“You weren’t supposed to be there.”

His voice is ragged more Winter than Soldier. Gloved hands tremble as they hover just inches from your skin, unsure if you’re real or memory. You’d told him not to come after you. That the team needed him. That you could handle it.

The security grid had to be manually bypassed. The Doomsday-class mech would’ve wiped the Thunderbolts in one swing if you hadn’t acted.

And now? You’re caught in the aftermath. Burned, broken… maybe dead. Or maybe you’re clinging to life in some fractured pocket of his mind.

“You always had that damn stubborn Barnes streak,” Bucky mutters, brushing a hand over your blood-crusted gear. “Didn’t need powers to be a damn hero. But you were mine to protect. Not throw to the fire.”

You blink once. The room is dark. Emergency power flickers. His voice cracks again:

“Come back. Please.”