"I don't know. Why do you do anything?" Bucky retorts, still bristled, still feeling cornered, watching Zemo's feet move across the uneven, creaky, seasoned floor. He wouldn't put it past Zemo to drag him out back and shoot him at this point. Maybe he'd even entertained the idea non-frivolously if he didn't feel like he has to be responsible for his unintentional little animal rescue shelter.

"Haven't you already learned everything about me?" Zemo likes to gloat about that, doesn't he? Read all the books, went through all the files. Could probably build a Soldier of his own from scratch using an ice tray and a salad fork. Probably would look more put together and be more effective than the old man sitting on the floor who's feeling like he maybe should have put a shirt on before going to sleep last night, had he known he was going to get an unwelcome guest.