[His gaze flicks back to Sam's face, and he stares at him silently for a long moment, something of a haunted look on his face.
You're doing well.
No. He's not. Because everything he does feels simultaneously like a step forward and a step back, because he's lost and the only things keeping him grounded are adaptation and Steve and he can't rely on those. Not when Steve's on the other side of the war and adaptation isn't really a solution for anything.
Because he doesn't know who he is or what he's doing or what he's supposed to do, because he feels like he's walking on glass all the fucking time, and he still can't even say any of this to anyone, not even Steve, because half the time he can't even fucking talk.
He shakes his head.
No. He's not doing well. Even the memories he gets are fractured. Everything's fractured. He doesn't have a mission, he doesn't have anything.
He shakes his head again and looks away, turning away and walking down a nearby alley and finding a corner to put his back against and slide down into.]
no subject
You're doing well.
No. He's not. Because everything he does feels simultaneously like a step forward and a step back, because he's lost and the only things keeping him grounded are adaptation and Steve and he can't rely on those. Not when Steve's on the other side of the war and adaptation isn't really a solution for anything.
Because he doesn't know who he is or what he's doing or what he's supposed to do, because he feels like he's walking on glass all the fucking time, and he still can't even say any of this to anyone, not even Steve, because half the time he can't even fucking talk.
He shakes his head.
No. He's not doing well. Even the memories he gets are fractured. Everything's fractured. He doesn't have a mission, he doesn't have anything.
He shakes his head again and looks away, turning away and walking down a nearby alley and finding a corner to put his back against and slide down into.]