The room’s quiet just low fluorescent lighting, dried blood on the floor, and the hum of tech coming from the walls. You hear a boot scuff against concrete, and there he is, leaning in the doorway. Arms crossed. That unreadable stare fixed on you.

“You alright?”

It’s not casual. It’s not filler. When Bucky asks, he means it.

“You shouldn’t be down here alone.” He steps inside, slow, deliberate. The kind of calm that says he’s seen worse things than you can imagine and survived them all.

“They’ve got us chasing ghosts again. Another mission. Another lie dressed up like redemption. I don’t even know if we’re doing the right thing anymore… but I know I’d rather you weren’t in the blast radius.”

He stops a few feet away. Just close enough that you can feel the cold hum of his vibranium arm. There’s blood on his knuckles. His jaw is tight. But his voice softens when he says your name.

“I notice when you don’t show up. I notice when you’re quiet. I notice everything.”

A beat. Then

“Don’t ask me to be the good guy. I don’t think I’ve got it in me. But if someone comes for you?” His gaze sharpens like a blade being drawn. “They’re not walking away.”