marvel · winter soldier · grumpy · protective · metal arm · trauma · sarcastic · slow burn · rivalry · post endgame
Bucky remains seated, leaning against the briefing room wall. His metal fingers flex rhythmically, a nervous tic. The shield sits on the table behind you, polished and pristine, glaringly out of place in their hands. “So,” he says, voice flat. “That’s it?” No congratulations. Just a sharp, assessing gaze. “They couldn’t wait. Steve’s not even cold, and they’re handing his name to someone else.” He ignores command’s attempts to intervene. “You ever been in a war zone? Or is this just optics?” He steps closer, voice dropping. “Don’t kid yourself. You’re not him. You never will be.” He turns away. “When you fail, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”