It's been a while, but yeah disclaim all the things. Enjoy!

Peggy's voice came through on the radio, even with the plane buried deep in the ice.

Steve felt groggy and couldn't move for a moment. He couldn't quite figure out how long it'd been since he'd joked he was going to step on Peggy's feet. His breath rose in front of him as he gasped a slight pain, his leg caught in some metal as the ship had warped. He tugs his limb to try to free himself, but he's only wasting energy.

Cold was an understatement. It was freezing to the point of burning. If not for his uniform, he'd probably have gotten frostbite by now.

As his body shivers in its adjustment to the newly crafted ice cell, he comes to the conclusion that the radio is sort of working, as he can hear the hiss of the static. "Peggy!" He called back, but there was no reply. "It's really cold. But you're here with me like you said aren't you?" He talks openly, he didn't want to admit how scared he was of this place. The idea that he was alone was too much.

Why hadn't he died with the impact? He looks around trying to figure it out. He can see blood spots in the snow that had fallen in here, a drift of it blocking the broken window. He groans as the cold overwhelms him, and pulls himself tightly together to conserve his warmth. He pushes his helmet on to keep the heat from his head escaping, but it does little to comfort him.

Peggy wasn't answering, the radio must be too far out of range. He grunts out a few more breaths as he finally jerks his leg hard enough to free himself of the confines of the shrapnel, then shakily stands.

The ship was at an angle, so he moves down to the bottom, trying to find his compass. It's nowhere in sight, probably consumed by the snow. He puts his foot on the shield and slips over from the sheen of ice that had developed on it. With a grunt he squints up at the roof of the machine, feeling like Noah in the belly of a whale. A dark thought crosses him. Was he going to starve or freeze to death first?

"Stop it Rogers." He says quietly, "you're already dead remember?" His chest hitches for a second as he tries to control his shivers. Everybody would assume him dead. Nobody knew where he was. The radio didn't even work now, the hissing static had calmed into silence.

A sharp wind whistles through the ship, and Steve's first thought was to trace it to see if he could get out. But it was merely from the shreds and tears in the hull, there was no way to get a finger through there, let alone his whole body. He wouldn't be getting out.

But why should he? It stood to reason that the one thing on this Earth he felt compelled to do, to save his country and help stop the war. He'd done it. He'd stood there and saw that weird blue cube expand to a part of space he didn't understand, and it took the Red Skull with it. Steve was so grateful, he didn't know then if he even had enough power to keep fighting that demon. But he was gone now, and if he'd been buried alive in here with that foul evil- Well who knows what might've happened.

Steve wondered if people would morn, but more importantly he worried if he'd get into Heaven. He'd let his best friend die, he'd cursed God angrily at that moment, and was scared if he prayed now that God wouldn't be quite as forgiving. He kept looking, roaming in a large circle for a way out, but he found that he was stuck for good.

He travelled back to the deepest part of the craft and scraped away at the snow that covered his shield. He took it out and gave it one last polish, his eyes staring at the design. He smiled, as it was beautiful, a perfect tool for him. Howard had done a wonderful job, and he never got to thank him properly.

Steve felt tired, it had been an uncountable amount of hours without a watch or hint of sunlight. The airship had vibrated now and then, but it was the bombs, he decided, that were exploding or being detonated out in the middle of nowhere. That was at least one part of the plan he'd counted on. Those things weren't going to hurt anyone out here.

He yawns, knowing that it's the cold making him sluggish and weaker by the minute. He was dying. Was God punishing him by not letting him die outright with the crash? Or was it that he was being made to know what it felt like to die.

Steve lies down, lets his mind numb. His breathing was so shallow now, the clouds of condensation was his life dissipating before his eyes. He let those bright blue eyes be shut off by his eyelids, the horrid grey metal above him cut out by the black shield of his lids.

Two more large white clouds of hot air came slowly, then they got smaller with each breath. One last sweep of air caught the last breath, and the hollow howl of the icy wind pushes it through the empty compartment of where Steve Rogers lay, cold and barely living.