If Bucky can't think, Thor can barely stand to either. His mind is full of piercing sirens and static, it flashes through ominous images and reminders of his own pain and suffering. The more he talks, the louder it gets. It's as if he's pressing his ear to the worst conch in the world and he visibly strains.

He can't afford to close his eyes, so his brows just furrow. Everything Bucky says is striking chords with him. He knows that, he knows he's right. He's betraying himself on both sides and it's making him frantic. He needs to shut Bucky up before he dooms them both. Before the pain starts again.

"Be silent." He hisses, his voice hoarse and tired.

Thor's knife falls to the ground, so his leg lashes a fast and brutal kick toward the weaker points of Bucky's leg from the side. If he can knock him to the ground, he can have the advantage.