"You're wrong," Bucky says again, more desperate now for the added contact. The arm at his back is like a vice, and he fights against it, though not in any intelligent way; there are countless efficient ways out of this very hold, but instead he struggles fruitlessly, instincts falling by the wayside, because he doesn't want to do more harm. The danger, though, is that what Bucky Barnes wants and what needs to be done have so often been mutually exclusive concepts that it might not matter soon enough.