37

(Steve) 

"Is Walker dead?" 

It's the first thing Bucky says when he wakes up. He doesn't bring up what happened last night, which must mean he doesn't want to talk about it. I don't want to talk about it, either, but that doesn't make me feel any less guilty about it. 

I was going to kill him.

And I can't even blame it on being tired, like I told Tony I was. I wasn't that tired. I mean, sure, I hadn't slept in days, but that shouldn't change my ability to differentiate right from wrong. 

Except Bucky asked me to do that. He told me that I had to kill him if he was wiped again. But he wasn't wiped. Not properly, at least. 

"Steve," Bucky prompts when I'm quiet for too long. "Did I kill John Walker?" 

"No." I shake my head, both in a negative gesture and an effort to clear my racing mind. "No, he's alive." 

"Good." 

"Is it?" I mean, I'd rather he be completely out of the picture. He's a nut job. 

"Better than if I killed him." 

That is true, but it was never a worry I had. I've never lost track of him when he was being the Winter Soldier, so I know for a fact he hasn't killed anyone. 

"He's in prison, now," I tell him. "So hopefully we never have to worry about him again." 

I'm not gonna count on it, because when has that ever been true? But sometimes it's nice to be optimistic. 

Bucky decides to leave it at that, and as he turns away from me– presumably to get up and leave– I remember his injuries. 

"Can I take a look at your back?" I ask. 

I expect him to say no. After all, there's not much reason for him to trust me anymore. 

But he takes his shirt off and sits still as I peel the bandages away from his torn skin. They don't look infected or anything, but I guess they can't get infected. They'll clear up in a few days, leaving him with a brand new set of scars. 

That's one of the main differences between the serum Hydra used and the serum Erskine used: he scars, I don't. I mean, I suppose I can if the wound is bad enough, but I think in that case, I'd just be dead. 

"Do they hurt?" I ask, unwilling to touch him. Unwilling to cause him more pain than I already have. 

"Everything hurts." 

"I'm sorry," I whisper. "I'm so sorry." 

"No, don't cry," he scolds. "Go get me a Tylenol or something." 

"Oh, yeah. Okay." I slide off the bed and go to the dresser, where a first aid kit sits atop the surface. Would over the counter tablets even help him? They don't seem to do anything for me. I guess he would know better, though. 

But we've lived together for a long time, and I don't think I've ever seen him take any kind of painkillers. Maybe I'm just overanalyzing this. 

I drop the tablets into his open hand, and he swallows them before I can even think about getting him water. 

"I'm sorry about last night," I apologize. 

"Why are you sorry? I asked you to do that."

"But you're not the Winter Soldier," I argue. "So I would have just been shooting... you." 

His lips press into a thin line- a sad, bitter kind of smile. "I'm not me. I'm not him, either. Honestly, Steve? I don't know who I am." 

"I know who you are." 

He looks up at me, the lost look in his eye reminiscent of how he looked back when he was the Winter Soldier– right before he dragged me from the Potomac. 

"You do?" he breathes.

I nod subtly, but enough for him to catch it. "I do. And I'll tell you every time you need me to." 

(not me posting after almost a year. i know it's just a short little chapter but we are getting back into it. im gonna finish this fic, i promise.)