Bucky ducked his head, shrugging right-shouldered. "Probably end up being Jarvis or Peggy taking us all down. Ruin the pool for the Quell, bet Stane'd be pissed." It was grim and it was stupid, but what did you say? "Feels a little stupid, now. That I didn't catch on he was ... more than just around." Involved in things, talking, paying attention, Tony's friend and not just his servant. It was odd to realize how little Bucky had managed to notice when he used to not be able to look away from the Avoxes being silent and servile in the background.
He didn't want anyone to die. Bucky cared. Steve was his best friend, but Bucky cared about Clint, who'd asked him to take his dog and cuddle on a sofa like that was something you could just do. He cared about Tony, however much he'd sometimes resented him, too. He cared about Scott, who'd been the first friend he'd had among the other Victors probably. And he cared about Natasha, who'd tried to be kind and Bucky had forgotten. He didn't want to watch anyone die, didn't know how he was going to get through being the one hanging back, watching it happen. So he'd hang hope on the thin thread of maybe they could get out. But he was pragmatic enough to know just how thin it was, and that it didn't matter at all what he wanted.
There were a lot of useless things he could have tried to say that all boiled down to some variation of I wish it was me. But Bucky had tried not to keep saying it, because it wasn't helpful to anyone else. It was just for him. And none of this was really about him.
But he was aware of it again, walking with Natasha. She faced a bullet he didn't, and aside from their collective grasping at straws, there wasn't anything he could do for her. "I got a few complaints, but nothing about the food." He paused. "Maybe a few about how Stark kept WAVING stuff in his hands when he talked." It'd been a knife one time. Bucky had sort of wanted to walk around the table and take it away from him. And then slam it into the table, just so he would not do that. But he hadn't.
He could have. Bucky had a metal fucking arm. If he'd slammed a knife into the table, no one else was getting it back out. But he hadn't.
It was an open path, leading away, and Bucky took in that they weren't so much just walking as actively walking away. He tilted his head, giving her a sideways look. "Want me to leave you be?" he finally just flat out asked. Because he didn't know if she WOULD just tell him - but he could just ask and try to make it simple.