The Wayside

Words didn't make sense at times. If he was speaking, or being spoken to, or reading words on pages or recording them on the paper, his mind would just go blank and he didn't know why. Maybe he lost a couple of minutes, maybe he didn't. Living alone, and probably forever, it was impossible for Bucky Barnes to know.

Recovering after a moment of resting his head back on the pillow, he diligently arose to record the incident in his notebook. Noted the symptoms. Disorientation, nausea, a headache that could have easily beaten any hangover he'd had in the past. Just pain in general, but that he could deal with. He was fine, really, just fine.

It had been about a week since the Winter Soldier had come face-to-face with Steve Rogers for the first time- rather, what had seemed like the first time. An assignment was all, a target prepped and ready for a bullet, just like the other few he remembered. But Rogers, Captain America, was different. He'd just said one word, and that sent the first remnants of the past crashing into him. Bucky? Then came the re-education, the destruction of the Helicarriers, and the battle that both he and Rogers had walked away from, but not before Bucky had almost committed the murder of who he now knew to be his best friend. Terror had become him in that struggle, looking down at his target and hearing I'm with you, 'til the end of the line. It had clicked in his mind, and no matter what, he couldn't go through with it. Nor could he let him die, so after ensuring the Captain hadn't drowned, Bucky fled.

Why? He thought, sitting at the desk, clenching and unclenching his fist, specifically the metal one. But he knew his own reasons: he wanted to find the rest of Hydra and take them down. He wanted to recover the rest of his memory. Lastly, something he couldn't remember feeling before. Shame.

But he wasn't going to dwell on that.

He stumbled into the bathroom, flicking the light switch and staring into the mirror. After a glance at some magazines, he'd come to the conclusion that his old haircut would do just fine, maybe help him gain some form of normality. But he still looked pale, strained, sick. That had started just after the destruction of S.H.E.I.L.D.

The cold water helped to wake him up some, then he set to immediately packing his things. He didn't have much, just things he'd picked up from the grouping of stores around the corner from the motel he was staying at a couple days prior. New clothes, a baseball cap, a toothbrush, a backpack, a pocket atlas, and a burner phone- which still fascinated him. What would his old Commander think of such a straight-shooter becoming a pickpocket? Bucky guessed he'd been a straight-laced kind of soldier from the biography at the museum. He'd looked so much younger in that picture…

He shrugged the backpack and a thick jacket on, even though the weather was probably too hot for it in the spring in Arizona. It had been fine in Virginia, but past that, it was like a sauna. But Bucky was being extra careful that no one saw his arm. Gloves were a must as well, and were even more awkward to deal with than the coat.

At the moment, he wasn't focusing on any of his goals, he just wanted to get away and stay on the move. Letting Steve find him now would be… no, it just couldn't happen. He thought that maybe California would be a good way to head. If kind truck drivers or bus drivers were frequent enough, he could probably make it there tonight.

When he passed the front desk, he muttered to the overweight man with mustard on his shirt behind the counter that he was checking out. The man didn't respond because he was still asleep. Guess I don't have to pay then.

He started walking, hoping to try a bus station before hitting the highway. His stomach growled noisily, and he tried to ignore it. Food hadn't been exactly common over the last couple days, so Bucky tried to ignore the hunger as best he could. At this point, though, it was bad enough that his stomach was starting to hurt.

He made a detour into a gas station, a Sunoco. His eyes searched the shelves, trying to decide what he could actually afford with the few crumpled dollars in his back pocket.

There was a commotion at the front of the store, but Bucky paid it no mind, assuming it was just another customer coming in the store or something. Then there was shouting, and he glanced up.

Three men in masks stood at the front of the store. Two had pistols, another with what appeared to be an Uzi and who was obviously the leader. The clerk was terrified, a kid probably just out of his teens. The leader shouted for the money in the register, and the boy hesitated only a moment before he opened the register with a shivering hand.

Bucky crouched behind an end cap, gazing around the store. Only the clerk, the robbers, and he were in the store. It was early enough that the street outside was deserted. He focused on the robbers, and noticed that their weapons had the safeties off, the hammers pulled back, ready to fire. It clicked into place that they would kill the clerk even though he was cooperating.

Deciding what to do wasn't hard, exactly, because Bucky was automatically filled with anger that someone would willingly do what he'd once been forced to. So he swiftly pulled himself on top of the shelf and crouched, making his way slowly, silently, to the front of the store.

The robbers didn't notice him, they were to busy yelling for the kid to go faster. The clerk was crying now, silently, tears wetting his face as he shoved the money into the bag one of them had handed him.

Bucky stopped at the edge of the shelf, deciding which to take out first. The leader. He has the best weapon, seems way more intent on killing than the others. Would cause chaos among the troops.

The clerk tried to wipe away his tears, glancing up just in time to see a man fling himself off the top of a shelf and kick one of the robbers across the store, shattering the front of a refrigerator. One screamed in fury, raising his weapon to the new threat. Bucky spun, grabbing the gun and pointing it at the last robber. The gun emptied a clip before the robber released the trigger and his partner dropped to the ground, bloodied and no longer breathing.

Bucky squeezed the man's wrist, feeling the bones shatter and hearing him shriek simultaneously. The gun fell to the ground, and he pivoted, driving his elbow into the robber's nose. He dropped like a sack of bricks and didn't move again.

A flicker of movement, from the other side of the store. The leader stood and raised his weapon. A knife appeared in Bucky's hand- he had saved it from his Winter Soldier gear- and he threw it in a blur. It struck, tearing through the leader's heart and smacked the back wall with a heavy clang.

Bucky took a moment to steady his breathing, then kneeled by the robber with the broken wrist and fractured face. He was still alive. Bucky's eyes flickered to the clerk, who was peeking over the counter with something between fear and awe. "I need something to tie him up."

The clerk just blinked at him and Bucky sighed, standing and leaning over the counter. As the kid cowered, Bucky understood that he was more frightened of him than the robbers at this point. Trying for a softer tone of voice, he asked "Are you okay? They didn't hurt you or anything?"

A head shake, some of the fear being replaced by relief. "N-no, I'm fine."

"Good. Then unless you want this guy to wake up before the police get here, could you tell me where to find something to tie him up with?"

"Um, like w-what?"

"I dunno. Rope? Zip ties?" The robber stirred on the ground and Bucky delivered a kick to his gut. The man groaned but didn't stir much more. "Maybe duct tape?"

Still shivering, the kid moved around the counter and into the aisles. He emerged a few moments later with a role of duct tape. He held it out hesitantly to Bucky like he might lose his hand if he moved too fast. Bucky accepted it, and soon the robber was wrapped up in a grey, slightly shiny cocoon.

Satisfied that the robber wouldn't get free, Bucky tossed the tape away and walked back to where he had been browsing the food items, picked up a bag of chips and a Pepsi.

The kid was on the phone when Bucky returned. "…and then, then this guy comes out of nowhere and, holy shit, I think he's a ninja or something-" Then, he noticed Bucky standing at the end of the aisle and muttered "I have to go," and hung up.

He looked shocked to see Bucky set the items in front of him. "What're you doing?"

"Um, buying food. Maybe. Just a second." He pulled out the bills and counted them, his heart sinking when he realized he didn't even have enough for the drink. "I guess not, then."

"Are you kidding?" the clerk asked, who Bucky saw had a nametag reading 'Geoff'. "Just take it, man. On the house."

"Really?"

Geoff squinted at him as if he had two heads. "You just saved my life. Take the freaking shelf for all I care."

Bucky turned and strode back down the aisle, grabbing a few more items to hide his smile. "Well, thanks."

"No, thank you." Geoff paused when Bucky made his way to the door. "You're not waiting for the cops?"

"Hell no," Bucky replied, knowing he had to move fast to get to California. He let the door swing shut behind him, not hearing Geoff's following question if he was a ninja.

Ten minutes later, he was on a bus headed West, enjoying the fact that his belly was full, glad the kid was okay. Is this what Steve feels like? He wondered, leaning back in his seat and closing his eyes.

Of course not, a vicious voice snarled in the back of his mind. Rogers isn't a mass murderer, he's not an assassin, you are, and you won't be like him. You're kidding yourself, Barnes. You aren't a hero.

Bucky opened his eyes and lifted his arm from the metal rest, noticing that he had accidentally crushed it. And it was starting to get dark. He had missed almost a whole day. He knew there was something very, very wrong with him but wouldn't admit it. If he could just keep going, and take down Hydra, and remember all of who he was, he could… he could…

Bucky reached into his backpack and pulled out his notebook, diligently noting the incident and it's symptoms: Disorientation, nausea, a headache like the robber wrapped up in duct tape on the floor of a Sunoco was bound to have. Just pain in general, but that he could deal with.

He was fine, really. Just…fine.