Bucky crouched next to Thanos’s massive foot, carefully placing his rock back where he’d gotten it. “At what cost?” He asked, because he’d seen the price paid by some humans — paid it himself, for someone else’s ideal of perfection. “How far can you get before you start making something ugly instead?” He looked at his own metal hand, like it was the answer to his question. “It’s always so much closer than people think.”