Bucky's steamrolling fury faltered a bit in the face of Steve's flinch. They'd always been pretty decent at winding each other up when they fought - but Bucky had never stood up well in the face of Steve being hurt. Steve being pissed off he'd gotten in the face of all the time. But hurt was different.
Steve kept going though, and the falter went unnoticed. "So I volunteer instead of you. My fucking turn, right? You get to go the next time they send us back to die," Bucky snapped.
Steve pushed forward, in Bucky's space and face and pressing in on him in a way Steve was careful not to do now - and which Bucky might usually have flinched away from automatically. But instead his hands came up - both of them, for once. He shoved at Steve's shoulders, just to budge him back. Not because it bothered him, but because Bucky was angry at him. He was angry at all of this. They'd grown up with the fear of this - the Games and the Arena - hanging over them. And they'd gone in. They'd won. With all the shit that came with it, this was supposed to be a fear they didn't have any more. They'd swapped it out for other ghosts and other fears, but this wasn't supposed to be theirs anymore. And now it wasn't even a ghost possibility - it was a certainty. There were only two of them. One of them was going back in. The other was getting left behind to watch.
If Steve went in, they wouldn't let him come out. If he looked like he might win, they'd drop a fucking mountain on his head or let a pack of mutts loose on top of him. He'd die. He'd die and Bucky would be watching and that would be all there ever was.
Steve didn't get to go. "I didn't volunteer! I didn't WALK IN. I got sent! I didn't make you watch!" Bucky snarled. "And you're not doing it again. I don't fucking care what they plan. It's me. I'm going in. You're staying alive. I'll figure it out. I'm not letting them put you back in there. I'm not letting you put yourself back there again!"