#ooc: i'm crying why am i like this /jk

[ghostsandmirrors]

( continued from here with @holygroundscafe )

There was a sigh as Bucky tried to squash the temptation to say that he didn't need to talk about anything. The temptation to flash that age-old, charming grin and tell Milo that there was nothing in the world that he would need to talk to anyone about. A lifetime ago, he would've done that without thinking about it, as easy as breathing and probably far more convincing than he could ever manage it now. Here? Now? He didn't; he had enough guilt without adding more to it based on how badly he'd lie.

That didn't mean he wanted to talk about any of it, though. He didn't want to talk about the past, the torture that he sometimes convinced himself wasn't torture, the conflicting feelings, the nightmares, the knowledge that he could never truly do enough to make amends, because he was alive and they weren't'; the faces without names that had made their homes in his brain.

His stomach churned at the thought.

Instead of flashing that grin and talking like he didn't have a care in the world, he gently said, "I ain't gonna burden you with anythin' I don't need to." Maybe his face revealed, in the way he seemed more tired than before, that he knew precisely how that sounded. It sounded like he didn't think his problems were worth the effort of supporting, like he wasn't worth the effort of supporting. He couldn't deny that he'd had those thoughts before, sometimes still did. He couldn't deny that they were fuelled by the same thoughts that deemed him irredeemable, that wouldn't let him feel human enough to deserve anything as kind as support.

He'd filed it under 'lessons that needed unlearning' some time ago. It was an unfortunately long list and he wasn't going to get to that one anytime soon.

"I ain't sayin' I don't appreciate it, but…" He paused, because it would be so easy to be accidentally condescending. It took longer than he would have liked, and he eventually landed on, "you don't realize what you're askin' to know." It was as kind and as open as he could be, even if it was vague. "I ain't worried 'bout you judgin'. M'worried 'bout you losin' sleep." He had more than enough nightmares for the pair of them, and sharing anything that caused those could probably be classified as an act of torture.

He tried for lighthearted when he said, "'sides, I can't fix my life. Don't think you can, either."