[Steve can't say he's surprised, when Bucky bristles - yeah, he knows how that sounded. In a way, he's not sorry - he means it, he doesn't want Bucky on that plane, he doesn't want to change the fact that he took it down when it needed to happen, and he doesn't want to risk losing Bucky like that.
But that's all part of what he can't tell Bucky, so of course it comes across badly, and he is sorry for that.
Besides… he knows exactly what he'd be saying, in Bucky's place. And it's that he sure as hell would want to be there, too.] I didn't mean it like that, [he says - and he's not being belligerent, the best he can do is sound apologetic, because he is - he just can't explain why.] But I still don't want it to happen.
[He just hates feeling this way - hates not knowing what to do, what to say around Bucky because there are things he can't tell him, and he's honestly never been in this position before. He's never kept something like this (not that anything like this, exactly, has ever been an issue) from him, never not been able to lean on Bucky or let Bucky lean on him.
Well. He can still let Bucky lean on him. Bucky's just too damn stubborn to do it. Because he looks like he could use someone to lean on, about now, but Steve's also afraid that saying that isn't going to get them anywhere.
Bucky's asked that before, sure - and the funny thing is, the answer hasn't changed. So for once, Steve lets himself say what's on his mind, because Bucky doesn't need to know the whole of it. It won't matter - he'll understand in terms of what he does know, when Steve just lets out a tired sigh that sounds a lot more lost than he means for it to, and says,] HYDRA.
[Because that's what it comes down to, isn't it? HYDRA. They were behind nearly everything that changed Steve and Bucky's lives during this war, and they haven't stopped since. Steve feels like they've been hounding him for a lifetime - and they kind of have, if you count those sixty-seven years in between.
They're still doing it, even now - back home, and right here, in the way Bucky's smile is more pained than anything, and that pains Steve. A lot.] I know. It is. It really, really is.
[And maybe Bucky won't let himself crumble - okay, neither will Steve - but he at least goes to sit down, leaning back against one of the trees, because he just can't take standing around anymore. It doesn't really help, but it's not worse, either, and maybe Bucky'll give himself a little break, too, since he's likely been in here since before five this morning.] I really don't know what I want to do. But we've got two deals, between us. We can make this work.
[He's just going to have to be careful about it - about how they figure it out, about steering Bucky in the right direction without letting on about too much. He's never been good at this kind of thing, but he'll give it a shot.
Maybe he should start by being at least as open and honest as he can.] I think that plane needs to go down, Buck. Somehow, some way. But, [he goes on, before Bucky can get any bright ideas about changing the way that happens] I think I've gotta… take that sixty-seven-year nap. I feel like that can't change, either.
[Even if he wouldn't remember things having been different, getting himself sent back to 1945, even a 1945 where Bucky lives seems… wrong, somehow.
Even though he can't help but imagine it, for a second, and it seems like a perfect solution.
Maybe that's why he figures it must be wrong. Life's never perfect, and when you try to make it perfect… it backfires like hell.]
spam!
But that's all part of what he can't tell Bucky, so of course it comes across badly, and he is sorry for that.
Besides… he knows exactly what he'd be saying, in Bucky's place. And it's that he sure as hell would want to be there, too.] I didn't mean it like that, [he says - and he's not being belligerent, the best he can do is sound apologetic, because he is - he just can't explain why.] But I still don't want it to happen.
[He just hates feeling this way - hates not knowing what to do, what to say around Bucky because there are things he can't tell him, and he's honestly never been in this position before. He's never kept something like this (not that anything like this, exactly, has ever been an issue) from him, never not been able to lean on Bucky or let Bucky lean on him.
Well. He can still let Bucky lean on him. Bucky's just too damn stubborn to do it. Because he looks like he could use someone to lean on, about now, but Steve's also afraid that saying that isn't going to get them anywhere.
Bucky's asked that before, sure - and the funny thing is, the answer hasn't changed. So for once, Steve lets himself say what's on his mind, because Bucky doesn't need to know the whole of it. It won't matter - he'll understand in terms of what he does know, when Steve just lets out a tired sigh that sounds a lot more lost than he means for it to, and says,] HYDRA.
[Because that's what it comes down to, isn't it? HYDRA. They were behind nearly everything that changed Steve and Bucky's lives during this war, and they haven't stopped since. Steve feels like they've been hounding him for a lifetime - and they kind of have, if you count those sixty-seven years in between.
They're still doing it, even now - back home, and right here, in the way Bucky's smile is more pained than anything, and that pains Steve. A lot.] I know. It is. It really, really is.
[And maybe Bucky won't let himself crumble - okay, neither will Steve - but he at least goes to sit down, leaning back against one of the trees, because he just can't take standing around anymore. It doesn't really help, but it's not worse, either, and maybe Bucky'll give himself a little break, too, since he's likely been in here since before five this morning.] I really don't know what I want to do. But we've got two deals, between us. We can make this work.
[He's just going to have to be careful about it - about how they figure it out, about steering Bucky in the right direction without letting on about too much. He's never been good at this kind of thing, but he'll give it a shot.
Maybe he should start by being at least as open and honest as he can.] I think that plane needs to go down, Buck. Somehow, some way. But, [he goes on, before Bucky can get any bright ideas about changing the way that happens] I think I've gotta… take that sixty-seven-year nap. I feel like that can't change, either.
[Even if he wouldn't remember things having been different, getting himself sent back to 1945, even a 1945 where Bucky lives seems… wrong, somehow.
Even though he can't help but imagine it, for a second, and it seems like a perfect solution.
Maybe that's why he figures it must be wrong. Life's never perfect, and when you try to make it perfect… it backfires like hell.]