[ Bucky doesn't budge when he's shoved, although he registers the additional force behind the push -- but he knocks Andyr's hand away from his metal wrist none too gently, repelled by another's touch. He doesn't care for the additional commentary or the rage that he feels removed from; he doesn't need to know his life story.
Hell, Bucky's got enough to deal with on his own without someone else shoving their story into his face. He knows what it's like to be experimented on and used, to be a thing and a set of numbers instead of a person -- he doesn't require narration or a sordid blow by blow of what happens to lab rats who become soldiers; he just hates the idea of Hydra creating more like him, put out there in the world to hurt people. He doesn't want to discuss this, he doesn't even want it out there -- what good can it do now?
He turns away midway through the diatribe, the image of the ports on the back of his neck a haunting image of just what some people can do to another, the hell someone can put another through just because they can. He's no stranger to screaming and neither is Andyr, but while the other man seems perfectly happy to be a loose cannon, Bucky's more accustomed to keeping it tightly under wraps, buried where no one can see. ]
Don't ever touch me again.
[ He says in turn, a warning and a threat; disliking the liberties the man takes with personal space, only just keeping his own violent reaction in check. He's never been touched without being hurt, especially not from strangers wearing his own face, and old instincts, ingrained reactions to agonising stimuli die hard. Still, he remembers Andyr's code, just because he can.
But Andyr says Steve's name, and Bucky regards him with a mixture of suspicion and curiosity. ] How do you know him? [ Despite the man's violence, he's half-sure he wouldn't hurt Steve. And clearly, Steve trusted him to some degree. ]
no subject
Hell, Bucky's got enough to deal with on his own without someone else shoving their story into his face. He knows what it's like to be experimented on and used, to be a thing and a set of numbers instead of a person -- he doesn't require narration or a sordid blow by blow of what happens to lab rats who become soldiers; he just hates the idea of Hydra creating more like him, put out there in the world to hurt people. He doesn't want to discuss this, he doesn't even want it out there -- what good can it do now?
He turns away midway through the diatribe, the image of the ports on the back of his neck a haunting image of just what some people can do to another, the hell someone can put another through just because they can. He's no stranger to screaming and neither is Andyr, but while the other man seems perfectly happy to be a loose cannon, Bucky's more accustomed to keeping it tightly under wraps, buried where no one can see. ]
Don't ever touch me again.
[ He says in turn, a warning and a threat; disliking the liberties the man takes with personal space, only just keeping his own violent reaction in check. He's never been touched without being hurt, especially not from strangers wearing his own face, and old instincts, ingrained reactions to agonising stimuli die hard. Still, he remembers Andyr's code, just because he can.
But Andyr says Steve's name, and Bucky regards him with a mixture of suspicion and curiosity. ] How do you know him? [ Despite the man's violence, he's half-sure he wouldn't hurt Steve. And clearly, Steve trusted him to some degree. ]