[Bucky catches glimpses of another Steve, one with eyes shut in sleep, but the image doesn't linger in the face of the fear bursting through his seams. Steve lifts his shirt and instead of blood-stained red, white, and blue, there are visible ribs and pale skin. Bucky furrows his brow, chest heaving as he stares in confusion. He knows he shot Steve, his memories are clear, still bright in the front of his mind, the recoil vibrating up both his arms.
Except when he looks down to his hands, one is missing, severed well above the elbow.
Shifting his gaze back up to Steve, he examines the pallid expanse of skin again. No bullet holes, hardly any scars.]
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Except when he looks down to his hands, one is missing, severed well above the elbow.
Shifting his gaze back up to Steve, he examines the pallid expanse of skin again. No bullet holes, hardly any scars.]