Steve had been in Alberta visiting an old friend from the war days when he'd gotten the notification of a sighting of the Winter Soldier. Saying good bye to his friend, he quickly headed out, grabbing his bike and taking to the road driving quickly.. Bucky had been spotted in Brooklyn and Steve doubted that it was a coincidence by any means. It was almost Bucky's birthday. It took Steve several hours before he got back into Brooklyn and headed for the old neighborhood.
The soldier stared at the shop that lay just across the street from him, lips parted and eyes darting from one point to another before lingering. His mind ticked away, struggling to put the pieces together despite missing so many… Each breath fogged his vision- the already cool March air steadly growing colder as evening set in. He knew he should move- knew that he should’ve been gone hours ago… but he couldn’t bring himself to leave. Every time he took a step, every time he tried to bring himself back to the present, he would see something else that brought flashes of a life long thought snuffed out and forgotten. His wore a tattered jacket- patches sewn into places where he’d snagged it on some railing or sharp piece of metal- and his jeans didn’t look much better. His baseball cap had a faded tow-truck company printed on the front and the fabric along the brim was fraying lightly. His hair spilled messily out from beneath his hat and strands still clung to his temples from where he’s broken a sweat earlier in the day. He probably looked like any other homeless vagrant to the vast majority of the populace…
Despite that he knew better than anyone there were eyes everywhere, that he needed to stay low and try to keep a low profile. That paranoid careful thing still lurking in him told him that he needed to run, needed to keep moving, but this place- these echos- they kept him paralyzed…
They frustrated him…
The disorienting reality of his own existence- of the man he used to be-of the monster he’d been made into- this thing- himself… Sometimes he woke up in the night and didn’t remember where he was wile other times he would awaken to the sounds of a gunshot or sirens and his first thought would be to run- run and never stop. Or worse- he would hear /their/ voice… like poison in his veins- spiraling coiling in his mind to root itself…
That wasn’t him anymore- it wasn’t- but that didn’t keep the memories from polluting his dreams. All of it… agony…
Hesitantly the soldier finally stepped forward, silently crossing the deserted street, and stopped out front of the closed storefront. It was some kind of insurance place now but back then- back when he was still Bucky Barnes- it was a bakery… he could almost smell the freshly baked bread… It all felt like so long ago- felt like it wasn’t his to remember… the distance was too great.