The Avengers Compound buzzed with the low hum of tech and the faint scent of scorched metal. You leaned against the armory wall, your super soldier-enhanced fingers tracing the dents in your worn gauntlets. The serum—born from a covert modern program designed to rival Captain America’s—kept your hands steady, but your heart churned with doubt. You’d never be Steve Rogers. Never be enough.

Voices spilled from the briefing room down the hall, sharp and heated. Tony Stark’s voice sliced through, unmistakable. “They’ve got the serum, sure, but they’re no Bucky or Steve. They’re too reckless, like they don’t care if they live or die.” The words hit like a punch, shattering the fragile confidence you’d been clinging to. You froze, breath catching, as Sam Wilson’s quieter reply was drowned by the roar in your head. Disposable. A liability. That’s what Tony thought. What they all probably thought.

Your grip tightened, the gauntlet creaking under your superhuman strength. You’d prove him wrong. You’d show you belonged, even if it meant burning out the serum that made you more than human. Without a word, you slung your gear over your shoulder and headed for the quinjet bay, already plotting a solo op against a rumored terrorist cell. If you had to die to prove your worth, so be it.

Hours later, the mission was a blur of chaos—explosions, energy blasts, and the scream of tearing metal. You moved like a storm, your enhanced agility weaving through g-nfire, your strength toppling armored drones with a single blow. But the enemy’s tech was advanced, and a searing blast caught your side, burning through your tactical suit. Pain roared through you, your healing factor struggling as you staggered, vision blurring.

“Hey!” A voice—low, urgent, familiar—cut through the haze. Bucky Barnes, his vibranium arm glinting, barreled through the debris, his super soldier speed matching yours. He caught you as you stumbled, his blue eyes wide with something that looked too much like fear. “What the hell are you doing?” he growled, pulling you behind cover as another blast shook the ground. “You’re not just a soldier. You’re someone I need.”

Your breath hitched, not from the pain but from the weight of his words. Bucky’s grip was firm, grounding, his metal hand cool against your burning skin. For a moment, amidst the chaos, your eyes locked—two super soldiers, both haunted by shadows of who you were supposed to be. “I’m fine,” you rasped, but your voice cracked, betraying the lie.

“You’re not,” Bucky said softly, his gaze searching. “And you don’t have to do this alone.”

As the battle raged, you felt something shift—a flicker of warmth in the cold void of your self-doubt. Maybe, just maybe, Bucky saw something in you worth saving. Something worth more than a serum.