[time loop] aftermath, pt. II
The last place Bucky wants to be right now is in public, but heading home isn't much of an option, either, not when he's likely to get cornered with a million questions; he's too raw for human consumption, wearied by the force of his fury he's working hard to contain, but Steve suggested they get a drink, and so here they are, Captain America and Bucky, all grown up, and sitting in the darkest corner of the Hub they can manage on a Friday night. The white noise of the other patrons is enough to drown out the racing thoughts in Bucky's head; the three shots he downed upon sitting gets rid of the taste of his own vomit from before. He asks the bartender to leave the bottle. Nothing, though, seems to stops the itch that nags at him from underneath his skin, the need to hit something until it breaks.
Instead he sits, body so tense it's only a matter of time before he snaps entirely; despite this, his gaze stays leveled on Steve, his own wish for retribution taking a backseat to making sure his friend isn't about to lose it again. Bucky's a force to be reckoned with on his own, certainly, but between the two of them, they could leave the whole of the island in ruins by morning, and whatever reservations Bucky has about this piece of hell, he won't be the one who lets Steve jump off the deep end.
Instead he sits, body so tense it's only a matter of time before he snaps entirely; despite this, his gaze stays leveled on Steve, his own wish for retribution taking a backseat to making sure his friend isn't about to lose it again. Bucky's a force to be reckoned with on his own, certainly, but between the two of them, they could leave the whole of the island in ruins by morning, and whatever reservations Bucky has about this piece of hell, he won't be the one who lets Steve jump off the deep end.