Uncrossing his arms, Bucky's hands hover at Steve's sides, hesitant. Eventually, he tosses them gently, not wanting to opt for the awkward positioning, and they smack haphazardly against his legs.
"If you go, who do I even have left, Steve?" His voice cracks toward the end, his gaze dipping away in humiliation. Is this really the only option? How? Why?
"I. I'm not." Likeable. Normal. Worthwhile. Someone to look up to. Steve. He's not Steve. And everyone needs Steve. Even him. It didn't matter, how useful he was as a weapon. He's supposed to be more than that, now. He's meant to be more than just that. But he isn't. It really is no wonder that Steve can't trust him to do the right thing without guidance. Maybe it's altogether too late to fix what's left.
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"If you go, who do I even have left, Steve?" His voice cracks toward the end, his gaze dipping away in humiliation. Is this really the only option? How? Why?
"I. I'm not." Likeable. Normal. Worthwhile. Someone to look up to. Steve. He's not Steve. And everyone needs Steve. Even him. It didn't matter, how useful he was as a weapon. He's supposed to be more than that, now. He's meant to be more than just that. But he isn't. It really is no wonder that Steve can't trust him to do the right thing without guidance. Maybe it's altogether too late to fix what's left.