Bucky Barnes (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
imfollowinghim) wrote2014-07-28 06:36 pm
imfollowinghim) wrote2014-07-28 06:36 pm
fourteen ✪ voice
[Anyone on the second floor (or first or third, really) might have heard a couple gunshots, shattering glass and other signs of a fight not too soon before Bucky's post. Then there's another gunshot, and silence for a couple seconds before quiet voices start up - C'rizz and Bucky.
A while later, a post's on the network. Bucky's panting and his voice is hoarse and strained, either because he's exhausted or in a hell of a lot of pain (it's both), but he manages to let everyone know what the hell was going on anyway.]
Zane's dead. [That's it. That's all he wants to say about it, and it kind of seems like he's going to leave it at that before he bites out:]
We need fucking call signs or passwords next time this happens.
[And then clicks the comm off so he can figure out how he's getting to the infirmary, because he is definitely not being carried.]
A while later, a post's on the network. Bucky's panting and his voice is hoarse and strained, either because he's exhausted or in a hell of a lot of pain (it's both), but he manages to let everyone know what the hell was going on anyway.]
Zane's dead. [That's it. That's all he wants to say about it, and it kind of seems like he's going to leave it at that before he bites out:]
We need fucking call signs or passwords next time this happens.
[And then clicks the comm off so he can figure out how he's getting to the infirmary, because he is definitely not being carried.]
Spam
You, though, might want to consider a career in it. Or at least doing some shows or something sometime.
Sitting and lying down both seem kind of hard when you're dizzy and your good hand is still gripping your friend's sleeve to keep steady, but he does manage to oh so carefully sit down on the edge of the bed. It still hurts like a bitch, though, and he can't exactly hold back the pained gasp when his ribs let him know that they desperately do not appreciate this.
He squeezes his eyes shut and might go a shade or two paler at the mention of steaks. Sure, this reaction isn't exactly the correct context, but he can't stop the way his stomach turns at that.]
Don't talk about food right now.
[They also seem to have caught the attention of Jack, who is hustling his way over with a bleated "What happened?"]
Spam (let me know if anything needs changing~)
And hey, he's got a career, thanks. It's called risking his neck on a daily basis. Fun?
He winces - definitely in sympathy, this time - as Bucky sinks down onto the edge of the bed, and Steve's going nowhere, Bucky can use him for support or just as a thing to squeeze for as long as he needs. He does have time to at least look apologetic before Jack's coming over, and he gives a short report of what Bucky told him, but then lets Bucky answer any more detailed questions.
He stays as long as he can; he hates to leave, but eventually he's got to go deal with this Joker situation (it's still volatile) and once Jack takes over, Bucky's sort of out of his hands, anyway. He promises he'll check in, he'll be back, and hopes that maybe if he leaves, Bucky will actually get some rest. He looks like he needs it. Desperately.
Although by the time this is all over, it's not surprising that Bucky is ready to, as a SHIELD agent once put it (and then had to explain), get the hell outta Dodge. Steve wouldn't be surprised if Jack's ready to let him go, either, because sorry pal, but you can be a horrible patient. So he swings by once it's finally safe - still in uniform, still starving, and still in need of a shower after all that - to pick up Bucky and see if he can be convinced to come down to Level 7, rather than going up to that bunk bed on 1. For once, Steve's glad for the nicer bed.] I hear you need a responsible adult to take you home.
Spam (looks good to me C:)
He's not scared of hospitals, or doctors, or needles or getting stitches or anything, but he's definitely set on edge by the whole situation, and the uneasiness has translated to getting snappish and short, especially after he'd had to sit through an MRI to make sure his skull wasn't fractured. The machine being completely unfamiliar hadn't exactly helped him relax either, but the worst part by far had been being in pain, flat on his back, and subjected to tests by some doctor he doesn't really know or trust, and he's just kind of desperate to go somewhere to lick his wounds in private.
Jack asks questions too, both to make sure he's comfortable and understands what's going on, but also about why he tenses up when he makes certain moves, or handles certain tools. Not in a probing way, really, just like they're having a conversation about it, and as nice as that is to not feel interrogated, it still pisses him off.
Things had sort of hit a low point when Bucky and Jack had started yelling at each other about whether or not he's going to be staying the night here. They're both exhausted, stubborn and not in the mood to deal with anyone else's shit, and Jack knows this is the safer choice and Bucky knows he's not going to be able to sleep or get comfortable here, so they're at a bit of a standstill.
And then Steve shows up, and Jack probably has a comment for him when he sees him walk in, because please feel free to take your stupid friend somewhere else and call me if he starts bleeding out of his ears.
So although Bucky still looks miserable and is definitely grouchy and sore, he is relieved to see Steve. He's got a bandage around his head for the cuts on his scalp, another around his left hand, and his left arm's in a sling. His ribs have been wrapped up too, and he's on a lot of painkillers right now, but they're not really doing enough to turn him into a floppy, sleepy mess just yet.]
So why the hell'd they send you? [It's supposed to be a joke, but he's so burnt out and angry right now that it probably doesn't come out right. He grimaces, although his expression's somewhere between guilt and pained, and gathers up his jacket (which definitely needs a wash and a patch job) with his good hand before slowly starting to slide off the bed.
He's probably going to need a hand up.]
Everything okay?
Spam (excellent~ 8Db)
Literally. Because yeah, you're getting a hand up, as long as Steve can find someplace to grab that's not going to hurt more. He settles for Bucky's right bicep, that seems safe, and even when Bucky's on his feet, he can probably feel the fact that Steve is exerting exactly enough upward force to keep him on his feet, regardless of whether he can do it on his own.
Plus, he knows that was a joke, so he grins accordingly. Don't worry about it, pal.] Sorry, I'm all they've got left. Guess I'll just have to do.
[He's going to make sure Bucky is steady on his feet - or, you know, as steady as he's going to get - before he even thinks about moving. And if Bucky would rather sling an arm over his shoulders and hang on that way, that's fine.
Steve makes an unhappy face at the question, but manages to shrug with one shoulder.] Okay's a relative term. Over, you could say. [And he's not sure how he feels about it, but it can wait until Bucky's not barely standing under his own power.] So… what do you say to my place. Even you can't argue for those bunks right now. [Or, you know, you can try. He won't buy it.]
Spam
He doesn't want to think about it. He just wants to get out of here.
So he lets Steve keep him steady, even if for the time being, his feet are under him. They just might not stay that way for too long. Walking is maybe going to be harder than just stand up straight.
And really, even if he'd gotten out of this in one piece, he probably wouldn't have said no to crashing in Steve's room.]
Fine. But you're out of your goddamn mind if you think you're carrying me out of here. [Because look, he knows you thought it at least once.
Bucky carefully tucks his jacket under the sling and does throw an arm over Steve's shoulders, because that seems like a better idea while he's still capable of making it his choice and not a necessity.] Lead the way, Cap.
Spam
And Steve can't say he hadn't thought about carrying you out of here, though it's not the preferred way to get you someplace else, no. So he maybe looks a fraction sheepish but mostly teasing when he says, agreeably,] Not unless you keel over, pal. You've still got bullets left in that sidearm. I don't feel like getting on your bad side today.
[Steve waits for Bucky to get himself together and, in lieu of getting an arm around his waist and making those broken ribs worse, he'll just keep his right hand on Bucky's to keep him from slipping down. He'll figure out getting doors open when it comes to that.] Come on, Sergeant. [And thus begins their long, arduous journey down five levels to Steve's room. This might take a while.]
Spam
(It's probably a good thing he hasn't eaten in a while, otherwise there's a decent chance he'd be throwing up on himself, or Steve, or both.)
But he's a stubborn pain in the ass, so it's not until they're about halfway there that he really starts losing it. He's exhausted - stress, injury (and his body already trying to repair itself), the fact that he hasn't slept or eaten in a while all kind of pooling together to the point of where he almost feels drunk. He staggers and starts to slip a little when they hit the bottom stair, blinking rapidly and trying to clear spots from his vision.]
One sec. [Bucky tries to tighten his grip on Steve, shaking his head and then grimacing when right, that's really not a great idea.] Just need to get my breath back.
Spam
When Bucky stumbles, Steve stops and tries to carefully tighten his grip on Bucky's hand, because the only other way to grab him is around those broken ribs and like hell he's going to do that. But if he grips Bucky much harder, he's going to end up tugging him over his shoulder by that arm, and let's not add a dislocated right arm to the left one already in a sling.
He pauses, takes a breath, then shakes his head slightly.] Look - I'm sorry. You can get me back later. [But before Bucky can do or say anything, Steve ducks down, slides under him, and picks him up in a fireman's carry - because at least that way he can put all of Bucky's weight on his right side over Steve's shoulders and avoid even touching the left. And he just gets going down the next set of stairs, taking care to make sure there's enough clearance for Bucky's head any time they go around a corner.]
Spam
So you've got maybe a minute or so of no protesting, because he's mostly just trying not to pass out.]
Goddammit Steve, [He grumbles once he gets his breath back.] Put me down.
[Except he's not struggling at all, because that's going to mean hurting himself worse or falling on the ground, which is definitely worse than being carried.
Maybe.
Better hope no one sees them.]
Spam
I will, [he promises shortly.] When we get down to Level 7.
[Which is actually going to be pretty soon; he's being careful, but he can move a lot faster now that it's just him and he's not trying to go slow on Bucky's account. So it's not much longer until they're there - and hey, no, they haven't been spotted - and Steve gets the door open with his free hand and slips inside. He hasn't even seen his cabin, really, since this began, but everything's still mostly in order, except for anything that was knocked off the desk when the ship lurched around at first. He beelines for the bed, turning his back to it and crouching down so he can, he hopes, slide Bucky off his shoulders and into a sitting position on the bed without it hurting more than it really has to.]
Spam
Still, albeit with another pained groan, he winds up more or less safely on the bed, and blinks owlishly up at Steve. The bed feels too soft, just like the couch had the first time he'd sat on it, but right now, it's okay. Probably better than sleeping on the floor in the shape he's in, and he's exhausted enough that he'll probably be able to sleep just fine, no matter how squishy the mattress feels.]
Thanks.
[And then he's reaching down to try and start unlacing his boots, and kind of winds up losing his balance in the process.]
Re: Spam
Also, just for your information, if you try sleeping on the floor, there's going to be a problem. Bucky needs to be in a bed right now, because sleeping on a floor will not do his broken ribs any favors. There's a reason Steve brought him down here. If he wanted Bucky to suffer in as much pain as possible, he would've taken him up to Level 1, because military beds are sometimes a step down from the floor.
Of course, when Bucky tries to unlace his boots, Steve snorts and moves to grab him - extremely carefully - by the shoulders. Then he's trying to just steer Bucky down into a horizontal position.]
Just lie down, you blockhead. If you want 'em off, I'll get them. [In the meantime, he tugs Bucky's jacket out of his grip and tosses it over the desk chair to be dealt with later.]
Spam
Even if lying down still really smarts in its own way. It'll take a couple seconds for him to get his bearings again.]
Maybe I was using that, [He slurs in protest when Steve steals his jacket from him before he tries to shift onto his uninjured side to get a little more comfortable on your weird marshmallowy bed. The foggy, sort of muted pain when he's just sitting around trying to breathe is starting to get sharper, which he's pretty sure shouldn't be happening for a couple more hours at least, and his face screws up again as he scoots around a little more, trying to reposition his left arm so it's not lying on his ribs.]
These painkillers friggin' suck. [They're wearing off too quickly, and he's not with it enough right now to know that what means. Just another check in a box he really doesn't want to think about right now, or ever.]
Spam
You can have it back later, [He says, with just a hint of a tease, giving Bucky the space he needs to get comfortable - or at least, more comfortable. He's not sure there is any sort of comfortable with broken ribs. Even when he breaks them, it takes a few days to heal, and he can't take any painkillers at all unless they're meant for a herd of elephants, so it's not a fun experience. It's better just to try and sleep it off -
Especially when Bucky complains about the pain, too. He doesn't want to think about what it means, either, so he just... won't. He'll just concentrate on getting Bucky to take it easy.] Maybe they were saving all the good stuff for the kids. Need anything? Aside from a new set of ribs and a brain you didn't try to turn into Jell-o.
Spam
He shifts again, slowly reaching up to readjust one of the pillows - everything feels sort of heavy and uncooperative, so the motion's a lot more uncoordinated than it should be - before settling back in again. His eyes dip shut, and it's almost easy to just start letting himself shut down.
... Probably because he's already really overtaxed himself.]
I'm fine. [Well, you know. He doesn't need anything right now. He's not fine.
And then, proving they pretty much are bookends to each other or something:] You should take it easy.
[Because he knows you've been running around basically nonstop since this got started, and even with the serum, you've got to be feeling pretty tired. And hungry.]
Thanks for bailing me out.
Spam
He knows I'm fine is a relative term, but he gets the gist of it. He nods, whether Bucky's looking or not, and it's funny, but even as Bucky says he should take it easy, he's groping for the couch so he can sit down on it, leaning back a little.] Yeah, well. If I can count on you to take it easy for a couple of hours.
[Then he can get some sleep. And he's thinking maybe he can, because Bucky looks like he's as close to passing out as Steve is. Steve is tired. And hungry. And he wants a shower. He's not sure what order that should happen in, but he's thinking sleep might come first. The rest can wait.
Even so, he shrugs a little - Bucky can probably hear the motion against the fabric of the couch.] Don't mention it. I figured you would rather spend the night someplace else. [Just in general. Who wants to sleep in the infirmary if they don't have to?] I know I would.
Spam
So get some sleep, Steve. Bucky will probably be unconscious for the better part of the day tomorrow. Today. Whichever. What time is it?
Anyway.]
Yeah. [Bucky swallows thickly, vague memories fluttering by of the HYDRA factory, and of the sickbeds Steve had been stuck in over the years, in hospitals, in their apartment.
He'd never doubted Steve would know why he didn't want to stay there, and he appreciates beyond words that he doesn't have to explain it. Neither of them do well around hospitals, for different reasons, but that's not quite the important part now, is it? It's not something he wants to spend any more time thinking about. Ever. Even though he can't ever forget about it.] I know.
[He gets quiet after that, and while his breathing doesn't really get deep thanks to his busted ribs, it is more even and peaceful sounding. So don't worry, it's safe to sleep.]
Spam
Steve barely knows what time it is, either - he's honestly not sure what day it is. He figures he can deal with that after some sleep. And something to eat, because his stomach's already trying to eat his backbone but that's the problem with sitting down - now he doesn't want to get back up again.
He's starting to shuffle down into an actual prone position on the couch, feet propped on the arm (and he didn't bother taking off his boots, either) when Bucky mumbles a little more. Steve smiles a little, though it's more sardonic than anything. He can guess at least ten reasons why Bucky hates hospitals. Some recent, some less so. And no, he doesn't have to explain it to Steve. He never will, if he never wants to.] Yeah, [he echoes, but then Bucky goes quiet, and Steve manages to stay awake long enough to tell that Bucky's asleep, if not completely comfortably so, before he does the same. He'd sleep well into tomorrow, but his stomach wakes him up a couple of hours later because it's been ignored long enough. Thankfully, Bucky is still deep asleep, and Steve sneaks out for something to eat before he comes back and crashes again.
They both spend the next day or so catching up on sleep; Steve makes himself useful by checking up on Helena, bringing Bucky something to eat when he finally feels like eating, and tries to keep Bucky from going stir-crazy (which is not actually a very easy feat, for all that Steve knows about occupying yourself when you're stuck in bed). Then, for the first time, he gets an inmate. It's temporary, but it's why he's here; still, he figures out pretty fast that she does't need babysitting - and his best friend still might. So he spends most of his time just keeping Bucky company, and catching up on a little more sleep while he's got the luxury. Bucky mostly does the same - only it's about four in the morning, two days later, when something from the bed starts to wake Steve up, on the other side of the room where he's sprawled on the couch. He comes awake all at once - he might sleep hard when he needs it, but he can generally be awake and alert within a heartbeat when he needs to do that, too - but it's going to take a minute to place the exact reason why he woke up in the first place.]
Spam dw be nice to ali x(
The only problem really is that he feels shittier than he's letting on. Like, a lot shittier, because it seems like it takes all of twenty minutes for the painkillers to wear off, and he doesn't want to ask for more because it'll look suspicious and probably not work. Breathing hurt, and moving hurts, and sometimes it's almost like he's wrapped up in some weird full body itch, or pins and needles, and he sort of just wants to scream.
Something's wrong with him. He's known something's wrong with him for a long time, but it's so much easier to ignore when he's distracted and feeling healthy and something like normal. And he can't talk to anyone about it because he doesn't want to think about it any more than he had when Steve had first pulled him out of Zola's lab, because he feels like enough of a ticking time bomb without anyone else looking at him that way.
Steve wouldn't. He'd say they could figure it out, that it would be okay, but he's already died on him. Bucky doesn't need him to feel any worse or more worried about him than he already is.
So it's probably not shocking that once he's not too exhausted to dream that certain memories start rearing their heads again. He dreams about them enough as is. Zola had done things to him that made it hard to breathe sometimes, and the restraints had cut into his ribs when he thrashed against them, and that's what he's dreaming about now, being back on that table and struggling to get away, to just pass out or die and end this.]
No. No. [He's mumbling in his sleep, but in the dream he's screaming, and Zola's reaching for his face, trying to show him what he's been turned into. That's when he starts yelling, and thrashing, which just sort of makes things worse.] Stop!
Spam and it still didn't let me use the right one weeeeird
And the thing is... he's honestly not sure how Bucky's feeling. Pain, yeah - but how much? He knows what that file the Black Widow got him said, but he also knows HYDRA didn't exactly run any tests to find out how quickly their version of a super soldier burned through something so inconsequential as painkillers. He also doesn't know how much Bucky's metabolism is really different, right here and now, and how much of it changed after HYDRA got their hands on him again. It feels like it's killing him, quite frankly, not to ask how Bucky's really doing, to tell him that if he needs more medication, Steve understands - but he doesn't. He can't. Not without opening a can of worms he swore to himself would stay sealed.
All he can do is hope that Bucky might, just might, say something. If he needs to. But he knows Bucky. He's not really banking on that fact.
It only takes another second or two for him to realize what woke him. Bucky's talking - well, mumbling, really, but Steve can make it out, and it's not exactly the stuff of pleasant dreams. And just as Steve starts moving, worried that Bucky's going to start thrashing around, he does - and Steve's over by the bed in a flash, touching Bucky's right shoulder, shaking him gently, not wanting to make him feel threatened, but wanting to wake him up out of it before he really hurts himself.
Besides, he shouldn't have to suffer through a nightmare any longer.] Buck - Bucky. Wake up, buddy.
[He's close enough that he might get clocked, if Bucky keeps thrashing, but it's not like that really matters.]
Spam wow dw what is wrong today :|a
Bucky wakes up quickly, not quite choking on a scream, but coming close, and half sits up before he realizes that's a bad idea. His right arm does crash into Steve, but instead of slapping him or shoving him away or God knows what else, he winds up holding onto him for support with a grip that's probably painful. Breathing hurts, and sitting up hurts, but apparently not enough to get him to flop back down just yet. Instead, Bucky takes a couple shaky gasps of air and finally slowly glances over at Steve with a look that says he's not really sure if he's there or not.]
Steve? [Bucky's eyes dart around the room, like he just needs a second to be able to see that yes, he's safe, he's not trapped there again, and only then does some of the tension start to drain out of him.
But - absurdly, because this is so not fucking happening - there's a moment where he almost just wants to scream, or cry, or hit something, because he is so fucking tired of revisiting it, of worrying about the consequences, of not being able to talk about it with anyone because he doesn't want to deal with the fact that he was tortured and experimented on like a goddamn animal. He's so tired of this, of living with it and feeling like there's no real escape from it.
Bucky lets out a shaky breath and winces when his ribs protest, squeezing his eyes shut.]
Fuck.
Spam no idea <<
But he doesn't know how. It's why he's here. To figure that out. He just thought... he'd have more time, more space to do it.
Even though he wouldn't trade having Bucky here for all the time and the space in the universe.
Steve just stays steady, not moving an inch, when Bucky wakes up. He can grab him as hard as he needs to - and he doesn't try to get Bucky to sit back down yet, either. He just lets him breathe - well, as best he can - and stays still and steady in the dark.] Yeah. It's me.
[He can feel the tension drain away, a little - and he relaxes a fraction, too, but he just stays put. He's just trying to let Bucky get his bearings, because he knows what it's like to wake up and think you were someplace else, with someone else. It can take a minute to remember what's real and what was nightmare. And then you generally remember which parts are a horrible combination of both.
So maybe it's good that it's dark enough that Bucky maybe can't see his face very well, because he probably looks like he's in as much pain as Bucky is, and he knows that's not helping. When Bucky closes his eyes, Steve tries to get his own expression under control.] Look, it happens. Don't worry about it.
[No, leave that to Steve, because he's worrying enough to feel sick. And he doesn't know what else to do, other than to tell Bucky it's okay, it happens, and he's okay, he's here, and not wherever he thought he was.] You want some water? [Although even if Bucky says yes, Steve isn't moving until he feels like Bucky's okay on his own. Honestly, just having Bucky's hand on his shoulder is probably as comforting for him as it is for Bucky.]
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.]
Spam Yes all the appropriately sad Steve faces
For a second, in the dark, with his hair a mess and those black eyes faded but not gone, all Steve can see is the Soldier, and for that second, he stiffens, because when he hears, I hope they fucking killed him, all he can hear is that Soldier talking about Bucky Barnes, trapped inside of him somewhere.
It takes another second for him to snap out of it - the way Bucky looks up at him helps, because that's definitely Bucky looking at him, and not someone or something else. It's about then that Steve puts two and two together, figures out what (maybe) that nightmare was about, and who Bucky means.
I wish they fucking had, is all Steve can think, but he can't say it out loud. Can't tell Bucky they didn't, that they brought him home instead and employed him and let him poison SHIELD from the inside out.
So instead, he focuses on the question, shaking his head.] Nah.
[It's a lie, and Bucky can probably tell, but it doesn't matter. He doesn't care.] I was thinking about getting up, anyway. [Yeah, another lie, though he's usually up around five or six anyway, depending on the day, so maybe it's close enough. Not that it explains why they're still in the dark, but Steve's never been all that great at lying, even for people's benefit.] I think Army life beat early muster into me. [Well, that part's not a lie, at least.] Beats sleeping all day.
[Except now he's kind of rambling, so he just shuts up.]
Spam forever sad
Instead, he winds up thinking of how messed up he'd be if Steve was the one who fell off the train, how much he'd blame himself even if there was nothing he could have done to change things, and how hard it would have been to get by knowing he was gone. Sure, they have other friends and acquaintances, but it's not the same. They don't really have any other family. And all of it means he's a little more angry with himself for not doing something a little different, and a little more determined to see an inmate through to graduation.
It's why he's here. Sure, he wants to be alive again, but mostly, he wants to look out for Steve.
So Bucky catches the tail end of that look, and it's what sticks with him as Steve continues. Steve's still Steve, but there's an unfamiliar sad edge to him there that wasn't before there, and he wishes there was something he could do to help him beyond just being here and trying to remind him that he doesn't have to be Captain America all the time.
Of course he knows Steve's lying. (He'd know even if he wasn't wrapped up in how Steve probably hates all this just as much as he does, because it's not like he doesn't know Bucky's keeping things from him.) But he also knows he doesn't really mind being woken up, and that the rambling's supposed to try and smooth it over, and so Bucky sort of tries to smile.
It doesn't really work, but at least he tried.]
Sorry. [For a lot of things. But for waking him up, too.
Bucky takes another slow breath, and his grip on Steve's arm slackens a little, but he doesn't let go.] I'm okay.
[Which is a lie. He's really not, and he's not really up to pretending like he is, but he still says it.
And then he looks at Steve, brow furrowed a little.]
You're not beating yourself up about this, are you? [Asked in a tone that says "I absolutely know you are, cut that shit out."]
Spam indeed ;;
Spam
Spam
Spam
Spam
Spam
Spam
Spam
Spam
Spam
Spam
Spam
Spam
Spam
Spam
Spam
Spam