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The woman with red hair finds him in New Orleans.
Natasha Romanoff, says a corner of his mind, but it’s in Alexander Pierce’s voice. He pushes it down with a cringe.
”You and I both know he’s looking for you, James,” she says and his mind flashes with images of a man who claims to know him, falling, back hitting water. “What’s your plan?”
“James,” he says, tasting the name on the tip of his tongue, then turns his back, dragging his feet as he walks out of the alleyway.
She doesn’t go after him.
-
It’s been two weeks. The man who claims he knows him and his comrade has been on his heels for one and a half. He let’s them but covers his tracks, always staying two steps ahead.
The arm left on the bottom of a canyon in Germany tingles with phantom discomfort, and he idly rubs the metal that has taken its place. It’s hidden under a hooded sweatshirt that’s too big but feels comfortable compared to the leather of his uniform. The Winter Soldier digs his hands into the front pockets, wiggles his toes in the stolen sneakers that are slightly too narrow.
There are children running amok around the knees of troubled parents and bored teenagers mingling with scarred and aging men who all have a specific kind of thousand yard stare in their eyes, one he can’t pinpoint but knows that he should remember.
The Winter Soldier is looking at Bucky Barnes and Bucky Barnes is looking back at him with eyes printed on flat glass.
It’s unsettling, seeing a history you don’t remember next to a face you know to be your own but he reads it once anyway, then one more time. It’s the official story, the edited story, the shortened story of the man he supposedly used to be, but it’s enough.
He decides that James Buchanan Barnes isn’t very important and heads towards the other end of the exhibit, glances the mannequins wearing uniforms up and down, treads carefully into his own mind to see if there’s anything that rings a bell.
There’s a young Steve Rogers on a plasma screen in front of him, barely reaching the Winter Soldier’s shoulder in height. Concave chest, thin legs, scrawny arms and he thinks that Bucky Barnes must have done a terrible job in keeping him fed and healthy.
The punch to his gut feels like guilt.
He turns on his heel and walks out of the exhibit, two newly picked wallets in his pockets.
-
He empties both wallets on cash and brings them into a convenience store, then spends twenty minutes wandering up and down the three aisles, focused eyes scanning the same shelves over and over. The manager sent the first concerned look in his direction fourteen minutes and twenty-three seconds ago and hasn’t stopped doing it since.
“Do you need help with anything, sir?” she asks, but the Winter Soldier doesn’t respond, just continues staring at the pre-packed sandwiches in the cooler with detached disinterest.
It occurs to him that he’s never chosen a meal for himself before, and in the blink of an eye the apathy switches to something akin to panic.
He grabs a turkey and cucumber sandwich and a bottle of water and all but thrusts them at the woman, slamming two bills down on the counter.
“Will that be all?” she asks, eyes wide, and Bucky Barnes nods in small motions, accepting the change and walking as calmly as he possibly can out of the store.
He unwraps the sandwich and balls the paper up in his fist, sending it flying in a perfect arch through the air and into the trashcan on the other side of the street. Someone whistles as it lands.
Five minutes later, The Winter Soldier decides that he doesn’t care much for turkey and cucumber sandwiches, but empties the full bottle of water in three gulps.
-
Three days later, Steven Rogers and Sam Wilson are drinking coffee. Bucky Barnes is watching from a nearby bench, thick beanie pulled down over his forehead even though it’s far too warm outside for headwear.
They’re in New York, the two men following an anonymous tip left on an obscure Internet forum, but they don’t seem to know where to go from here. Bucky Barnes doesn’t blame them.
There’s thirty-seven ways he could kill them both within two minutes from right now, the Winter Soldier thinks, but instead he rises fluidly from the park bench and walks straight past the two superheroescomradesfriends soldiers, catching Roger’s eye just before he turns the corner.
By the time Captain America has flown out of his seat and broken into a run, The Winter Soldier is long gone.
-
your name is james buchanan barnes
But he doesn’t want to be James Buchanan Barnes.
Because James Buchanan Barnes was a coward who didn’t sign up for war, but instead got drafted. Who, in the end, didn’t have the courage to run away, but stayed and fought in a war he didn’t care about.
Who was captured by the enemy, who fell uselessly to his death from a train and was declared missing in action, who did nothing to contribute to the war, to finish the mission as it was.
(Because Bucky Barnes was loyal, was brave, is still celebrated as a war hero all across the nation. Because Bucky Barnes was Steve Roger’s best friend. Because Bucky Barnes is dead.)
The Winter Soldier is none of these things.
-
“Are you testing him?” Natasha Romanoff asks him on the Wednesday of the fourth week and he gives her a look that’s meant to be quizzical. He doesn’t think he succeeds in getting the message through, but Romanoff keeps going.
“To see if he’ll still look for you,” she says, pushing a strand of hair out of her face and securing it behind her ear. “If he’ll keep looking if you keep running. How long it’ll take before he gives up.”
“Does it matter?” he asks even though he knows that it does and Natasha gives him a smile that’s both sad and tired.
“He’s a good man,” she says.
Bucky Barnes is silent, and then:
“I know.”
-
The Winter Soldier, or maybe Bucky Barnes, finds himself longing for a trigger under his finger on the fifth week, so he heads to a forest upstate and doesn’t bother sweeping the tracks in his wake.
Empty soda cans on a row in a meadow and he backs up as far as he can go, just far enough into the woods that his sight won’t be obscured completely by the heavy vegetation.
The rifle kicks against his shoulder and it’s the most familiar thing he’s felt in a month. The soda can crumbles and goes down as the shot echoes between the trees and he knocks down four more in rapid progression.
As he puts the rifle down, a pebble comes flying from somewhere on his right, knocking down the sixth can with a thwack.
The Winter Soldier kicks into action, rifle flying back up to rest against his cheek and he curses himself for not being more alert and they’ll wipe him down for this they’ll put the plastic guard in his mouth and wipe him they’ll
“Bucky,” says a voice that’s not supposed to be familiar and he knows that he didn’t cover his tracks he knows that he practically led him here but he’s not prepared for Steve Rogers staring down the barrel of his rifle, expression impossibly gentle.
The Winter Soldier pulls the trigger.
The bullet grazes past the lobe of Roger’s left ear, a hair’s width from touching, and then Bucky’s running, disappearing just like he’s supposed to when the missions are completed.
But the mission isn’t done, his mind whispers, you were supposed to have him dead within ten hours and as soon as he’s out of sight, out of reach, Bucky Barnes screams.
-
He spends another week in an empty apartment outside Chicago and doesn’t sleep.
Why he pulled Steve Rogers out of the muddy river is a mystery. Why he didn’t fire trough the head when he had a clear shot, why he didn’t punch through the throat, why he didn’t finish his mission why he didn’t finish his mission why he didn’t finish his mission but I knew him
The Winter Soldier spends a week in an empty apartment outside Chicago and doesn’t sleep.
On the eight day, he pickpockets four wallets and buys a ticket to Washington DC.
-
“Take me to him” he says, but it’s more of a question than a demand, and Natasha Romanoff smiles.
“What changed your mind?” she asks gently and Bucky Barnes turns his hands in his lap while his mind whispers you’re my friend in a voice that doesn’t belong to Alexander Pierce. Bucky Barnes shrugs.
“It’s just time,” he says.
Natalia Alianovna Romanova reaches for her phone.