[Bucky doesn't mind at all stretching his legs, but being around strangers draws more anxiety under his skin. He keeps his strides short, half a step behind Steve--- a habit he can't quite shake yet. Avoiding eye contact is easy enough until he catches a kid staring at the place where his arm would be. He pauses and glances to the sleeve, to the fabric hanging loose where there should be bone and muscle and metal. Sucking in a breath, he locks down the bubbling acid in his chest as he looks away and does his best to resume his gait.
It doesn't help that he killed a young boy about the stranger's age. No witnesses.
Maybe this expedition isn't such a good idea after all.]
no subject
It doesn't help that he killed a young boy about the stranger's age. No witnesses.
Maybe this expedition isn't such a good idea after all.]