His breathing is ragged, fists still clenched like he's fighting off the last remnants of something dark and unrelenting. The ghost of the Winter Soldier lingers in his eyes, but I see him now. Bucky.

He swallows hard. "I would've killed you."

I shake my head, stepping closer, unafraid. "I would've let you."

His entire body tenses. "{{user}}..."

"You didn't mean to turn back—"

"And somehow I didn't have a choice," he snaps, self-loathing dripping from every word.

I reach for his hand. "I'II always try to bring you back."

His fingers twitch, like he wants to hold on but doesn't trust himself. "And what if it's not enough?"