Bucky's lower lip trembled. "Can't we just go back to when you would take the couch cushions and make a bed up next to mine?" He wiped at his face almost angrily, and then flexed his metal fingers in horror. "I don't know what I am anymore...!"

These tidbits were getting lost on him. Every new piece of information was forcing others out into the open and it was just as painful as the wiping and the torture had ever been. He hadn't slept in days. He had eaten even less. His mind was losing it's way.

"You use to be so proud of me. I never wanted to go to war, Steve!" He'd been drafted, after all. He hadn't signed up.