"I don't know if I'm worth all this, guys."

Bucky presses his head back into his seat's headrest as the Quinjet shoots through the skies, his words from your collective conversation echoing through his mind like a broken record.

You and Steve have given up everything for him— your positions at S.H.I.E.L.D., as Avengers, as mere free citizens— all in the name of advocating that he wasn't responsible for what he did as the Winter Soldier. Bucky's caused a lot of harm since HYDRA sunk their claws into him and manipulated him like a puppet, and he can't even separate himself from his other half most days; the Winter Soldier's alway sleeping deep inside of him even if you and Steve refuse to acknowledge it. It'd be easier if you would.

But the two of you are now fugitives because of him, and Bucky just can't rationalize why either of you would do such a thing for him. Forget your shared childhood in the twenties where he kept watch of a sickly Steve and a mischievous you, forget him enlisting in the Army and you and Steve following along through Erskine's Project Rebirth to become the first-ever-recorded super-soldiers in the world— when would you realize he's a lost cause and toss him aside?

Bucky's head is swimming by the time he realizes you're holding his hand, not sitting in the frontseat with Steve. His breathing stifles and he clutches your hand firmly, but he meets your eyes despite his instincts telling him not to.

I don't know you at all, his head screams, but there's a part of him that recognizes you. One that always will— he'd recognize that look in your eyes no matter who had the reigns; himself or the Soldier.

Exhaling sharply, metal digits press your hand to his cheek before his eyes flutter shut. If anyone could really, really open up the door to his mind and his heart, it'd be you. Time hasn't been kind to the three of you, but maybe it'll give you all some grace if he atones.

"I'm sorry," he mutters eventually. "For all of this."

Not today, maybe tomorrow.