Full dark was coming quickly; he couldn't afford to wait much longer if he wanted to take out his tail and find a place to hole up for the night. He curled his fingers tighter around his knife, holding his position despite his impatience and the freezing cold. Snow formed tiny drifts around his metal fingers, covering them up to the first knuckles as he waited. The sound had resolved itself into footsteps in his ears now, someone moving heavily through the snow. A mantra of come on, come on, come on ran through his head as he held and held, breath making white clouds from his mouth. Come on, come on, come--

And finally, there he was; a shape appearing through the snow, closer than he'd expected, a matter of feet instead of yards.

The man who might have once been Bucky Barnes - who had been the Winter Soldier until not so long ago - was pushing up and moving even as he registered the blue and red of the shield. He had his human arm raised, knife unsheathed and driving down before he was hit by the same wave of recognition he'd had on the bridge, on the street, on the heli-carrier. The memories crashed into his mind and he raged against them even as he recognised the man's face as more than just (Steve) Captain America, more than his last mission. He was clumsier and slower than normal, the cold had sapped his agility, but he threw his weight into the attack with a ferocity born of frustration and fear.