[No. Yes. Bucky's not sure if he does or not, because maybe it would help, but he's not all that sure he wants to let Steve out of his sight just yet. He's already leaning into the hand on his shoulder, and he's still gripping Steve's arm like it's the one thing anchoring him here. They're here on the Barge in Steve's apartment, not back in the HYDRA factory, not about to go running through a burning building and then out into the Austrian wilderness. He's hurting because he almost got himself killed a couple days ago, not because he's been poked and prodded with needles and God knows what else.
He shakes his head at first, keeping his eyes shut for the time being, trying to pull in another breath without feeling his side flare in agony and not quite succeeding. No, he doesn't want water, and he's not sure if he wants company or space or to talk or what right now, so it's easier to just stay like this for a moment.
Finally, after a long quiet moment, he spits something out that he doesn't fully intend on verbalizing, but there it is.]
I hope they fucking killed him. [Zola, he means. He doesn't care what information he'd had that might have helped end the war, in this moment he wants Zola dead more than he's ever wanted anything. He doesn't care how it happened, but he hopes he's gone. It's only fair.
He takes another shuddery, wet breath and finally blinks up at Steve. The bruises under his eyes are already fading a little, but he still looks beat up and miserable, even as he tries to pull himself back from the ledge.]
Did I wake you up?
[There's definitely some guilt, there. Frustration too, at himself because he wishes he could go back to just being Steve's best friend, the guy who always bailed him out of trouble, not whatever mess of a person Steve had rescued from HYDRA.
Usually he's good at pretending he's still the same person. Getting hurt has just kind of stripped his ability to do so for the time being, and it feels like it's crushing him.]
Spam oh well I will just imagine appropriately sad steve faces
He shakes his head at first, keeping his eyes shut for the time being, trying to pull in another breath without feeling his side flare in agony and not quite succeeding. No, he doesn't want water, and he's not sure if he wants company or space or to talk or what right now, so it's easier to just stay like this for a moment.
Finally, after a long quiet moment, he spits something out that he doesn't fully intend on verbalizing, but there it is.]
I hope they fucking killed him. [Zola, he means. He doesn't care what information he'd had that might have helped end the war, in this moment he wants Zola dead more than he's ever wanted anything. He doesn't care how it happened, but he hopes he's gone. It's only fair.
He takes another shuddery, wet breath and finally blinks up at Steve. The bruises under his eyes are already fading a little, but he still looks beat up and miserable, even as he tries to pull himself back from the ledge.]
Did I wake you up?
[There's definitely some guilt, there. Frustration too, at himself because he wishes he could go back to just being Steve's best friend, the guy who always bailed him out of trouble, not whatever mess of a person Steve had rescued from HYDRA.
Usually he's good at pretending he's still the same person. Getting hurt has just kind of stripped his ability to do so for the time being, and it feels like it's crushing him.]