[ Terrible is a good word for it. In his heart of hearts, Steve feels selfish and small, as useless a first responder as he was in his youth, when it was all his ma, or Bucky and his family, could do to keep him alive and breathing. It's a painful, vicious emotion, selfishness. He clings to it, though, uses it to push through the haze of being normal, to compartmentalize any flashbacks trying to work up through his grey matter. ]
We should.
[ It's the only thing that feels solid right now, his voice threaded with a familiar determination. Special or not, sick or not, they're up and moving. Others might not be so lucky. And, like the destruction is only dawning now, Steve's spine straightens up. And a hand reaches out to grasp Bucky's shoulder and squeeze. Probably it's for someone's benefit. ]
You with me? We'll work out from here. This level, then upstairs, then outside.
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We should.
[ It's the only thing that feels solid right now, his voice threaded with a familiar determination. Special or not, sick or not, they're up and moving. Others might not be so lucky. And, like the destruction is only dawning now, Steve's spine straightens up. And a hand reaches out to grasp Bucky's shoulder and squeeze. Probably it's for someone's benefit. ]
You with me? We'll work out from here. This level, then upstairs, then outside.