[Bucky imagines Sam indicating a similar impression of him: a frowning man with a metal arm. The mental impression of losing the arm brings back the rush of whistling past his ears and the struggle to gasp for air with a broken body in the snow. Before he can stop them, memories of a bone saw buzzing away at his left arm fill his ears and the heat of panic crowds his throat. No. Breathe. Breathe.
He reaches into his pocket, running his fingers over the grooves of his coin.]
Don't mind it.
[He means himself, but he doesn't clarify. The alternative to his missing arm is much ,much worse.]
no subject
He reaches into his pocket, running his fingers over the grooves of his coin.]
Don't mind it.
[He means himself, but he doesn't clarify. The alternative to his missing arm is much ,much worse.]