[ Sam waits. It's a thing with Bucky, he's learning. He disagrees about the apology, but not the overall point. He doesn't owe Bucky - not this version of him anyway. But that was never what it was about, wasn't it.

There's been something rumbling around his mind, a question he never needed to ask back home even though perhaps he should have. It wasn't necessary back then, because they were already on the right path with each other. Now he wonders, again. ​]

I know. You're not my job. And I sure as shit ain't your therapist. Don't got a single obligation to be in your corner, either, for the record.

[ Sam shrugs a shoulder, knocks the back of his hand lightly against Bucky's shoulder.

Do you think you came with the shield, passed on like a package deal? Do you think Steve is the sole reason I'm tolerating you? ]

This place is a powder keg, and it's throwing shit at you sideways. That includes me, that includes Steve, and that includes the entire local lack of charm. You don't gotta have the answers. But you got me in that messy corner of yours one way or another. Tough deal I know - I come in a package deal with Redwing and shitty nicknames.