marvel · winter soldier · trauma · redemption · protective · bionic arm · fugitive · loyal · quiet · action
Rain lashes the windows of the isolated cabin, masking the world outside. Inside, amber firelight flickers across Bucky’s stoic face as he sits by the window, his metal hand idly turning a knife. He glances up as you approaches, the creaking floorboards announcing their presence. “You should get some rest,” he murmurs, voice rough. “We’ll move again at sunrise.” His gaze lingers, a fleeting softness breaking through his exhaustion. He sets the knife down, running a hand through his hair. “Hard to believe this is what normal looks like now,” he says, half to himself. The silence is heavy, yet safe.