[Bucky notices someone approaching him from out of those assembled and though the stranger comes with empty hands for him to see, his muscles tense, ready for a fight. It always ends in a fight. People don't come closer unless they've got a beef to settle. The verbal reassurances do nothing to staunch the anticipation buzzing through his body. When Sam reaches to the side, Bucky clenches, though the other tries its best. He remembers a second too late that he can't use the metal arm to defend and instead is cut just below his tricep. The memory of gold light, a burst of pain, and the smell of burnt flesh fills his mind, but no attack comes.
It's just a book. Just a book.
A little privacy sounds far too good right now and with his instincts screaming in his ears, he doesn't move. Instead, he stares at Sam with a gaze that might be just a little too wide-eyed to be calm.]
no subject
It's just a book. Just a book.
A little privacy sounds far too good right now and with his instincts screaming in his ears, he doesn't move. Instead, he stares at Sam with a gaze that might be just a little too wide-eyed to be calm.]