He let Bucky's hand go, turning paler at the pain in his friend's face; now he understood something about the echoes he sometimes felt of pain and despair and physical exhaustion. Steve watched him brace himself against the machine, feeling helpless, and then moved a little closer and put a hand between Bucky's shoulder blades as he crouched over, sliding it up to grip the nape of his neck, gently. "I know." How terrifying it must have been to at last give up running, give up living as a ghost with what safety that provided, having no identity, no way to be found. What strength it must have taken to surrender. "I'll help you. We can figure all the details out together. I'm gonna keep you safe."
That was a promise. Steve knew what he was taking on, how Bucky would be hunted, how he would need to be protected from the world and from himself. But Steve would do it, he would protect him any way he had to, even if it meant giving up his entire life to take him somewhere far away enough and secure enough to be called safe; aside from Sam and Natasha and their covert work to bring down every Hydra cell they could find, there was nothing in the world that mattered much more than Bucky.
"Hold on," Steve murmured to him, and he let go and got to his feet, looking over the machine for a moment before he took hold of the weight of the clamp and strained to lift it: it didn't budge. There had to be some kind of lever or release; he spent a few moments hunting for it, then put his back into it, the muscles in his shoulders and arms straining as he finally lifted the clamp an inch or two with a groan of metal, letting it go once Bucky's wrist slid free. No ordinary human could possibly have done it. Bucky would have made sure that it could hold a supersoldier, or at least one weakened and starved.
no subject
That was a promise. Steve knew what he was taking on, how Bucky would be hunted, how he would need to be protected from the world and from himself. But Steve would do it, he would protect him any way he had to, even if it meant giving up his entire life to take him somewhere far away enough and secure enough to be called safe; aside from Sam and Natasha and their covert work to bring down every Hydra cell they could find, there was nothing in the world that mattered much more than Bucky.
"Hold on," Steve murmured to him, and he let go and got to his feet, looking over the machine for a moment before he took hold of the weight of the clamp and strained to lift it: it didn't budge. There had to be some kind of lever or release; he spent a few moments hunting for it, then put his back into it, the muscles in his shoulders and arms straining as he finally lifted the clamp an inch or two with a groan of metal, letting it go once Bucky's wrist slid free. No ordinary human could possibly have done it. Bucky would have made sure that it could hold a supersoldier, or at least one weakened and starved.