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Summary
“Sit down.” Sam barks. It sounds like an order and he doesn't give a fuck what that will do to Bucky’s psyche.
Bucky complies. He sits stiff on the end of the bed, staring at the floor, shoulders hunched, and hands clasped in his lap. His chest heaves erratically.
Sam drags a hand down his face. It comes away wet. He takes a controlled breath in, and out, fighting a wave of nausea. He feels torn up inside, like he's been slashed open and hollowed out.
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Sam loves Bucky and he's never going to forgive him for this.