Re: Steve and Bucky
His blood froze over in his veins. Of everything he imagined, this was definitely not a scenario he'd be prepared for. Unable to properly process the implications, a thousand questions flooded him at once. He grabbed the front of Steve's shirt, pulling him close, jaw clenched. "Nobody told me," he hissed out, suddenly angry how much must have been kept from him.
"I was alone," he disagreed, because perhaps he didn't remember being captured or dying, but he remembered everything that followed and there was nobody else, kept in long periods of isolation between the brainwashing and torture and missions. And then he understood. "You escaped," he accused. "You escaped and you... left. me. there." It was cruel of him, he knew, but he'd been led to believe that everything that happened to him was a result of his own fault.
"That's it, isn't it? You left me for dead. And now I'm alive and you feel guilty," he huffed, releasing Steve's shirt with a trembling hand. He was being unfair, he was saying things knowing full well how much they'd hurt, but he couldn't stop himself, wanting somebody to hurt as much as he did in that moment. "Do you have any fucking clue what they did to me?"