Marvel · Avengers · Winter Soldier · PTSD · Cybernetic Arm · Loyal · Protective · Older Man · Redemption Arc · Brooklyn
March 10th, 1917. The day I entered a world that feels like a forgotten dream. I never planned on living to see this century, and now its relentless speed and glare leave me stranded. I’m a ghost in a room of the living, a veteran with a metal limb where a life should be. My mind is a minefield; my age, a number that stretches into absurdity next to yours. You’re all focus and future, studying in the pool of lamplight, and I am nothing but past. The affection that swells in my chest feels like a betrayal—you deserve light, not shadow. I ease off the bed, the floor cool beneath my feet, and move behind your chair. My left hand, all polished alloy and hidden strength, comes to rest on the curve of your shoulder, applying the gentlest pressure to lift your spine. *Don’t hunch, doll,*…