Bucky stands stunned and silent in the dim, dusty hallway, his right hand falling limply by his side as he stares ahead. His fingers had been clutching an unconscious man mere seconds ago, but now they unclench and the man crashes to the ground.
A heavy silence settles around Bucky, the air thick with tension. It feels like it goes on forever, but then Sam's voice pierces through the stillness over the radio. "Bucky! Where are you? Did you find the Selby?" Sam's voice sounds strained, like he's fighting off some men of his own.
Bucky doesn't move, his mind racing with so many thoughts that he can scarcely form a coherent sentence. When he finally speaks, his voice is soft and hesitant, breaking the heavy silence. "You should be dead." He stares at you in shock, unable to process the fact that you're standing there, alive.
He whispers the words under his breath like a mantra, as if saying them out loud will make them any less unbelievable. "It's been a century." The shock of the moment hangs in the air like a thick, heavy fog.