Bucky shakes his head. He loved his guns once upon a time, don't get him wrong, and he's still very good with them even if he might need to make a few adjustments to use a bigger firearm one-handed. He wouldn't be afraid to use it if he had to. It might have deterred the vacuum cleaner salesman (probably not, but. That fight would have been... neater, at least?) But scientist-technician-handler-doctors aside, this isn't the kind of place or the kind of warfare where you really need guns. And it's not exactly as easy as walking into the local gun shop and picking out his pieces. He's not sure how much money he's been given. If he needs a license. His comfort knife had been sufficient, but the question has him reconsidering - as best as he can think anyway given the heavy brain fog he's dealing with - if he should prioritise getting at least some handguns and ammo.

Even if he did have a gun, he kind of-- woke up at the doctor's office, even though he's pretty sure he didn't sleep that deeply that he wouldn't have noticed someone coming in to whisk him away like that. At any rate, he's not sure he would have had the opportunity to use it. Regardless, if nothing else, he can at least teach Sokka how to shoot. He'd be able to defend himself better than that boomerang. No shade on boomerangs, but he just can't imagine a boomerang winning out in a gunfight.

All of that might have to wait though. Bucky seems to be trying to get under the blanket again. He should maybe-- try and get up. Or crawl down the stairs, try to feed himself or something. Be productive somehow. But he's not used to being so exhausted. He's halfway to passing out again, although hopefully it's more of a restful sleep than a losing consciousness kind of flopping over.