It's true, he's wired. It seems like even the few hours of sleep had been enough, or perhaps the adrenaline coursing through him from the nightmare is what's eradicated all sense of exhaustion from him. He's vigilant, his heart beats a frantic rhythm in his chest.

Having a purpose seems to calm him. Order in the chaos, knowing what it is he's supposed to do. Following obediently is the only surefire way he could avoid pain, it's ingrained into him. It is an anchor in the storm. He moves, grabs the caps of two bottles with deft fingers. Holds one out to Steve in offering, and once it's taken, uncaps his own and drinks. That order was implied, not outright stated, but he's an over-achiever.

Once done, he caps it again and exhales.

Breathe is order number two. His eyes drop, fixate on the floor, and he inhales slowly. Exhales equally as slowly, though it shakes through the tightness of his chest. His hair falls in his face. Eyes flutter closed.

His hands are shaking.

He is Bucky Barnes.
He is the asset.
Isn't he? He isn't anymore, is he?

His hands continue to shake. Who is he anymore? What is his purpose? He doesn't know what he wants, he doesn't know what to do, he doesn't know independence anymore, the world is overwhelming in it's possibilities.