Darkness Rising || Open
It was midnight by the time Bucky -Winter–the asset?– got back to New York City. He’d been gone tracking down his own past, grabbing civilian clothes (insubstantial, unfamiliar, new) and staying in D.C. just to view the Smithsonian exhibit. It was strange, seeing “him” being called a hero, so used to having only a name, a title, being a tool used for shaping the world to his Master’s design. He wasn’t even used to being a he. Even still, there were connections, old names he called upon, including one man who had –years ago– remembered who he was, acknowledged him; he’d secured an apartment for him, small and sparse, reminiscent of his sleeping cell in any number of HYDRA bases.
The city itself was one that was familiar, both as Winter and…before. The time he could barely remember, small snatches here and there; memories the man on the bridge –Steve– had dragged up, like a body from the lake. A woman’s voice, laughing, exclaiming in joy; the same voice, weak, croaking, “Bucky,” the name he’d forgotten from before the man on the bridge reminded him. James Buchanan Barnes had been the name at the exhibit, but that hadn't been what Steve had called him.
After a few weeks he was out of food, and eventually emerged into the streets, cloaking device on his arm and his hair pulled back. He was hoping no one would recognize him, having a hard enough time with the very sudden memory flashes assaulting him, and HYDRA agents mixed with ex-SHIELD agents teeming all over the place. Not to mention the fucking Avengers, and Natalia, too. He knew she was here, could feel it like a loose stitch, tugging at his skin roughly. Just like the gaze of whoever was watching him. Wiping around, the Asset -- Winter -- Bucky glared at the person, snapping out a rough, "What?" His voice sharp and pointed like the blade in his pocket.
