Chapter Text
The sad sounds of violin fill the hall of the station, somehow deepening the loneliness that keeps him hunched in the corner. The boy who plays probably doesn’t even know he has any audience. Well, better for him. After all, nobody would want the Winter Soldier watching them from his hiding place.
It isn’t really a hiding place, just a bench fixed to the wall, his spot behind the pillar chosen on pure instinct. And he isn’t really the Winter Soldier anymore. Sure, he has his metal arm, he has killed more people than he can remember, he still is one of the best fighters in the country, maybe even in the whole world. But his obedience is gone, his confusion gradually fading. His choices are his again, and even if he has no idea where he’s going these days, he knows his journey is not a mission assigned by a handler but his own decision.
The boy keeps playing the same tune and Bucky’s surprised to find it doesn’t bore or annoy him.
Technically, he knows he isn’t t h e Bucky anymore, but he wouldn’t bear to call himself the asset. “Bucky” is just as good as anything else, and it was the first name used on him for so many years. It did the trick back then, it fucking confused him and he paid for it in the most painful way, but then it also opened his eyes despite the blindfolds Hydra had forced on him.
So yeah, he could be Bucky. At least for the time being. The name sounds reassuring, like a warm blanket he can wrap himself in whenever he feels like he’s freezing again. He isn’t sure how a damn name, two stupid syllables, can ward off the coldness that creeps into his bones whenever he remembers the cryo tank or the even colder eyes of the Secretary, may the fucking kinky devils fuck him hard with fire in whatever fucking hell he is right now. But somehow that word is more than just an empty sound, and he holds on to it every sleepless night, turning it over in his mind and sometimes even mouthing it soundlessly. It’s his cue to remember, his cue to remain.
He stretches his legs, shutting off all those tiring and difficult thoughts. The violin keeps singing in the boy’s hands, far across the hall, and Bucky thinks it might be his first time listening to music since the 1940s. He doesn’t recognize the song, and while it sounds immensely sad, he finds some peace in it. Like there’s maybe a way to let all that sadness settle in a person instead of consuming them.
He’s not sure he can be that person. Maybe one day. Once he figures out where he’s really going.
***
He wakes up to complete silence. He didn’t even know he drifted off, and now the boy and his violin are gone. He realizes why when two security men appear on both his sides.
“Shuteye at the station, you filthy scum?”
Bucky bolts to his feet.
“I was just leaving.”
“No, you weren’t.” A strong hand pushes him back and Bucky finds himself pressed against the wall, though still standing more than sitting. He doesn’t want to fight his way out of this, but he will if words aren’t enough.
“Please, I mean no harm. I’ll go and you’ll never see me again.”
“Of course. We’ll make sure of that.”
The man who’s holding him does the talking, but Bucky can see the other one’s stance change. He shifts his weight slowly, obviously, like he’s actually announcing his attack. The fist that shots towards Bucky’s face gets stuck in the metal hand and the wrist gets twisted painfully. The attacker is on his way to the floor when Bucky pushes himself off the wall and charges the other man. A quick blow in his chin is enough to send him reeling.
This is enough. Bucky runs for the exit before he really hurts them.
It’s cold and damp outside, not exactly raining, but there’s definitely some kind of unpleasant humidity hanging in the night air. Not surprising considering the fact that Bucky went to the station to get some shelter from the rain in the first place.
He runs three blocks, then slows down to a walk. There are few people in the street and none of them seem to be giving a shit about a hobo as long as he doesn’t talk to them. Well, he doesn’t. It’s not like he has anything to tell them after all.
Actually, he’s glad they don’t notice him. He knows he should rebel against not being seen as a person, after all those years of being a tool and a killing machine, after all the contempt and disgust in the handlers’ eyes, after all the shoves and blows he never earned. But this is different. If he’s not a person to those strangers, they won’t look at him and they can’t recognize him. This means they can’t report him to any remaining Hydra agents.
He doesn’t really mind sleeping on the pavement and eating restaurant leftovers as long as he’s safe. He prefers no shelter over any Hydra base. No bed and even no sleep are better than the stasis.
And, above all, no real human contact is better than constant lies and manipulation.
He enjoys not being a person because he can do his own thing without being noticed.
He walks all the way to the only building that matters. The only place he revisits, even though he’s never been inside. The lights are out and Bucky prays the man who lives there is sound asleep and not accidentally looking through the window. Bucky is way too visible just standing where he is, but then he can’t find it in him to move. He keeps his gaze glued to the one specific window, trying to remember the arrangement of the room and imagine what it must look like at the moment.
The door to the building slams open and Bucky quickly glances down and fumbles with his pockets. Setting off running would be too suspicious, even the dumbest person in the world would know something’s wrong if he did.
The man shots him a brief glance and opens his mouth, but Bucky’s faster.
“Got light, sir?” he asks, trying to sound as raspy as his throat will allow. It works, the man is clearly surprised and a little more alert, but he’d never consider Bucky anyone worth his attention. He leaves without a word, heading straight for the car parked on the other side of the street.
Bucky watches him drive away, then turns back toward the building and the dark windows. All looks calm and he hopes it is so.
It starts to rain again but this time he doesn’t mind getting soaked. It’s not very cold, after all, he’ll be fine, only a little wet and maybe a little cleaner. It doesn’t matter.
It’s enough to know Steve’s warm and dry in his apartment.
***
The rain recedes at dawn, right after Bucky finally decides to find some shelter. He’s getting hungry and a bit cold (maybe he overestimated his resistance a little?), but at least the brisk air swipes the sleepiness from his face. He’ll rest properly tomorrow. Today his mind is still too loud.
It always gets louder when there are more people in the streets, more noise around, more commotion. He can’t sleep like that. And then, at night, the world feels so much nicer, more peaceful, more at ease. He just doesn’t want to miss it.
His mind somehow adjusts to his environment, showering him with distant, hardly discernible shards of memories as people and objects hurry all around him. It made him dizzy at first and he had to take it slow, walk a block at a time and stop to get some rest, but he knows how to manage it now. He’s hit with a stronger thought from time to time, but mostly he keeps all that chaos at bay.
Roaming the streets for no reason and in no real direction is a little boring if it becomes a daily routine, but Bucky quite likes it. He wouldn’t want to be one of the people constantly hurrying somewhere, pursuing their missions, their careers, running to catch their buses and driving madly to get the best parking space for themselves. He’s had his share of moving around only for a clearly defined reason, let alone on somebody’s order.
So yes, he just walks around, always invisible to the busy society and yet almost happy with his life. But then, any kind of life must be better than what he had with Hydra, so he can’t be surprised.
He reaches Steve’s favorite park (it must be if he runs there every morning, right?) and sits on a bench. Not a random one, of course, it can’t be too close to Steve’s usual route because Steve might recognize him and Bucky’s sure he doesn’t want that to happen. He’s not sure why, though, he just knows he can’t talk to him right now. At the same time, the bench can’t be too far because Bucky wants to see Steve run past, he wants to know he’s all right.
He never sits in the same place, obviously. It’s good for Steve to keep a routine, but Bucky wants none of it for himself. It might be about Steve not learning about his presence, but it’s even more important if he wants to avoid Hydra. He’s sure there are still some remaining loyalists who would gladly put their hands on him and haul him back to the nearest base. So the less predictable he is, the better.
Of course he’s already risking a lot sticking so much around Captain America, but this is stronger than the rational part of his mind. He’ll go crazy and undoubtedly start making graver mistakes if he has no way of knowing that Steve’s safe and doing fine. This is the lesser of two evils.
And now, after all these years, watching Steve from the distance is the only thing he can do. It’s not about redemption, because he doubts anything can ever make up for what he’s done as the Winter Soldier. Truth is, that’s the only thing that makes sense to him. The only thing he can think of. It gives him a purpose.
Because there aren’t many things he cares about half as much as he cares about Steve.
And there he is, jogging at a sprint pace, not even a little sweaty. He looks healthy, there’s no effort in his moves, but Bucky has never seen him smile while running, so he supposes it’s just the way it is. When you run, you run, there’s no time for stupid things like plastering a smile on your face.
He follows Steve with his eyes for another five laps. The sixth comes as a surprise, the seventh is mildly worrying, but when Steve completes ten, he knows something must be wrong.
He follows Steve in person on his way home, sticking to the shadows and running on roofs wherever he can. A dirty homeless guy keeping up with Captain America like it’s no big deal would surely make it to the evening news, and then the area would be flooding with Hydra before the next sunrise.
Steve’s already showered and eating breakfast when Bucky reaches the roof of the building on the other side of the street. His view is limited, but the distress is clear. Steve keeps pacing the apartment with a toast in his hand, but he’s not really eating it.
Bucky’s stomach rumbles at the thought of a toast. He wishes it would shut up. Or maybe he wishes he could eat that toast if Steve isn’t.
Well, whatever. The real problem is he won’t learn the cause of Steve’s distress from here. The only thing he can do is wait. Maybe it’ll become clear if he has enough clues to put it all together. Maybe something’s about to happen and he’ll know once it does.
He could try to break into the apartment when Steve leaves, but there’s something wrong about the idea. Besides, the damn place must be super-secure.
An hour later Steve has a guest. Bucky knows the man, he’s seen him before. He almost killed him when he ripped one of the mechanical wings apart, but he can’t remember his name, although he’s sure he’s heard it at least once.
He looks around the area one last time, but there’s nothing out of the ordinary. People still pursuing their careers down below, whether on foot or in cars, no one suspicious. No Hydra, probably.
Time to dig some breakfast out of a dumpster.
***
He almost bumps into Steve and his friend.
It’s stupid and it’s his mistake. True, he didn’t expect them to leave the apartment just yet, but it doesn’t justify such a spectacular failure. He escapes through sheer luck, because some girl accidentally drops her grocery bag and there are tomatoes all over the pavement drawing Steve’s attention away from Bucky.
He has to be more careful from now on.
***
He spends the day away from Steve’s home, walking around the city. There’s a restaurant that gives out the day’s leftovers to the poor and he manages to get a styrofoam bowl of excellent vegetable soup. He doesn’t go there very often, because that would be routine and a risk of being remembered and eventually, inevitably, recognized. But he makes sure to visit at least once a week. A hot meal is a hot meal, after all, and this night threatens to be colder than the previous one.
He passes by Steve’s apartment again well past midnight, fully intending to spend at least a couple minutes nearby, but Steve’s up and looking out the window, so Bucky pretends he has somewhere to go and doesn’t dare look back.