The story hurts to hear. Steve almost wants to stop him halfway through because it can't be easy to recount this. None of it's easy and they have to live with the things they did and the orders they carried out. No one else can understand it. It's easy for people to condemn soldiers or raise them up on a pedestal, but the truth is that they're put in the position of having to make awful decisions. There's no winner in Bucky's story. There can't be. Even the men who hadn't shot the kid had still had to watch it all and they'd probably been angry at themselves for not taking the shot. Meanwhile Bucky has to live with being the person who did it.
He'd saved lives, but he doesn't need Steve to tell him that. This isn't some ethics discussion. The lives of the many were saved, but that kid had been no different from them. Younger and less-informed, but he'd been following orders that he'd thought were right and that's just as sad as anything else.
"I'll do that." His voice is soft as he looks up at the bottom of Bucky's bunk. He wishes he could see Bucky now, that he could reach out somehow, because this isn't the sort of place where too many people touch each other, but he thinks right now it would be warranted and this is private enough that no one else would know.
"You always remember the people you couldn't save." But that's all he's planning to offer of his own story. He just can't. It's too much and after the dream, it's so raw. He can still remember the blood on his hands and the ringing in his ears and his panic when he'd found a bloody finger nail in his uniform pocket. Sometimes the bombs were less obvious than a kid in a vest. That didn't stop them from going off.
He gives into the urge a little and reaches up to rest his hand against the bottom of Bucky's bunk gently.
"The nice woman at the VA always says you can't blame yourself for everyone you couldn't save." There's a fond little smile on his face and even if Bucky can't see his face right now, it seeps into his voice.
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He'd saved lives, but he doesn't need Steve to tell him that. This isn't some ethics discussion. The lives of the many were saved, but that kid had been no different from them. Younger and less-informed, but he'd been following orders that he'd thought were right and that's just as sad as anything else.
"I'll do that." His voice is soft as he looks up at the bottom of Bucky's bunk. He wishes he could see Bucky now, that he could reach out somehow, because this isn't the sort of place where too many people touch each other, but he thinks right now it would be warranted and this is private enough that no one else would know.
"You always remember the people you couldn't save." But that's all he's planning to offer of his own story. He just can't. It's too much and after the dream, it's so raw. He can still remember the blood on his hands and the ringing in his ears and his panic when he'd found a bloody finger nail in his uniform pocket. Sometimes the bombs were less obvious than a kid in a vest. That didn't stop them from going off.
He gives into the urge a little and reaches up to rest his hand against the bottom of Bucky's bunk gently.
"The nice woman at the VA always says you can't blame yourself for everyone you couldn't save." There's a fond little smile on his face and even if Bucky can't see his face right now, it seeps into his voice.