burnt and bruised it'll be a hard battle to come out of alive.

"We're okay for now," you pant tiredly. Your cold, numb fingers stroke Steve's blond hair. His complexion is so pasty and lifeless. For a brief moment you wonder if this is what he looked like when they pulled him out of the ice: skin silver and eyelids frostily closed. His heavy body weighs you down. He's nearly twice your size but you still manage to keep him on your lap as you look over his visible wounds. You talk to the comatose man as if nothing's wrong. "A broken nose, that's not bad. A concussion, maybe? You've been through worse. You've come through worse. You can hang on through this until Nat and Bucky find us. I know you can." Your fingers hold his cheeks and move his face into the warmth of your chest. "Just—just stay alive. Don't freeze to death. I can't have you doing anything stupid like that right now. Not now—don't die on me now." Your eyes scan the area in which you've settled down. There's nothing but whiteness. Steve's body is colder than the air, it seems, and growing heavier every moment.

"I thought you were supposed to be a super soldier, jerk?" you attempt at a dry joke that would've normally made him laugh. "The cold's not supposed to bother you. But you—you—you seem kinda bothered now, not gonna lie." Your voice cracks a little. You sniffle away a few tears and wipe your eyes. That's when you decide that Steve's going to die. He's going to die if you don't take care of him with as much dedication as he's been taking care of you.

You take off your coat. It's not much, but it's better than nothing. You're not a super soldier but you're tougher than you were before the Hydra conditioning. You can handle some snow, you tell yourself sternly as you shiver. The coat you wore before is layered over Steve in attempt to keep him warm. If there wasn't the risk of a bunch of bad-guys finding you, you'd build a fire for warmth and to signal the others. Now, having to make this decision for you and Steve's safety alone, you decide against it. If either of you were normal people it'd be worth the risk—someone could die from hypothermia out here in only a few hours. Hopefully with your genetically modified DNA you'll last a bit longer... hopefully.

The snow starts to come down harder. With much difficulty, as your body is much more sluggish now than it's ever been before, you drag Steve under the relative safety of a tree. The thick branches slow the stream of snow here. The wind that whips through the grove brings cold, salty tears to your eyes. Shrinking into a ball you keep Steve's bare skin to your warmest bits—the safety of your neck. His face is pressed there; bloody mess and all, while you've got his hands bundled on your bare belly. Maybe he won't lose any fingers this way.

"It's—it's gonna be o—okay," you stutter quietly into the night. You have no idea how long it's been since the wreck, or even since when you found Steve. Hell, you're not even sure if it's day or night. It's dark, that's all you know for sure, and Steve's still breathing. Soft, jagged puffs of air are coming out of his mouth and fanning your cold skin. He seems to be warmer now than he was before. He's warmer than you are, certainly.

"I—I just wanna take care of you," you mutter into his hair. Your eyes squeeze closed as a few more tears fall. They are swept up into the storm as more flakes. "You're s-so good to me. You're t-to good t-t-to me. I don't know what I—what I ever did to deserve you." You press his face closer against you and tighten the buttons of the jacket he wears. "And—and if it's true, if it's true that you love me... even if it's not... I want—want to tell you that I think I'm; I think I'm falling in love with you, too..." You laugh to yourself softly. "I should've probably said this before now. You—you'd be giving me so much shit right now if you were..." you stop yourself there. You don't want to think about what Steve would say if he was awake right now. Because if you think about it too hard, your brain reminds you of the chance that you may never hear him say anything ever again. Even if he's alive—even if you both come out of this alive—he might never wake up. Steve might be gone forever. Tomorrow the world might be one without Steve Rogers. And if that's the case, this world certainly isn't one you want to live in.

"Don't die." You sniffle. Your hands struggle to pull him closer as they've lost so much feeling from the blistering cold. "Please don't die..." And that's the last thing you say before you unwillingly close your eyes.

When they open next it's much more peaceful then you'd expect it to be. They flutter up to a popcorn speckled ceiling, narrow with confusion, before blinking a few times to clear the haze. Your mind is groggy and sore—much like the state of your body that is awkwardly positioned on planks of hardwood floor.

Your head hurts too much for any sudden movements. The agent in you though is already picking apart the scene. There's a soft hum of a heater—a generator, maybe. There's warmth in your body that wasn't there before. You've been taken out of the storm. The million dollar question is by whom?

More important than that: where's Steve?

Your joints ache—screaming in protest—as you lift your neck. You're on the floor of a small room. Part of a shack, maybe? The walls are blistering wallpaper in dingy shades of yellow and pastel blue. Rat traps are in the corners of the room. The only furniture to be seen is a chair angled towards where you lie. You're in dry clothes, miraculously, and wrapped in a thermal sleeping bag. Your wounds are dressed.

Steve's nowhere to be seen.

A noise comes from out in the hall. Hurrying back to your position from before, you shut your eyes. If being an Avenger has taught you anything it's to always be suspicious of your surroundings. If you've been taken by Hydra or worse you need to at least have the element of surprise on your side while you're in this disheveled, injured state.

The door creaks open. Hard, steady footsteps fall into the room. Slowly someone—a man, from the sound of it—comes closer. You fight to keep your breathing steady as they kneel at your bedside. You can feel their presence like swarming warmth that huddles around your right cheek.

He touches your cheek. Soft skin gently stumbles down the slope of your jaw before a thumb rests lovingly on your lower lip. And then, before you can open your eyes, a pair of lips presses to your forehead.

You know it's Steve. You can feel it in his fingertips—hear it in his breathing. You can sense it in his breath that fans your wet hair and the way he lingers in his kiss.

You open your eyes. Steve's sitting back with a hard, stoic look on his face. When his big blue eyes fall upon yours though, he lets out a long breath.

"Hey Pebbles," he whispers delicately into the cold air.

"Where are we?" Your voice is hoarse and unlike you.

"A safe-house about fifty miles north of where they found us." Steve goes to move his hand off of your face but you stop him by grabbing it. You keep it there, welcoming the warmth that his skin has now that it lacked not long before. You take comfort in feeling him alive beneath you.

"They found us," you mutter.

"They did." Steve lets you nuzzle dazedly into his palm—his heart welling at how you close your eyes and press your lips against his wrist. "It took them ten hours. Any longer and Banner says you would've been dead, Y/N."

Your eyes open again. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." Steve settles more comfortably onto the ground beside you. It's now that you notice he's wearing different clothes—sweatpants and a sweater, oddly enough. The outfit clashes but he's still adorable as ever. "But..."

"But?" you try to sit up. Steve senses your discomfort and jumps to help you right yourself against the wall. You nod at him gratefully. "What's the 'but', Steve?"

"But I know the reason you almost died was because you were keeping me alive." Steve keeps his eyes trained on your face.

"Well, when you say it like that, I sound crazy." You attempt at some levity but the joke falls flat.

"What were you thinking?" Steve tiredly questions. "You weren't even wearing your coat, Y/N. You could've died tonight."

"So could you," you argue lightly. Even the slight inflation of your tone wearies you greatly. You close your eyes and touch your temple lightly. "Do you seriously have to scold me now? Of all times?"

"I'm sorry," Steve quickly but quietly says. "I—I just... I just wanted to understand what you were thinking. I should've just said thank you."

"Hell right you should've," you note with a small puff of laughter. Opening your eyes you see that Steve's finally donned a tiny smile.

It's quiet for a moment. The two of you simply sit across one another with nothing to say. Then, Steve goes, "Thank you, by the way. Thank you for saving me."

"I wasn't going to sit back and... and watch you..." you swallow stiffly. Steve's a bit taken back by how soft and fragile your voice has suddenly become. Clearing your throat, you start over again. "I care about you too much to let anything bad happen to you."

"I understand." Steve smiles gently as if relieved to hear what you've just had to say. "It's the same reason I can't stop taking care of you." He reaches out for your cold cheek. You lean into his touch and smile as he presses his forehead against yours—resting there gently.

You laugh lightly. "We're kind of pathetic, aren't we?"

Steve agrees with a chuckle. "A little."

You take a deep breath of his scent and how he smells more like pine and nature now than he usually does. You miss the scent of cologne for a moment but then become distracted as you feel his lips once again pressing into your soft hair. He kisses your temple while you lean into him—almost in his lap as he once was in yours.

"Let's make a deal," you whisper quietly.

"Hmm?" Steve hums in question.

Not pulling out of his embrace, you say, "You agree to keep taking care of me and I'll promise to take care of you."

Steve's blue eyes twinkle. "I think I could agree to that." His thumb gathers up your chin and tilts your face closer to his. His eyes dance along the shape of your pink lips. Then, before he can hesitate any longer, you take the lead yourself. You push up to gently kiss Steve there—right on the mouth. It's quiet and peaceful and feels like it lasts a century before you pull apart.

Unable to ever stay serious, you wiggle your brows. "Does this mean you love me, Captain?"

"Oh honey," Steve chuckles quietly—pulling your lips closer once more. "I couldn't possibly love anything more."