Living on a razor's edge, danced with demons, tasted death

“We’re using real maps, for starters,” he says with a soft, mirthless chuckle. “And you gotta help me plan the route. I dunno what’s out there these days, we gotta make all the best stops on the way, yanno?”

He tries to keep the thoughts flowing, just words going into the empty, frozen space. He barely knows what he’s saying half the time, he just wants Sam to stay awake. Baits him about music choices or food stops just to hear his voice.

Bucky tries not to think too hard about how soft his voice is, how tired he sounds. He doesn’t want to lose another friend. Not like this.

“…Sam?” He nudges him slightly after a moment of silence that felt too long.