[Yeah, that's not going to trick him, sorry buddy. Bucky's smile turns more than a little exasperated, but anyone who's known him for longer than ten minutes can also probably realize how little heat there is behind it.]
You know, that wouldn't be convincing if I'd just met you last week. [As is, he's known you his whole life, and you've never been good at lying to him.
(Or anyone else, but especially him.)
Besides, it's not like he hasn't noticed. On nights where he hasn't been able to fall asleep at all, or where he'd woken up before Steve did and just stayed on the floor under the blankets, he's had to gently nudge Steve awake, and either tried to talk to him, or suggest a distraction, or just pretend like he was settling back in to sleep after a quiet "thanks, Buck".
His grip on Steve's arm gets a little more gentle, like he's trying to be reassuring instead of clinging to him like a life raft anymore. The fear's ebbing away to almost nothing, and even though the painkillers have definitely worn off by now, he doesn't want to let go just yet. He gives Steve's arm a gentle squeeze, like he's trying to remind him that he's actually physically here, and this whole thing isn't some kind of crazy dream too.]
You don't have to keep looking at me like I'm gonna vanish on you, Steve. [Even as he says it, he knows he's sort of lying. At the end of the day, he has no control over how long he's going to be here, and neither does Steve. It'd happened to him before already - they could wake up tomorrow and the other might be gone, for who knows how long.
But he still finds himself saying this, because he does need to hear that Steve's okay, and to actually believe it. Maybe they'll actually be okay.] I'm with you. Thought we'd established that already.
Might be a little scuffed up right now, [He amends, trying to sound a little wry about it to help soften the blow.] But I'm still with you.
[To the end of the line, even. And he'll keep reminding his friend of that as often as he needs to.]
Spam
You know, that wouldn't be convincing if I'd just met you last week. [As is, he's known you his whole life, and you've never been good at lying to him.
(Or anyone else, but especially him.)
Besides, it's not like he hasn't noticed. On nights where he hasn't been able to fall asleep at all, or where he'd woken up before Steve did and just stayed on the floor under the blankets, he's had to gently nudge Steve awake, and either tried to talk to him, or suggest a distraction, or just pretend like he was settling back in to sleep after a quiet "thanks, Buck".
His grip on Steve's arm gets a little more gentle, like he's trying to be reassuring instead of clinging to him like a life raft anymore. The fear's ebbing away to almost nothing, and even though the painkillers have definitely worn off by now, he doesn't want to let go just yet. He gives Steve's arm a gentle squeeze, like he's trying to remind him that he's actually physically here, and this whole thing isn't some kind of crazy dream too.]
You don't have to keep looking at me like I'm gonna vanish on you, Steve. [Even as he says it, he knows he's sort of lying. At the end of the day, he has no control over how long he's going to be here, and neither does Steve. It'd happened to him before already - they could wake up tomorrow and the other might be gone, for who knows how long.
But he still finds himself saying this, because he does need to hear that Steve's okay, and to actually believe it. Maybe they'll actually be okay.] I'm with you. Thought we'd established that already.
Might be a little scuffed up right now, [He amends, trying to sound a little wry about it to help soften the blow.] But I'm still with you.
[To the end of the line, even. And he'll keep reminding his friend of that as often as he needs to.]