You don't want that. [Bucky snipes back, sending half a glare back at Sam. He doesn't care if it pisses Sam off. Protecting Sam comes first and caring about his feelings comes second.
And yet there's no way to hide the way his voice twists at the end of his reply, the way it implies 'you don't want me.' Because Bucky has too much baggage, too many complications, and hell if he's going to let Sam tie himself down to someone who could wake up one day and kill him.
Bucky would never forgive himself.
He doesn't want Sam to change. He doesn't want Sam to mind what he says. He wants Sam to be Sam.
Just not attached to a dangerous, malfunctioning weapon that seems to only get more unpredictable every day.
His walls stay right where they are, breathing frost and edges sharpening with each passing moment. Get out. You don't need to tangle with this mess.]
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And yet there's no way to hide the way his voice twists at the end of his reply, the way it implies 'you don't want me.' Because Bucky has too much baggage, too many complications, and hell if he's going to let Sam tie himself down to someone who could wake up one day and kill him.
Bucky would never forgive himself.
He doesn't want Sam to change. He doesn't want Sam to mind what he says. He wants Sam to be Sam.
Just not attached to a dangerous, malfunctioning weapon that seems to only get more unpredictable every day.
His walls stay right where they are, breathing frost and edges sharpening with each passing moment. Get out. You don't need to tangle with this mess.]