[The hollow in Bucky's chest grows at Steve's words; he can't remember a single occasion Steve ever had to ask for Bucky's trust. Even in Bucharest, Berlin, and Siberia, Steve hadn't outright asked for it. Bucky thinks he can remember a time or two- when his hair didn't hang in his face, when he didn't smell so goddamn ripe all the time- when he jokingly asked for Steve's, but never the other way around. The gulf between his present self and the past seems wider than ever; he might as well not be 'Bucky' any more. But, if he isn't Bucky, he doesn't know who else he could be. Maybe his memories of a heavy-jawed Steve are broken, too.
Sam moves toward him and Bucky's gaze snaps up. Sam reaches his hands out, fingers wiggling and this feels too much like a trap to ignore. He thinks of Pierce, of being denied his memories, of sitting in that chair with the thrum of the machine behind him. Do your part, soldier. Do your part and we'll do ours, which is lock him away in the dark and cold, take away every piece of him-
Bucky's on his feet in an instant, muscles tensed to strike, to defend.
He doesn't know how to say it- get out, he wants to say, but trying to wrap his mouth around the words is like trying to think backwards- so instead he goes with a deep, furious,] No I don't.
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Sam moves toward him and Bucky's gaze snaps up. Sam reaches his hands out, fingers wiggling and this feels too much like a trap to ignore. He thinks of Pierce, of being denied his memories, of sitting in that chair with the thrum of the machine behind him. Do your part, soldier. Do your part and we'll do ours, which is lock him away in the dark and cold, take away every piece of him-
Bucky's on his feet in an instant, muscles tensed to strike, to defend.
He doesn't know how to say it- get out, he wants to say, but trying to wrap his mouth around the words is like trying to think backwards- so instead he goes with a deep, furious,] No I don't.