It's while Steve is tracking Bucky that it happens. He'd been on a mission with the Avengers when a strange beam had hit him, but it had been fine at the time and he'd shrugged off any offers to take a closer look, eager to jump back into his search for his lost friend.
He'd flown out to where the trail had lead him last, hoping it wouldn't go cold like the last three leads had. It had been late when he'd landed and he'd gotten himself a hotel room to sleep off the ache from the mission.
The morning is when trouble comes. He wakes up in a bed that's too big with cold feet and a shallow breath. The mirror confirms his fears, but he can't let it stop him, so he buys himself new clothes and lighter supplies and struggles out into the forest where there might be a safe house and Bucky might be in it.
He's got as many layers as he can pack on and enough food for three days in his pack along with his shield. No one knows that he's like this, but he can't let it stop him. Bucky is out there. Steve knows he would do the same if he could remember.
The snow is three inches thick, crunching below his boots, and he can't feel his fingers or toes. It reminds him of winter in Brooklyn, when Bucky would bundle him up and worry over him once him ma had passed on and couldn't anymore. The cold hurts his lungs and his legs want to give out, but he keeps trudging on.
Bucky is out here somewhere. Nothing else matters.
He knows his name now: James Buchanan Barnes. “Bucky” Barnes. A name and a nickname and neither mean as much as they’re probably supposed to. He has a designation too: the Winter Soldier, HYDRA’S Asset. It’s more familiar to him, comes with a distinct skill set and directives but also the horror of those directives. And there are flashes of pain, what must be memories but he’s not sure at all where they fit between Bucky and the Winter Soldier. He’s not sure where he fits between those two things either.
He writes it all down anyway; he’s filled a notebook and a half so far and he’s not quite sure where to start sorting it out but at least this way he has it written down and in one place. He’ll figure it out. Hopefully.
Right now there’s very little to figure out save making it back to his current shelter as soon as possible. It’s stopped snowing finally but that doesn’t do anything to cut the chill in the air, doesn’t do anything to soften the crunch of the snow and ice under his boots. Still he walks on, his destination the run down hunting cabin that’s the latest in his string of accommodations for cash and no questions asked.
Hunched into his jacket, a scarf wrapped around his face he doesn’t notice the struggling figure as soon as he should. And when he does notice, all he can do is stare. The shield of course is familiar, but it doesn’t match the stature of the figure bearing it, doesn’t match the last time he saw it. And the man, well. The build is familiar to him in ways he doesn’t quite understand, pulls at something that has a headache starting behind his eyes. He has a choice now, he knows: continue on to the cabin, or turn around for the trek back to town and attempt to find somewhere else to shelter.
His body makes the decision before his brain can finish pulling apart the pros and cons, feet propelling him forward until he’s even with that struggling figure, hand closing around his upper arm. The cabin isn’t that far away, maybe a half a mile, but something in him knows that even so short a distance is a struggle for this man, that if he ends up half carrying him it won’t be so unusual a thing.
He doesn’t know where those thoughts come from but he can’t be worried about them now. His first priority is to get them out of the weather, everything else can come after.
It's so cold that Steve thinks he might die out here and all he can think is that it was stupid to risk himself like this because if something happens to him, who will be there to find Bucky? Who will keep Bucky safe from everyone else who's looking for him? Steve owes him so much and he can't just die out here and leave Bucky with no support, because Bucky won't even have the welcome Steve had had to the twenty-first century and that hadn't been great.
Those are his thoughts when hand seems to come out of nowhere and grip his arm through his coat. His head snaps around quickly, eyes wide.
"Bucky!" He almost sobs with relief. Bucky is here and he's not fighting Steve. That's progress. He can figure out the rest.
So he lets Bucky push him on, practically dragging him at times through the snow. It's okay, because Bucky's not running and he's not hostile and it fills Steve with so much damn hope. He can't remember the last time he felt so light, even with all the moisture of the melted snow weighing down his small frame.
He reacts to the name with a quiet growl only; this is neither the time nor the place, not with the chill in the air and his new companion so obviously flagging. Bucky sets a quick enough pace, one he knows he can keep, one he knows he can drag the other man through if he has to. That's not as uncomfortable a thought as it could be, and he chooses not to examine it in detail right now.
He does pull the scarf from around his neck and face, drapes it clumsily around the other man instead. There's something about lungs and breathing, something about the labored breaths he can hear and clearly he needs the layer more than Bucky does.
In relatively short time Bucky's unlocking and opening the door to the cabin, propelling his companion through it before following and closing it behind them. It is a hunting cabin so it's pretty sparsely furnished, but there's running water and there's a fireplace to supplement the heater — a fireplace to which Bucky immediately crosses as soon as he's shrugged out of his jacket, his aim to start a blaze going, new logs stacked on the remains of last night's.
"What are you doing out here?" His voice is rough from the cold but carefully neutral, free of inflection so that he can gauge how his surprise guest interprets his words.
Steve does his best to keep up for a while, but by the end Bucky really is dragging him and he's thankful for it. He leans into Bucky as much as he can let himself, shielding himself from the biting wind with the scarf he's been given. He wonders if Bucky remembers just how much he's always hated needed help like this. Even after all these years, that pride still wells up in him, even as he lets Bucky help.
Once they're inside, he keeps his layers on and wraps his arms around himself to try to cling to what little warmth he has left. Even just being shielded from the wind helps.
"I was looking for you."
He follows Bucky to the fireplace and settles a few feet away, but close enough that he'll feel the warmth of the fire once it's going. He doesn't want to crowd Bucky in, even as he's itching to reach out and touch him again.
"I've been looking for you this whole time, Buck."
It is, strictly speaking, true: Bucky doesn’t fully know who he is, and if he doesn’t know, how can anyone else? That’s his reasoning at least, reasoning that fights with a face so earnest, with blue eyes that he thinks he should remember. Perhaps he’s being stubborn, fighting it like this when what he’s been trying to do is piece together the fragments of his brain, things that must be his memories. But he absolutely had not been prepared to have anything dropped in on him like this, and his instinct is to balk.
It’s the same instinct that’s kept him both alive and free, so he’s inclined to listen to it.
He keeps his eyes on the growing flames in the fireplace but he’s still observing his companion: how close he comes, how he sits, how he’s comfortable with the weight of supplies and shield on his back even though Bucky’s pretty sure he could never manage to throw it the way it should be thrown. Could be thrown; could and not should. His brain insists on the correction and Bucky pushes it aside because it’s an uncomfortable thing on which to dwell.
You’re my mission, the words still ring strongly in his memory, but they’re not right either. This man next to him, this scrawny slip of a thing, had never been Bucky’s mission.
“Sit here and warm up.” It’s practicality speaking; it’d be a death sentence to send him out in the cold, especially with the night falling and bringing even colder temperatures with it. “I’ll make some food.”
Steve wants to argue that he knows exactly who Bucky is. He's the man who pulled Steve from the river when it would have been easier to let him drown. He's the man who dragged him here in the snow and who's trying to warm him up and feed him. Maybe he doesn't remember all those little details that make up Bucky, but he's still Bucky and it's plain as day to Steve. Coming here had been right.
He'd always hated being taken care of, because he'd always had to work twice as hard to prove himself to everyone around him. Taking help from Bucky is a little easier, because he'd never had to prove a thing to Bucky. Bucky had always just had his back. Even now, he seems to.
Moving closer, he soaks up the heat from the fire and settles in again before starting to remove his bag so he can set the shield against it. He rolls his shoulders to try to get rid of the stiffness he can feel there, but he knows they'll feel even worse tomorrow.
The cabin isn't luxurious by any means and its furniture has seen better days but it's dry and serviceable, and the walls hold the heat of the fire pretty well once it gets going. It's enough for Bucky's needs, and it'll have to be enough for his guest as well. At least the other man is dressed smartly for the weather — and doesn't seem to be in a rush to lose those outer layers. That's good, preserving the core temperature while the extremities heat up; good survival skill. He's either been trained or just has a good head on his shoulders.
Something tells Bucky it's both. He doesn't argue the feeling.
He sheds half of his own gear on the way to the kitchen, getting rid of both outer coat and gloves. It leaves his left hand on display but there's little enough need for secrecy about it, not right now. It also leaves on display some of the tactical gear he'd kept, the gun at his hip. He doesn't go anywhere unarmed, not if he can help it. Considering that he'd rented a hunting cabin, it isn't questioned.
Food is soup: instant, from a can, but it's warm and it's easy and really, he's eaten worse. He does at least have a thick, crusty bread to go with, something he'd picked up in the market while out gathering supplies. It doesn't take him long to prepare it, only a few minutes over the stove in the cabin's small kitchen, the meal ladled into two bowls in short order and Bucky returns immediately to the fireplace.
"Eat," he says simply, pressing a bowl and some bread into the other man's hands before sitting in one of the chairs that have seen better days. "Tell me why you're really here."
He takes the soup and the bread with a thankful smile and presses his hands against the hot bowl. It almost hurts, but it helps him get more feeling back in them, even with the strange pins and needles that shoot through them at the abrupt temperature change.
"I'm really looking for you. Why else would I be out here?" Steve watches Bucky carefully, because he wants to watch his reaction, but he's not scared and at no point does he let himself look like he is. He doesn't think he could ever be scared of Bucky. He'd only fought back when the world had literally depended on it. Now? He wouldn't fight Bucky even if Bucky had him at gunpoint. He can't.
"I don't know what you remember, but you and I were friends for a long time." They still are, he thinks, even if Bucky doesn't remember it at all. He will always be Steve's friend. "I want to help you. I'm not going to let anyone hurt you, okay? I only want to help."
"Espionage. Infiltration. Elimination." Bucky rattles off the reasons matter-of-factly, like he's giving an upcoming weather forecast and not reasons to suspect of anyone coming after him. He's no naïve fool to think that Hydra isn't looking for him; they are. Sooner or later, they might even find him.
But that possibility doesn't automatically mean that what his companion says is untrue.
Bucky takes his time answering; the soup provides a good enough excuse for doing so. It's warm and thick, hearty enough for warming up on a cold night. He certainly feels fine physically, and has endured weather much worse than this, but that doesn't mean a hot meal isn't welcome.
"How are you going to keep me from getting hurt?" It's there that he finally chooses to start, because the insistence of friendship doesn't feel wrong, even though Bucky feels it's not exactly right. He's got to puzzle it out a little more, sort his own feelings on it before he begins to address it with this man. "How do you plan to help?"
It's not the easiest question to answer, but Steve knows he'll do whatever it takes, even if Bucky doesn't understand that yet. Steve would go to hell and back for Bucky. He knows he could have frozen to death out there if Bucky hadn't found him and it's a risk he'd taken, because there are no risks that aren't worth it where Bucky's concerned.
"If you come home with me, we'll find a way to clear everything up. We'll explain what happened." He puts his soup down and moves closer on the floor. "I know HYDRA made you do all of those things, Bucky. That isn't who you are."
If Bucky's face hadn't been proof enough for Steve, the fact that Bucky's been hiding instead of fighting says a lot, as does the fact that he'd dragged Steve out of the cold to feed him soup. Steve really can't tell if he remembers much, but he can still see Bucky so clearly in front of him.
"Where is home? Back to your SHIELD agency?" He shakes his head, but he's not doing anything to prevent Steve from coming closer. Bucky can't put his finger on exactly why, but he knows that there's no threat in proximity. It's not just that he could overpower his companion, it's tied up more up in those feelings that don't have a logical root, the ones he's still sorting out. "The agency that HYDRA controlled?"
No, he'll not return to any place that puts him at risk of contact with HYDRA, not like that. All it takes is a handful of words to have him compliant once more and Bucky refuses to go back to that, refuses to lose what little he's gained back. He doesn't wish to be anyone's tool ever again; what guarantee does he have that SHIELD wouldn't do much as HYDRA had done?
No, he doesn't trust them and he believes that he has a good reason for it. But that doesn't solve the problem of here and now: what to do with having been found and how to proceed from here. Something tells him that even if he ditches the other man come morning, it's not going to stop the pursuit.
That gives Steve pause. SHIELD isn't really SHIELD anymore and he's not so sure he can really ask the Avengers to take this on with him. Sam and Natasha have helped, but he's asked more than enough of them. Is that even his home? The Avengers are probably the closest he's had to one in a long time, but sitting here with warm soup and a fire and Bucky, he feels more at home than he has since the war.
"We can go somewhere else. Let me stay with you." It would have been a more compelling argument, he thinks, if he weren't stuck in his old body, but he'd have to go home to try to fix it and if he leaves, he doesn't know how long it will take to find Bucky next time. Captain America, at least, could offer some real protection in a fight. Steve Rogers like this can't offer much more than a chronic cough. It had been enough for Bucky back then, but he's not sure if things haven't changed in that regard, because now Bucky might need more.
Everything the serum gave him has always been a tool. It had never been who Steve was and that isn't changing now. The muscles never changed the man inside all that much, so Steve only wishes he had them because it would help him keep Bucky safe. Nothing less and nothing more.
"If you don't want to go back, we can stay here. We can go wherever you want to go, Buck. I just need you to stop running from me." If there's any amount of Bucky in there, Steve knows he'll listen and at least consider it. He hopes it means Bucky won't leave him here, because he's sore and cold and he still feels better than he's felt in years and he's not sure what he'll do if Bucky turns away from him now.
"You know I'm not HYDRA and you know I'd never do anything to help them, let alone give you to them. You know me."
"What would you even do here? With me?" Bucky's life isn't a life; it's a series of temporary situations, places he stays for a week, maybe two, before moving on. Transient. Drifting. The only solid thing is the notebook he keeps with him, the one that means everything to him because its few pages contain everything he knows.
The argument is not a compelling one; without Bucky stumbling upon him, he thinks that Steve might not have survived the storm. How is he expecting to survive anything that comes after? How does he think he's going to keep up with Bucky's lifestyle?
Does he even know how to be on the run, anonymous and entirely off the grid?
Bucky's silent for a long moment, looking into the fire instead of looking at Steve, lost in his thoughts. What shocks him back to the present is the realization that he's already calculating his supplies versus two people, looking at how long the food will last. How fast they could travel on foot. How effectively they could blend in. He all but shakes himself, pushing the thoughts away as Steve's words break through his contemplation. "I knew you once. Maybe. I don't know you now."
Eventually he stands to bring his bowl back into the kitchen, mostly to have something to do. He's restless, plans for a quiet night now disturbed, and he needs to recenter himself. He won't kick Steve out into the storm, that's cruel, but he also doesn't know what to do with the man.
Steve doesn't know what he'd do. He's not even all that useful like this and maybe he'll be stuck like this for a long time, but he won't leave Bucky to go fix it. Not when he knows Bucky won't be here when he comes back.
He sits here, watching Bucky with a steady gaze. The words don't throw him off. They don't make him second guess his choices one bit. He's still just as stubborn as he's always been.
"Well, I know you, Buck." The words are quiet as he watches Bucky retreat to the kitchen. "I've known you almost my whole life and I'm not going to abandon you now."
Standing up, he gathers his own dish and follows Bucky into the kitchen. Being small had never made him afraid of bigger men and he'll never be afraid of Bucky. Hell, he hadn't been afraid of Bucky when he probably shouldn't have been, but now? Bucky's not exactly showing signs of wanting to hurt Steve.
"I know you and you know me, even if you can't remember it all right now. I need you to trust me. Can you do that? Because I trust you."
There's work in the kitchen; it's the simple act of washing dishes but that doesn't matter because it's still something he can do with his hands, something solid and real and with a definite end goal. He doesn't even think about the action of reaching for Steve's dish to soap it down and place it in the drying rack. Maybe that says something but if so, he's not looking too closely at it.
He's also not looking too closely at the fact that he'd turned his back on Steve and known that an attack wouldn't come. It hadn't even taken a thought; he'd spared no time to the consideration of Steve's size and strength against his own. He'd simply known it was safe to show his back to the smaller man.
But still, it doesn't mean anything.
"You can stay tonight," he replies, brushing off the issues of trust and memory. "The morning will be better for figuring out what to do with you."
And for figuring out what to do in general. Bucky's not even sure what his own next step would have been, surprise visitor or not. He really is living as a transient and while that certainly does offer the flexibility of being able to move on easily and remain anonymous, it also means he still feels a little unmoored.
Steve huffs, but at least Bucky isn't fighting him right now. He'll make more headway in the morning, though, because if Bucky thinks Steve is going to give up after he gets some rest, he's got another thing coming.
"You mean for figuring out where we're going next?" His pack is on the floor where he'd left it. He has more supplies back in the hotel room he'd left this morning, but if they can't go back, then he'll make do. He's not leaving Bucky to get them. They're just things.
Watching Bucky be so domestic in the kitchen feels weird, if only because it's so familiar that it makes Steve's chest ache. Sure, Bucky looks a little different now, but he's still Bucky under all of that. It's as plain as day to Steve.
Steve can huff all he wants. Bucky isn't buying it, isn't impressed by it, and fully intends to continue with his plans to return Steve to wherever he was before this, and to continue on his own way. In the morning, when the weather is more suited to it. Already he can feel that the temperature has dropped with the coming of the night, and he's considering building up the fire even more. He's perfectly fine, but Steve is all of what, a hundred pounds? He'll catch a chill.
He's not sure why he cares.
Finishing with the dishes he turns his back to the sink, leaning against the counter and crossing his arms as he considers Steve and Steve's question. The cabin's simple layout does include a small bedroom; its linen closet had been well stocked with wool blankets. It's the logical choice.
"The bedroom," he replies; he'll be perfectly comfortable on the couch himself. "You should take a hot shower first. You still look half frozen."
The Raft was a top of the line prison built out at sea where the volatile nature of the storms was as brewing as the dislike in the prison cells. Of course, their guards were all very professional but also as hands off as possible. They were like the Soviets in that regard, cold and distant in their handling of the prisoners that were under their care and honestly, as far as he could tell, there weren't many. Mostly the people who had allied themselves with Steve.
They had positioned him and Steve rather particularly, completely out of sight of one another. He could hear Steve talking, loud and brash like the 40s, as if the small form seemed to inspire the need for verbal needling over the years of professionalism layered over rebellion and a sense of unyielding right and wrong. They hadn't known that Stark had developed an anti-serum, but it made sense honestly when he thought about it. Stark was a control freak and part of that sense of control came in manufacturing solutions to all potential problems, including allies.
Bucky had barely survived the final encountered, suspected that Stark had taken him for dead in all honesty. Part of the effects of cryo and Soviet technology, so the guy couldn't be faulted. The Winter Soldier was to survive at all costs, even if it meant slowing his heart to one beat every two minutes, only made real by being in a frozen environment. Thanks Siberia. But he had survived and Steve made small, dumped into the hands of Ross and instead of a cremation, he had come to and been outfitted like all the other prisoners.
A few had left, taken plea deals. Others remained, considered too dangerous to be released.
He was healing. The wheeze to his breath was easing from broken ribs; his blackened eyes were a sickly yellow with purple; the cuts on his face and body had scabbed over and were itchy. He no longer ached, but the burnt remnants of his left arm remained, covered in bandaging as if that would hide the sight of it. He masked his pain well, didn't let on that all the nerves remained raw and bare, but there was no pity for him. He was a murderer, a traitor, and a spy, and he had been told that he would be tried for his crimes as the information was picked through. Capital punishment on the traitor charge was all but certain.
But he waited, quiet and seemingly morose, accepting his fate. He decided to heal first and become accustomed to the guard rotations. The technology here was good, their prison outfits biometrically aware of their movements at every second, but even still, their cells needed to be cleaned at least once every week. None of them made a mess, but they were still obligated to the basic necessities of life under UN law.
A few weeks in of complete compliance was enough. Being out of his cell for cleaning was the only time he could potentially catch sight of Steve.
Taking out the guards was easy enough, breaking Steve out of his cell less so and overriding the security protocols even worse, but they had Wanda who put most resistance down when Steve could remove her collar. Locking the sleeping guards in their quarters limited the amount of serious damage they could do as they escaped to the hanger. Wanda and Wilson went on one helicopter into the volatile air around the Raft, he and Steve were to take the second with the expectation that they would find a way to meet up later.
While the timing was absolutely terrible, it was actually the first time that he had any opportunity to take stock of Steve standing there looking... so disconnectedly familiar. His memories before HYDRA could be askew. He knew smells and what he had heard better than he could recall what he saw. Sometimes most of his memories came from reading something over seeing it. So seeing Steve all five-foot nothing was like entering a dream state. Really seeing what was done to his best friend but understanding that the serum had never made the man, just enhanced him to be taken seriously in the minds of lesser men.
"You remember how to fly, don't you?" He looked to the helicopter. He could fly the stick, but all the buttons and stabilizing controls required a second hand which he was distinctly missing. "Unless you can't reach the controls in which case you can sit on my knees."
He was allowed to make a lame attempt at teasing. They hadn't had time, nor had the moment ever seemed right. Besides, he knew in some part of his mind that he had grown up with this small version, and his respect for Steve could never actually be crushed.
Steve had fought tooth and nail to keep Bucky safe. He'd thrown everything he'd had into fighting Tony off. It had hurt to do it, even more than the fighting at the airport, but he couldn't let Tony kill Bucky. He would die first.
He'd wanted to give Tony the benefit of the doubt that he'd been acting in a moment of passion, too, and he had right up until he'd realized that Tony had reversed the serum and he'd been looking at what he'd thought was Bucky's dead body. They'd still had to sedate Steve in order to arrest him, because even small, he'd always put up a hell of a fight. He'd kicked and punched and pushed any way he could see to get closer to Bucky's body and everyone had been too afraid of the idea of shooting Captain America like this, so they'd sedated him and dragged him in.
It had taken a few days for Steve to even learn that Bucky was still alive and he'd spent those days in a dark place, trapped in all of his memories, all the missed chances and broken opportunities and all the ways he'd failed Bucky over the years. He'd been silent and seemingly calm, even as he panicked internally at the idea of losing Bucky again.
That first week when they'd dragged him out of his cell to clean it and he'd finally gotten a glimpse of Bucky in his cell, banged up and broken but very much alive, it had brought him right back to Siberia, kicking and punching and yelling for Bucky until they'd wrestled him to the ground and handcuffed him to a bar. It was a real blow to his ego that was so easy for two guards to pin him down like that, right in front of Bucky's cell for everyone to see.
After that, he was anything but quiet.
The breakout felt too easy, but he didn't care. He was getting out of here and he was with Bucky and Bucky was alive. They'd figure the rest out after they got away from this place.
He watched the other helicopter take off before climbing into theirs. It was a more difficult climb than usual, but he pulled himself up with shear determination. This wouldn't stop him from getting Bucky to safety. Nothing could.
"One more joke like that and I leave you here."
His face was neutral, but there was a smile in his eyes when he glanced at Bucky before he started to flip switches and check gauges. They needed to get out of here before anyone noticed in time to stop them. He had to sit up near the edge of the seat, which meant leaving the seatbelt a little slack, but it was the best they could manage between the two of them.
He found that he had to pull himself into the helicopter a bit gingerly, hauling himself with his right hand and settling a bit uncomfortably as his ribs flexed and the remnants of the left arm twinged. However, it was no worse than putting down guards and any other resistance to get to this point, so he was fine simply taking off the biometric shirt and replacing it with one of the spares hanging around in a locker as they left.
He reached up and flipped on controls to help with the process, wanting to get out of this place as quickly as possible. They would be tracked, but he was skilled at slipping away and evading most pursuit, so he figured once they were on any real landmass, they would be able to fend for themselves. It was this whole 'prison at sea' that was messing up his usual modes of escape.
"You wouldn't leave a one armed man behind," he replied as he struggled his way into the headphones so that they could communicate over the beat of the chopper blades. "Besides, with the way you were screaming the last week, I think they would consider me a trap if you left me."
He was a bit more secure in the idea that they were leaving once they were in the air, and maybe for the first time since awakening and realizing he was alive, he reached over and touched the sawed off and smoothed patchwork of his metal arm. It was like having a raw nerve stimulated constantly, but that was a matter to deal with another time. It was strange not having it after so many years associating it with him.
"Do you even know where we are or what country were going to be heading towards?" He hadn't exactly had time to do research, but Steve was part of the Avengers so maybe had heard of this floating prison before.
Steve bit back whatever comment he could make about the fact that he wouldn't leave Bucky behind, no matter how many arms he had. He was just thankful that they were both alive and together, even if they were both a little broken right now.
"Not a clue. We'll have to figure it out once we find a place to land. I didn't even know they were building a place like this." Which meant they'd always thought Steve was a risk that might need to be detained. He tried not to let that sting, but it still did a little. He'd given a lot for those people only to have them turn on him the first time he wanted something they didn't like. They wouldn't even listen. It's like his word had meant nothing. He's trying not to let this be about his ego or some feeling of entitlement, but it still feels like the loyalty that had been there had been one-side somewhere along the line. Certainly with Tony.
He had to put a little more elbow grease into every movement with the controls and that was only serving as a reminder that he wasn't going to be very useful in a fight. Between his size and Bucky's missing arm, they would want to find a low-risk area to set down as soon as they could.
"I thought you were dead back in Siberia." He couldn't look at Bucky as the words came out. Instead, he just kept his eyes ahead on the horizon looking for land.
He nodded his head, looking up and around the cabin to see if there was a map or anything, but no go. Likely all the coordinates were placed in the console, and it would require some kind of code to break into it. Considering what it took to break out in the dead of night, it was likely not worth the effort when Steve could control this manually as it was. They had to have the ability to reach land on the fuel available, and he had seen the other helicopter going this direction.
"People will always fear those stronger than them and build things to contain them on the off-chance they turn on them," he remarked tiredly, looking out the window as the water rushed along the surface. This was an all too familiar sensation for him. Everywhere he went, people felt the need to contain him, lock him up, break him down so that he wasn't quite the same threat as before.
He hummed softly at Steve's remark, casting his eyes over and silently observing his best friend then sighed. "I'm sorry," he said, not certain what else would make a difference. "Apparently so did Stark, which was likely the only reason I am alive." He reached out and set his only hand on Steve's shoulder. "It's the effects of cryo for me. When I'm cold and unconscious, my heart slows and I basically appear dead. Normally, a tracker in my arm would go off and the Soviets would come and retrieve me... but you know..." he trailed off and looked pointedly at the space where the metal arm had once existed.
Steve kept his eye out for land. Wherever the helicopter had come from would have security, so they'd need to land somewhere else, which meant finding some sort of clearing and not just any land. He wouldn't risk hurting other people to put the helicopter down and he wouldn't risk Bucky's freedom again, either.
Bucky's words had Steve seeing red. His hands gripped the controls just a little tighter. Steve had spent years proving himself. Decades, even. He'd effectively died to protect people and they still sought to trap him like that? It wasn't just that, though. It was Bucky, too. Bucky, who'd never had an evil bone in his body. Bucky, who'd also died for them and who'd suffered for it. He should be protected, not trapped, and if they wouldn't do it, then Steve would see to it himself. Who have either of them ever been able to rely on if not each other?
He threw Bucky a quick glance. Maybe it was more about confirming that Bucky really was here and alive than anything else, though he liked that hand on his shoulder--warm and solid and grounded in a way that helped him let some of that fire die down. For once, there was something to be thankful for with that. When he'd thought Bucky was dead, Steve had felt like some sort of broken ghost. To go through all of that only to have Bucky ripped away again had been too much. In the years since he'd thawed, he'd been pushing himself to keep moving forward, but having Bucky dangled in front of him and snatched away had been too much. He would have to keep Bucky safe at all costs. It was what he should have done in the first place.
"I'll keep that in mind if I ever let you be cold and unconscious again." He wouldn't.
He also kept a weather eye out for land, mostly because he understood that any airstrip might not be particularly friendly towards them once it was clear that they had escaped. So far, there was radio silence, and he knew that they would eventually have to find coordinates in order to avoid an actual airport. That was just going to turn out poorly for all involved in it.
The trip was made more difficult because of the darkness and the unfavourable weather. It was unclear that they were going to find land quickly. Hell, he hadn't been conscious enough to estimate the time that it took to bring him to the facility in the first place, but Steve seemed determined to get them out of there and never look back.
"A freezer is a great hiding spot for me, I've been assured," he said, one corner of his lip rising. Gallows humor mostly.
He dropped his hand away to play with the radio frequencies, to see if they could find some radio noise in order to allow them to pinpoint where they were and how close to land they may be. There was mostly silence, but he continued to cycle through the frequencies in search. Steve had the job of flying, he had the job of navigating. Somehow it felt a bit like old times.
Steve spared a little glare at that joke. Right now is really not the time for that kind of humor. He doesn't need to think about losing Bucky or all the stupid things he knows he'll do just to keep him safe. Right now, they're together and he's going to get Bucky someplace safe or die trying.
"No more freezers for you."
He kept his eyes on the horizon. The good news was that he was pretty sure he could land this anywhere with a clearing. It wasn't like he was too worried about it taking off again and they should get away from it as quickly as they could once they landed, anyway, because there was no way it didn't have a tracker.
They would need to figure out what to do about Bucky's arm, too, because he knew it hadn't been looked at by any sort of expert, not that Steve was sure where they could go. Normally Tony was his go-to on these types of things. Now, there weren't many people to be trusted.
"You wouldn't happen to have any resources hidden somewhere that are still secure, would you?" Because he knows he should. He's sure Natasha has escape plans from her escape plans, but Steve just isn't wired like that. He's got nothing hidden and anything he has he can't get to without getting caught.
Testing how it felt, he reached out and ruffled Steve's hair. He knew that he used to do it when they were boys, but that was a long, long time ago, felt more like a different lifetime for them both. Maybe it had the same feel though, but he wasn't entirely certain. For one, his hands were bigger and Steve, even in this body, seemed less fragile than he had memories for. He even looked at his hand afterwards and flexed his digits.
"Except for ice cream, right?" He needed to keep Steve from glaring at him, or maybe he needed to see it again. It was so familiar, but in a fevered dream kind of way.
Despite being in a continual level of pain because of the ruined aspects of his arm, he had learned long ago to compartmentalize. As long as it wasn't touched or bumped on anything, he was fine to ignore it. He knew that they would have to deal with it, but he wasn't so certain how up to the task of removing it Steve was. It was, after all, a reminder of what he had lost way back in the War. Maybe it wouldn't matter. Steve was never given enough credit for being able to push boundaries, and he had no doubt this would be yet another situation for that. It wasn't like they had anyone but each other anymore, just like old times.
"I have a few places," he murmured, looking out the window. He had more than a few places, boltholes that had enough supplies to keep them safe, but he never stayed in one of them for any length of time. It was easier to discover then. "Once we land and figure out where we are, we'll have to steal a car likely and get to one of them. Depending on which one, we should have much of what we need." Money, food, weapons, clothing... though probably nothing that would fit Steve.
Maybe seeing his best friend in oversized clothing could lighten to mood?
"Depending on how the other side of the fight and the government feels, they may be able to sniff us out. We'll have to be careful," he remarked. He was used to hiding with little to no clues of his whereabouts though. He had done it for two years; he could do it again.
If anyone else ruffled Steve's hair like that, he might have honestly snapped a little, but it wsa Bucky and as usual, nothing about it felt condescending. He'd never rejected affection like that from Bucky and he had no reason to start now. The only response he threw at Bucky was a small smile.
Even when his health had been poor, Steve had never been one to give up and having Bucky here only made him feel stronger. Maybe the two of them could do anything together. They would succeed or fail as one and Steve didn't let himself fail, so even if he had to fight for both of them in this smaller body, he would do it.
"Maybe not even for ice cream."
Steve squinted at the horizon. He was used to near-perfect eyesight, but this could be a lot worse. That was probably land up ahead and he didn't see anything else in the air, which was a good first sign, but they would need to land away from people and preferably without being seen. It could give them enough of a head start to get somewhere safe and lay low.
He might not have been the spy that Natasha was, but he understood enough basics to keep his head down now and besides, he stood out a hell of a lot less at this size, didn't he? If Bucky could do it for two years, Steve would follow his lead now and make sure he didn't risk Bucky's safety. All he could hope is that Bucky wouldn't run again, because Steve had even fewer resources to find him again now.
"I can be careful when I want to be." Which is to say he rarely wants to be.
"Thawed ice cream is disgusting," he reflected sagely. Like he had gone out of his way to try it just to say that he had had the experience all over again. "Refrozen ice cream from a full thaw is even worse." Sometimes he wondered if Steve had experimented as he had, trying to figure out the new world in which they existed. Something so simple as the talk of ice cream between people who hadn't exactly been able to afford it in the times that they had grown up.
He watched the horizon slowly come into focus through the general haze of the storm. He was likely quicker to watch it emerge, but he was already surveying a possible area where they could set down the helicopter and just get the heck out of the way of any pursuit. Being on the run meant skirting small villages where everyone knew a stranger easily. It was too dangerous to go running to a brand new big city too, so they would likely be moving quickly and dangerously for awhile.
He nodded his head, aware that Steve could but often didn't bother. All big and confident even in that little body.
As the land came more into view, he pointed to an area that looked like a break in the trees a little further inland. If it was a glade big enough, they should land there and strike out. No point keeping a bird like this in the air for longer than they had to. In a forest, there would be logging roads to make use of. The government likely wouldn't want to be yelling about escaped convicts from a floating prison by his estimations unless he and Steve began to cause havoc, neither of which they wanted.
"Perhaps now would be a good time to want to be, right? At least you're better equipped now with those little fingers to help me get this arm off," he said almost flippantly, maybe the first indication that he was uncomfortable with it.
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keepcruising2018-09-06 02:25 pm
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He'd flown out to where the trail had lead him last, hoping it wouldn't go cold like the last three leads had. It had been late when he'd landed and he'd gotten himself a hotel room to sleep off the ache from the mission.
The morning is when trouble comes. He wakes up in a bed that's too big with cold feet and a shallow breath. The mirror confirms his fears, but he can't let it stop him, so he buys himself new clothes and lighter supplies and struggles out into the forest where there might be a safe house and Bucky might be in it.
He's got as many layers as he can pack on and enough food for three days in his pack along with his shield. No one knows that he's like this, but he can't let it stop him. Bucky is out there. Steve knows he would do the same if he could remember.
The snow is three inches thick, crunching below his boots, and he can't feel his fingers or toes. It reminds him of winter in Brooklyn, when Bucky would bundle him up and worry over him once him ma had passed on and couldn't anymore. The cold hurts his lungs and his legs want to give out, but he keeps trudging on.
Bucky is out here somewhere. Nothing else matters.
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He knows his name now: James Buchanan Barnes. “Bucky” Barnes. A name and a nickname and neither mean as much as they’re probably supposed to. He has a designation too: the Winter Soldier, HYDRA’S Asset. It’s more familiar to him, comes with a distinct skill set and directives but also the horror of those directives. And there are flashes of pain, what must be memories but he’s not sure at all where they fit between Bucky and the Winter Soldier. He’s not sure where he fits between those two things either.
He writes it all down anyway; he’s filled a notebook and a half so far and he’s not quite sure where to start sorting it out but at least this way he has it written down and in one place. He’ll figure it out. Hopefully.
Right now there’s very little to figure out save making it back to his current shelter as soon as possible. It’s stopped snowing finally but that doesn’t do anything to cut the chill in the air, doesn’t do anything to soften the crunch of the snow and ice under his boots. Still he walks on, his destination the run down hunting cabin that’s the latest in his string of accommodations for cash and no questions asked.
Hunched into his jacket, a scarf wrapped around his face he doesn’t notice the struggling figure as soon as he should. And when he does notice, all he can do is stare. The shield of course is familiar, but it doesn’t match the stature of the figure bearing it, doesn’t match the last time he saw it. And the man, well. The build is familiar to him in ways he doesn’t quite understand, pulls at something that has a headache starting behind his eyes. He has a choice now, he knows: continue on to the cabin, or turn around for the trek back to town and attempt to find somewhere else to shelter.
His body makes the decision before his brain can finish pulling apart the pros and cons, feet propelling him forward until he’s even with that struggling figure, hand closing around his upper arm. The cabin isn’t that far away, maybe a half a mile, but something in him knows that even so short a distance is a struggle for this man, that if he ends up half carrying him it won’t be so unusual a thing.
He doesn’t know where those thoughts come from but he can’t be worried about them now. His first priority is to get them out of the weather, everything else can come after.
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Those are his thoughts when hand seems to come out of nowhere and grip his arm through his coat. His head snaps around quickly, eyes wide.
"Bucky!" He almost sobs with relief. Bucky is here and he's not fighting Steve. That's progress. He can figure out the rest.
So he lets Bucky push him on, practically dragging him at times through the snow. It's okay, because Bucky's not running and he's not hostile and it fills Steve with so much damn hope. He can't remember the last time he felt so light, even with all the moisture of the melted snow weighing down his small frame.
This is why he was out here and it's so worth it.
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He does pull the scarf from around his neck and face, drapes it clumsily around the other man instead. There's something about lungs and breathing, something about the labored breaths he can hear and clearly he needs the layer more than Bucky does.
In relatively short time Bucky's unlocking and opening the door to the cabin, propelling his companion through it before following and closing it behind them. It is a hunting cabin so it's pretty sparsely furnished, but there's running water and there's a fireplace to supplement the heater — a fireplace to which Bucky immediately crosses as soon as he's shrugged out of his jacket, his aim to start a blaze going, new logs stacked on the remains of last night's.
"What are you doing out here?" His voice is rough from the cold but carefully neutral, free of inflection so that he can gauge how his surprise guest interprets his words.
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Once they're inside, he keeps his layers on and wraps his arms around himself to try to cling to what little warmth he has left. Even just being shielded from the wind helps.
"I was looking for you."
He follows Bucky to the fireplace and settles a few feet away, but close enough that he'll feel the warmth of the fire once it's going. He doesn't want to crowd Bucky in, even as he's itching to reach out and touch him again.
"I've been looking for you this whole time, Buck."
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It is, strictly speaking, true: Bucky doesn’t fully know who he is, and if he doesn’t know, how can anyone else? That’s his reasoning at least, reasoning that fights with a face so earnest, with blue eyes that he thinks he should remember. Perhaps he’s being stubborn, fighting it like this when what he’s been trying to do is piece together the fragments of his brain, things that must be his memories. But he absolutely had not been prepared to have anything dropped in on him like this, and his instinct is to balk.
It’s the same instinct that’s kept him both alive and free, so he’s inclined to listen to it.
He keeps his eyes on the growing flames in the fireplace but he’s still observing his companion: how close he comes, how he sits, how he’s comfortable with the weight of supplies and shield on his back even though Bucky’s pretty sure he could never manage to throw it the way it should be thrown. Could be thrown; could and not should. His brain insists on the correction and Bucky pushes it aside because it’s an uncomfortable thing on which to dwell.
You’re my mission, the words still ring strongly in his memory, but they’re not right either. This man next to him, this scrawny slip of a thing, had never been Bucky’s mission.
“Sit here and warm up.” It’s practicality speaking; it’d be a death sentence to send him out in the cold, especially with the night falling and bringing even colder temperatures with it. “I’ll make some food.”
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He'd always hated being taken care of, because he'd always had to work twice as hard to prove himself to everyone around him. Taking help from Bucky is a little easier, because he'd never had to prove a thing to Bucky. Bucky had always just had his back. Even now, he seems to.
Moving closer, he soaks up the heat from the fire and settles in again before starting to remove his bag so he can set the shield against it. He rolls his shoulders to try to get rid of the stiffness he can feel there, but he knows they'll feel even worse tomorrow.
"Thanks, Buck."
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Something tells Bucky it's both. He doesn't argue the feeling.
He sheds half of his own gear on the way to the kitchen, getting rid of both outer coat and gloves. It leaves his left hand on display but there's little enough need for secrecy about it, not right now. It also leaves on display some of the tactical gear he'd kept, the gun at his hip. He doesn't go anywhere unarmed, not if he can help it. Considering that he'd rented a hunting cabin, it isn't questioned.
Food is soup: instant, from a can, but it's warm and it's easy and really, he's eaten worse. He does at least have a thick, crusty bread to go with, something he'd picked up in the market while out gathering supplies. It doesn't take him long to prepare it, only a few minutes over the stove in the cabin's small kitchen, the meal ladled into two bowls in short order and Bucky returns immediately to the fireplace.
"Eat," he says simply, pressing a bowl and some bread into the other man's hands before sitting in one of the chairs that have seen better days. "Tell me why you're really here."
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"I'm really looking for you. Why else would I be out here?" Steve watches Bucky carefully, because he wants to watch his reaction, but he's not scared and at no point does he let himself look like he is. He doesn't think he could ever be scared of Bucky. He'd only fought back when the world had literally depended on it. Now? He wouldn't fight Bucky even if Bucky had him at gunpoint. He can't.
"I don't know what you remember, but you and I were friends for a long time." They still are, he thinks, even if Bucky doesn't remember it at all. He will always be Steve's friend. "I want to help you. I'm not going to let anyone hurt you, okay? I only want to help."
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But that possibility doesn't automatically mean that what his companion says is untrue.
Bucky takes his time answering; the soup provides a good enough excuse for doing so. It's warm and thick, hearty enough for warming up on a cold night. He certainly feels fine physically, and has endured weather much worse than this, but that doesn't mean a hot meal isn't welcome.
"How are you going to keep me from getting hurt?" It's there that he finally chooses to start, because the insistence of friendship doesn't feel wrong, even though Bucky feels it's not exactly right. He's got to puzzle it out a little more, sort his own feelings on it before he begins to address it with this man. "How do you plan to help?"
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"If you come home with me, we'll find a way to clear everything up. We'll explain what happened." He puts his soup down and moves closer on the floor. "I know HYDRA made you do all of those things, Bucky. That isn't who you are."
If Bucky's face hadn't been proof enough for Steve, the fact that Bucky's been hiding instead of fighting says a lot, as does the fact that he'd dragged Steve out of the cold to feed him soup. Steve really can't tell if he remembers much, but he can still see Bucky so clearly in front of him.
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No, he'll not return to any place that puts him at risk of contact with HYDRA, not like that. All it takes is a handful of words to have him compliant once more and Bucky refuses to go back to that, refuses to lose what little he's gained back. He doesn't wish to be anyone's tool ever again; what guarantee does he have that SHIELD wouldn't do much as HYDRA had done?
No, he doesn't trust them and he believes that he has a good reason for it. But that doesn't solve the problem of here and now: what to do with having been found and how to proceed from here. Something tells him that even if he ditches the other man come morning, it's not going to stop the pursuit.
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"We can go somewhere else. Let me stay with you." It would have been a more compelling argument, he thinks, if he weren't stuck in his old body, but he'd have to go home to try to fix it and if he leaves, he doesn't know how long it will take to find Bucky next time. Captain America, at least, could offer some real protection in a fight. Steve Rogers like this can't offer much more than a chronic cough. It had been enough for Bucky back then, but he's not sure if things haven't changed in that regard, because now Bucky might need more.
Everything the serum gave him has always been a tool. It had never been who Steve was and that isn't changing now. The muscles never changed the man inside all that much, so Steve only wishes he had them because it would help him keep Bucky safe. Nothing less and nothing more.
"If you don't want to go back, we can stay here. We can go wherever you want to go, Buck. I just need you to stop running from me." If there's any amount of Bucky in there, Steve knows he'll listen and at least consider it. He hopes it means Bucky won't leave him here, because he's sore and cold and he still feels better than he's felt in years and he's not sure what he'll do if Bucky turns away from him now.
"You know I'm not HYDRA and you know I'd never do anything to help them, let alone give you to them. You know me."
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The argument is not a compelling one; without Bucky stumbling upon him, he thinks that Steve might not have survived the storm. How is he expecting to survive anything that comes after? How does he think he's going to keep up with Bucky's lifestyle?
Does he even know how to be on the run, anonymous and entirely off the grid?
Bucky's silent for a long moment, looking into the fire instead of looking at Steve, lost in his thoughts. What shocks him back to the present is the realization that he's already calculating his supplies versus two people, looking at how long the food will last. How fast they could travel on foot. How effectively they could blend in. He all but shakes himself, pushing the thoughts away as Steve's words break through his contemplation. "I knew you once. Maybe. I don't know you now."
Eventually he stands to bring his bowl back into the kitchen, mostly to have something to do. He's restless, plans for a quiet night now disturbed, and he needs to recenter himself. He won't kick Steve out into the storm, that's cruel, but he also doesn't know what to do with the man.
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He sits here, watching Bucky with a steady gaze. The words don't throw him off. They don't make him second guess his choices one bit. He's still just as stubborn as he's always been.
"Well, I know you, Buck." The words are quiet as he watches Bucky retreat to the kitchen. "I've known you almost my whole life and I'm not going to abandon you now."
Standing up, he gathers his own dish and follows Bucky into the kitchen. Being small had never made him afraid of bigger men and he'll never be afraid of Bucky. Hell, he hadn't been afraid of Bucky when he probably shouldn't have been, but now? Bucky's not exactly showing signs of wanting to hurt Steve.
"I know you and you know me, even if you can't remember it all right now. I need you to trust me. Can you do that? Because I trust you."
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He's also not looking too closely at the fact that he'd turned his back on Steve and known that an attack wouldn't come. It hadn't even taken a thought; he'd spared no time to the consideration of Steve's size and strength against his own. He'd simply known it was safe to show his back to the smaller man.
But still, it doesn't mean anything.
"You can stay tonight," he replies, brushing off the issues of trust and memory. "The morning will be better for figuring out what to do with you."
And for figuring out what to do in general. Bucky's not even sure what his own next step would have been, surprise visitor or not. He really is living as a transient and while that certainly does offer the flexibility of being able to move on easily and remain anonymous, it also means he still feels a little unmoored.
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"You mean for figuring out where we're going next?" His pack is on the floor where he'd left it. He has more supplies back in the hotel room he'd left this morning, but if they can't go back, then he'll make do. He's not leaving Bucky to get them. They're just things.
Watching Bucky be so domestic in the kitchen feels weird, if only because it's so familiar that it makes Steve's chest ache. Sure, Bucky looks a little different now, but he's still Bucky under all of that. It's as plain as day to Steve.
"Where can I sleep?"
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He's not sure why he cares.
Finishing with the dishes he turns his back to the sink, leaning against the counter and crossing his arms as he considers Steve and Steve's question. The cabin's simple layout does include a small bedroom; its linen closet had been well stocked with wool blankets. It's the logical choice.
"The bedroom," he replies; he'll be perfectly comfortable on the couch himself. "You should take a hot shower first. You still look half frozen."
Civil War AU
They had positioned him and Steve rather particularly, completely out of sight of one another. He could hear Steve talking, loud and brash like the 40s, as if the small form seemed to inspire the need for verbal needling over the years of professionalism layered over rebellion and a sense of unyielding right and wrong. They hadn't known that Stark had developed an anti-serum, but it made sense honestly when he thought about it. Stark was a control freak and part of that sense of control came in manufacturing solutions to all potential problems, including allies.
Bucky had barely survived the final encountered, suspected that Stark had taken him for dead in all honesty. Part of the effects of cryo and Soviet technology, so the guy couldn't be faulted. The Winter Soldier was to survive at all costs, even if it meant slowing his heart to one beat every two minutes, only made real by being in a frozen environment. Thanks Siberia. But he had survived and Steve made small, dumped into the hands of Ross and instead of a cremation, he had come to and been outfitted like all the other prisoners.
A few had left, taken plea deals. Others remained, considered too dangerous to be released.
He was healing. The wheeze to his breath was easing from broken ribs; his blackened eyes were a sickly yellow with purple; the cuts on his face and body had scabbed over and were itchy. He no longer ached, but the burnt remnants of his left arm remained, covered in bandaging as if that would hide the sight of it. He masked his pain well, didn't let on that all the nerves remained raw and bare, but there was no pity for him. He was a murderer, a traitor, and a spy, and he had been told that he would be tried for his crimes as the information was picked through. Capital punishment on the traitor charge was all but certain.
But he waited, quiet and seemingly morose, accepting his fate. He decided to heal first and become accustomed to the guard rotations. The technology here was good, their prison outfits biometrically aware of their movements at every second, but even still, their cells needed to be cleaned at least once every week. None of them made a mess, but they were still obligated to the basic necessities of life under UN law.
A few weeks in of complete compliance was enough. Being out of his cell for cleaning was the only time he could potentially catch sight of Steve.
Taking out the guards was easy enough, breaking Steve out of his cell less so and overriding the security protocols even worse, but they had Wanda who put most resistance down when Steve could remove her collar. Locking the sleeping guards in their quarters limited the amount of serious damage they could do as they escaped to the hanger. Wanda and Wilson went on one helicopter into the volatile air around the Raft, he and Steve were to take the second with the expectation that they would find a way to meet up later.
While the timing was absolutely terrible, it was actually the first time that he had any opportunity to take stock of Steve standing there looking... so disconnectedly familiar. His memories before HYDRA could be askew. He knew smells and what he had heard better than he could recall what he saw. Sometimes most of his memories came from reading something over seeing it. So seeing Steve all five-foot nothing was like entering a dream state. Really seeing what was done to his best friend but understanding that the serum had never made the man, just enhanced him to be taken seriously in the minds of lesser men.
"You remember how to fly, don't you?" He looked to the helicopter. He could fly the stick, but all the buttons and stabilizing controls required a second hand which he was distinctly missing. "Unless you can't reach the controls in which case you can sit on my knees."
He was allowed to make a lame attempt at teasing. They hadn't had time, nor had the moment ever seemed right. Besides, he knew in some part of his mind that he had grown up with this small version, and his respect for Steve could never actually be crushed.
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He'd wanted to give Tony the benefit of the doubt that he'd been acting in a moment of passion, too, and he had right up until he'd realized that Tony had reversed the serum and he'd been looking at what he'd thought was Bucky's dead body. They'd still had to sedate Steve in order to arrest him, because even small, he'd always put up a hell of a fight. He'd kicked and punched and pushed any way he could see to get closer to Bucky's body and everyone had been too afraid of the idea of shooting Captain America like this, so they'd sedated him and dragged him in.
It had taken a few days for Steve to even learn that Bucky was still alive and he'd spent those days in a dark place, trapped in all of his memories, all the missed chances and broken opportunities and all the ways he'd failed Bucky over the years. He'd been silent and seemingly calm, even as he panicked internally at the idea of losing Bucky again.
That first week when they'd dragged him out of his cell to clean it and he'd finally gotten a glimpse of Bucky in his cell, banged up and broken but very much alive, it had brought him right back to Siberia, kicking and punching and yelling for Bucky until they'd wrestled him to the ground and handcuffed him to a bar. It was a real blow to his ego that was so easy for two guards to pin him down like that, right in front of Bucky's cell for everyone to see.
After that, he was anything but quiet.
The breakout felt too easy, but he didn't care. He was getting out of here and he was with Bucky and Bucky was alive. They'd figure the rest out after they got away from this place.
He watched the other helicopter take off before climbing into theirs. It was a more difficult climb than usual, but he pulled himself up with shear determination. This wouldn't stop him from getting Bucky to safety. Nothing could.
"One more joke like that and I leave you here."
His face was neutral, but there was a smile in his eyes when he glanced at Bucky before he started to flip switches and check gauges. They needed to get out of here before anyone noticed in time to stop them. He had to sit up near the edge of the seat, which meant leaving the seatbelt a little slack, but it was the best they could manage between the two of them.
"Hang on."
And he took it into the air.
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He reached up and flipped on controls to help with the process, wanting to get out of this place as quickly as possible. They would be tracked, but he was skilled at slipping away and evading most pursuit, so he figured once they were on any real landmass, they would be able to fend for themselves. It was this whole 'prison at sea' that was messing up his usual modes of escape.
"You wouldn't leave a one armed man behind," he replied as he struggled his way into the headphones so that they could communicate over the beat of the chopper blades. "Besides, with the way you were screaming the last week, I think they would consider me a trap if you left me."
He was a bit more secure in the idea that they were leaving once they were in the air, and maybe for the first time since awakening and realizing he was alive, he reached over and touched the sawed off and smoothed patchwork of his metal arm. It was like having a raw nerve stimulated constantly, but that was a matter to deal with another time. It was strange not having it after so many years associating it with him.
"Do you even know where we are or what country were going to be heading towards?" He hadn't exactly had time to do research, but Steve was part of the Avengers so maybe had heard of this floating prison before.
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"Not a clue. We'll have to figure it out once we find a place to land. I didn't even know they were building a place like this." Which meant they'd always thought Steve was a risk that might need to be detained. He tried not to let that sting, but it still did a little. He'd given a lot for those people only to have them turn on him the first time he wanted something they didn't like. They wouldn't even listen. It's like his word had meant nothing. He's trying not to let this be about his ego or some feeling of entitlement, but it still feels like the loyalty that had been there had been one-side somewhere along the line. Certainly with Tony.
He had to put a little more elbow grease into every movement with the controls and that was only serving as a reminder that he wasn't going to be very useful in a fight. Between his size and Bucky's missing arm, they would want to find a low-risk area to set down as soon as they could.
"I thought you were dead back in Siberia." He couldn't look at Bucky as the words came out. Instead, he just kept his eyes ahead on the horizon looking for land.
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"People will always fear those stronger than them and build things to contain them on the off-chance they turn on them," he remarked tiredly, looking out the window as the water rushed along the surface. This was an all too familiar sensation for him. Everywhere he went, people felt the need to contain him, lock him up, break him down so that he wasn't quite the same threat as before.
He hummed softly at Steve's remark, casting his eyes over and silently observing his best friend then sighed. "I'm sorry," he said, not certain what else would make a difference. "Apparently so did Stark, which was likely the only reason I am alive." He reached out and set his only hand on Steve's shoulder. "It's the effects of cryo for me. When I'm cold and unconscious, my heart slows and I basically appear dead. Normally, a tracker in my arm would go off and the Soviets would come and retrieve me... but you know..." he trailed off and looked pointedly at the space where the metal arm had once existed.
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Bucky's words had Steve seeing red. His hands gripped the controls just a little tighter. Steve had spent years proving himself. Decades, even. He'd effectively died to protect people and they still sought to trap him like that? It wasn't just that, though. It was Bucky, too. Bucky, who'd never had an evil bone in his body. Bucky, who'd also died for them and who'd suffered for it. He should be protected, not trapped, and if they wouldn't do it, then Steve would see to it himself. Who have either of them ever been able to rely on if not each other?
He threw Bucky a quick glance. Maybe it was more about confirming that Bucky really was here and alive than anything else, though he liked that hand on his shoulder--warm and solid and grounded in a way that helped him let some of that fire die down. For once, there was something to be thankful for with that. When he'd thought Bucky was dead, Steve had felt like some sort of broken ghost. To go through all of that only to have Bucky ripped away again had been too much. In the years since he'd thawed, he'd been pushing himself to keep moving forward, but having Bucky dangled in front of him and snatched away had been too much. He would have to keep Bucky safe at all costs. It was what he should have done in the first place.
"I'll keep that in mind if I ever let you be cold and unconscious again." He wouldn't.
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The trip was made more difficult because of the darkness and the unfavourable weather. It was unclear that they were going to find land quickly. Hell, he hadn't been conscious enough to estimate the time that it took to bring him to the facility in the first place, but Steve seemed determined to get them out of there and never look back.
"A freezer is a great hiding spot for me, I've been assured," he said, one corner of his lip rising. Gallows humor mostly.
He dropped his hand away to play with the radio frequencies, to see if they could find some radio noise in order to allow them to pinpoint where they were and how close to land they may be. There was mostly silence, but he continued to cycle through the frequencies in search. Steve had the job of flying, he had the job of navigating. Somehow it felt a bit like old times.
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"No more freezers for you."
He kept his eyes on the horizon. The good news was that he was pretty sure he could land this anywhere with a clearing. It wasn't like he was too worried about it taking off again and they should get away from it as quickly as they could once they landed, anyway, because there was no way it didn't have a tracker.
They would need to figure out what to do about Bucky's arm, too, because he knew it hadn't been looked at by any sort of expert, not that Steve was sure where they could go. Normally Tony was his go-to on these types of things. Now, there weren't many people to be trusted.
"You wouldn't happen to have any resources hidden somewhere that are still secure, would you?" Because he knows he should. He's sure Natasha has escape plans from her escape plans, but Steve just isn't wired like that. He's got nothing hidden and anything he has he can't get to without getting caught.
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"Except for ice cream, right?" He needed to keep Steve from glaring at him, or maybe he needed to see it again. It was so familiar, but in a fevered dream kind of way.
Despite being in a continual level of pain because of the ruined aspects of his arm, he had learned long ago to compartmentalize. As long as it wasn't touched or bumped on anything, he was fine to ignore it. He knew that they would have to deal with it, but he wasn't so certain how up to the task of removing it Steve was. It was, after all, a reminder of what he had lost way back in the War. Maybe it wouldn't matter. Steve was never given enough credit for being able to push boundaries, and he had no doubt this would be yet another situation for that. It wasn't like they had anyone but each other anymore, just like old times.
"I have a few places," he murmured, looking out the window. He had more than a few places, boltholes that had enough supplies to keep them safe, but he never stayed in one of them for any length of time. It was easier to discover then. "Once we land and figure out where we are, we'll have to steal a car likely and get to one of them. Depending on which one, we should have much of what we need." Money, food, weapons, clothing... though probably nothing that would fit Steve.
Maybe seeing his best friend in oversized clothing could lighten to mood?
"Depending on how the other side of the fight and the government feels, they may be able to sniff us out. We'll have to be careful," he remarked. He was used to hiding with little to no clues of his whereabouts though. He had done it for two years; he could do it again.
ahh this is so late I'm sorry
Even when his health had been poor, Steve had never been one to give up and having Bucky here only made him feel stronger. Maybe the two of them could do anything together. They would succeed or fail as one and Steve didn't let himself fail, so even if he had to fight for both of them in this smaller body, he would do it.
"Maybe not even for ice cream."
Steve squinted at the horizon. He was used to near-perfect eyesight, but this could be a lot worse. That was probably land up ahead and he didn't see anything else in the air, which was a good first sign, but they would need to land away from people and preferably without being seen. It could give them enough of a head start to get somewhere safe and lay low.
He might not have been the spy that Natasha was, but he understood enough basics to keep his head down now and besides, he stood out a hell of a lot less at this size, didn't he? If Bucky could do it for two years, Steve would follow his lead now and make sure he didn't risk Bucky's safety. All he could hope is that Bucky wouldn't run again, because Steve had even fewer resources to find him again now.
"I can be careful when I want to be." Which is to say he rarely wants to be.
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He watched the horizon slowly come into focus through the general haze of the storm. He was likely quicker to watch it emerge, but he was already surveying a possible area where they could set down the helicopter and just get the heck out of the way of any pursuit. Being on the run meant skirting small villages where everyone knew a stranger easily. It was too dangerous to go running to a brand new big city too, so they would likely be moving quickly and dangerously for awhile.
He nodded his head, aware that Steve could but often didn't bother. All big and confident even in that little body.
As the land came more into view, he pointed to an area that looked like a break in the trees a little further inland. If it was a glade big enough, they should land there and strike out. No point keeping a bird like this in the air for longer than they had to. In a forest, there would be logging roads to make use of. The government likely wouldn't want to be yelling about escaped convicts from a floating prison by his estimations unless he and Steve began to cause havoc, neither of which they wanted.
"Perhaps now would be a good time to want to be, right? At least you're better equipped now with those little fingers to help me get this arm off," he said almost flippantly, maybe the first indication that he was uncomfortable with it.