[Peter didn't meant to turn on video, but his hands are so frozen even with his makeshift baby-blanket-mittens that he just smashes his fingers numbly on the tablet until something happened. He also meant to send this only to John, but again, frozen finger-smashing.
He looks terrible, he's shivering, his face isn't as swollen anymore but there's still evidence of faded bruising on his cheek and nose that look just slightly off from being broken, as well as a frozen nosebleed, but there's also frosted reddish patches here and there, and on his ears, where his makeshift scarf from cloth scraps didn't quite shield his face and head from crawling frantically through the snow. He's obviously not been shaving, either.]
Bucky's dead.
[He's still catching his breath, wincing as he repositions his hurt leg on his seated position, as he leans his head against the wall. Trying to fight the stupid anomaly and then make it back here had been absolute hell on it. Bucky had been carrying him the whole time since he couldn't walk, which had been helping, but whatever progress he'd made over the past week was completely trashed. He had no painkillers on him, so gritting his teeth and trying not to completely lose his cool or whimper out loud would be all he could do.
Wherever he is, at least it's indoors. Once he catches his breath, he continues. His voice hitches, and he wipes clumsily at his nose. He hates this. He hates this, he feels so damn useless. He is useless.]
Just barely made lockdown, I couldn't...damn it, I couldn't krutacking save him. One of those things got him. Some creepy thing with a shield, I don't...
He saved my life.
He didn't fight it...why didn't he fight it?
[Was it because there was no way they could have ran away from it? He knew that thing, though. He said "Steve-- pal, you're stronger than this. Til the end of the line, right? Steve?"
He can't really work his fingers on his Zune all that well, which is very low on battery, and he's been compelled to hoard his songs lately, but he doesn't care. This is the least he could do. His voice shakes.]
This one's for you, Bucky.
[He plays the following song.]
He looks terrible, he's shivering, his face isn't as swollen anymore but there's still evidence of faded bruising on his cheek and nose that look just slightly off from being broken, as well as a frozen nosebleed, but there's also frosted reddish patches here and there, and on his ears, where his makeshift scarf from cloth scraps didn't quite shield his face and head from crawling frantically through the snow. He's obviously not been shaving, either.]
Bucky's dead.
[He's still catching his breath, wincing as he repositions his hurt leg on his seated position, as he leans his head against the wall. Trying to fight the stupid anomaly and then make it back here had been absolute hell on it. Bucky had been carrying him the whole time since he couldn't walk, which had been helping, but whatever progress he'd made over the past week was completely trashed. He had no painkillers on him, so gritting his teeth and trying not to completely lose his cool or whimper out loud would be all he could do.
Wherever he is, at least it's indoors. Once he catches his breath, he continues. His voice hitches, and he wipes clumsily at his nose. He hates this. He hates this, he feels so damn useless. He is useless.]
Just barely made lockdown, I couldn't...damn it, I couldn't krutacking save him. One of those things got him. Some creepy thing with a shield, I don't...
He saved my life.
He didn't fight it...why didn't he fight it?
[Was it because there was no way they could have ran away from it? He knew that thing, though. He said "Steve-- pal, you're stronger than this. Til the end of the line, right? Steve?"
He can't really work his fingers on his Zune all that well, which is very low on battery, and he's been compelled to hoard his songs lately, but he doesn't care. This is the least he could do. His voice shakes.]
This one's for you, Bucky.
[He plays the following song.]
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