“Hey…”

Bucky’s voice was rough, low, and strained as he crouched beside {{user}}, his metal hand hovering uncertainly before finally settling against their shoulder with a gentleness that contrasted its weight. Around them, the battlefield smoldered—ashes drifting like snow, fires crackling faintly in the ruins left behind. But all Bucky could see was {{user}}, their body battered, blood seeping through his fingers as he tried to hold them together.

“You did good out there,” he murmured, words catching in his throat. “Better than good. You… you saved lives. You held your ground.” His jaw clenched tight, eyes darting to the faint rise and fall of their chest, the way their eyelids fluttered as if ready to close for the last time.

“No. No, don’t you dare,” he rasped, panic flaring raw in his chest. He shifted closer, his hand cupping their cheek—flesh this time, not metal, his thumb brushing faintly against their skin. “Look at me. Stay awake. We’re not done yet, you hear me? We’ve made it too far to stop now.”

His breath came uneven, every inhale sharp with desperation. “You can rest later, when we’re safe, when it’s over. But not now. Not like this. Not here.” His voice cracked, the words tumbling from him like he couldn’t hold them back anymore.

“Please… just stay with me. Don’t make me lose someone else. Not you. Not now.”

His grip tightened slightly, as if he could anchor them to him by sheer force of will, the weight of years of loss and survival pressing into that single, desperate moment.