You know me.
Chapter One, Nineteen Days.

It had been nineteen days since the incident.
It had been nineteen days since pieces of the helicarriers rained down over the Potomac River.
It had been nineteen days since Steve Rogers had seen him.
And that was all he could think about.

Everyone had told him that this self-assigned mission was a lost cause, and it was hard to blame them for their doubts. He was a ghost story; impossible for anyone to find him unless he wanted to be found. And there was no real proof he had ever made it off the helicarrier that day. But someone had pulled Steve Rogers out of the Potomac; someone had saved his life that day. And he knew it was him.

He had seen the look in his eyes before he fell into the river; he knew that Buck had remembered something.
And Steve knew he could help him. He could bring him back from this.

And he had been searching, every single day, praying for a lead, for something, for anything, praying to find him again. But there was nothing to be found, not a trace of him anywhere in the city. And Steve had more than once fought back the idea that maybe he was gone. Maybe he was too far gone by now to ever come back from this. Maybe he was across the world from him, where he would never be able to reach him. Of course, he pushed those thoughts away, Cap' would never give up that easily, Steve would never give up that easily, this was Bucky.

To the end of the line, right?

Steve tried to make himself as public as he could. Staying out and in the open and keeping to a steady routine. He took his morning runs a little later into the bright morning light than he usually did. Blaming it on 'getting a late start,' what he really wanted was to be seen. He found himself wearing more and more of his old clothes; like his faded green shirt that had 'ARMY' stamped across the front and back. And he made very sure that every single day he walked the most uncomplicated and exposed route back to his apartment. While of course he was still scouring every source he could to try and track down a sighting- the disbanding of S.H.E.I.L.D. was putting a sharp hindrance on the available technology- Steve knew that if Bucky was still here, he would find him. And maybe that was the only way. It was hopeless looking for a ghost. Maybe though, Steve prayed, Buck would come searching for him.

Day nineteen had been no different than day eighteen, or day seventeen before that. It was late, almost eleven when Steve finally left the little 24 hour dining car he'd had his dinner in. Steve had made his life into a pattern now, making himself as easy to track and as openly visible as he could. Every night he went to that quiet diner, Mel's it was called, and he sat in the same booth right in front of the large picture window. He would eat his food and read the newspaper, several newspapers if he had too, anything he could do to keep himself occupied and keep himself in front of that large picture window.

But he was tired for a change. And he made his way home down the sidewalk in the same fashion he always did. Taking open streets, with minimal foot traffic and brightly lit sidewalks. Sending a few texts back and forth to Natasha as he walked, she was in Vancouver for now, laying low for a little while. She planned to return to D.C. in another week or so. And he would be glad to have his friend back around, he could use the support and the backup.

Steve rounded the last corner on his route home, looking both directions just to be safe before crossing the two lane street. His building was just a block down on the left, and the pace of his steps slowed down significantly, even though it was an unconscious habit. No sign of Buck again that day, it was a constant let down day after day, and he knew the more days passed the colder his trail grew. Steve gave a half laugh, and shook his head a little, his eyes turned down to the pavement under his feet. What trail? Ghosts didn't leave trails.

He flipped on the lights once he was inside his apartment. Closing and locking the door behind him. Cap' knew that locking the door would do nothing against keeping him away if were to make up his mind to pay him a visit. The Winter Solider was not deterred by a simple locked door. But still Steve thought of putting a key outside the door under a brick, Bucky would know to look there.

Steve shrugged out of his jacket, hanging it on the rack near the door and sat down in the chair just beside it to take off his boots. Then he made his way across the living room towards the kitchen, opening the refrigerator to get out a bottle of water. His apartment was modest, for someone like him who surely could be afforded better. The colors were warm, but neutral, and the decoration was much the same. Steve had never really been one for excess, nor one for interior design. Closing the fridge he broke the seal on the bottle with a simple twist of the cap and took a slow sip. Sitting it down on the island counter he looked over the living room. It felt empty, and alien. The two windows were dark now, the blinds were still pulled up to let in the sunlight which had faded away hours ago. But Steve wasn't going to close them.

Lost in his own thoughts he stood there for some time, looking out into the darkness beyond the living room windows. Nothing visible, just blackness, but he knew well what was out there. An open two lane street, and then across it another apartment building, a little taller than the one he resided in now. With a slow sigh he took the bottle and headed back towards bedroom, figuring he would lay down and maybe watch a movie that he had been needing to strike off his list.

He set the bottle down now on the night stand beside his bed, plugging in his cell phone to its charger- that had been a gift from Natasha, an attempt at modernizing him. He turned on the light that sat on the small table, having seen his way into the clean and spacious bedroom with only the light that echoed down the hallway from his living room. Steve pulled the old Army shirt off over his head and tossed it easily into the hamper near the door. Doing the same for the slacks he had worn that day. Steve stood there for a minute, his hand rubbing over the back of his neck, deciding it would be best to get a shower before heading to bed.

About fifteen minutes later the water shut off, and the noise from the bathroom stopped. When Steve emerged he was wearing only a towel around his waist as he padded down the short hallway to the bedroom once more. This time Steve went to the dresser opening the top drawer to get out some clean boxer shorts and then the drawer below that for some cotton pajama bottoms and a white under shirt. Once he was dressed he went back to the living room, meaning to turn off the lights, and he double checked that the door was locked.

It was locked, of course, and he flicked the switch down to turn off the lights in the living room. The only light now was what dim radiance was coming from his bedroom doorway. Crossing the room again, one hand brushed his wet hair back tiredly, he could never remember feeling so exhausted. Steve caught a glimpse of something bright and reflective through the dark living room windows. His heart jumped in his chest and he stopped, turning to face the window fully, staring at the bright metallic silver shape on the roof top across the street. With the lights off in the room the view out of the darkened windows was much clearer now. It was him, he was here. For that short moment, Steve was at a loss for words, and thoughts, and actions. He was frozen, a mix of anxious fear and hope swelling inside him. Was that Bucky, or was this the Winter Solider?

Finally finding his legs, and his rational mind, Steve moved closer to the window; his lips parted as he took in a steady breath. The disappointment rising in now him was exponential and crushing. He could feel the ache in his chest and instantly his head hurt. What was he thinking? Of course it wasn't him. It was a silver telescope, angled upwards towards the stars. On moonless nights like this the stargazing was always better right? Someone must have gotten it for their son or daughter. God, how he had wanted it to be him. With a short shaky breath Steve left the window and went back to his bedroom. Laying himself down to rest on the too-soft mattress, and turning on the TV that sat atop the dresser opposite the bed.

'Look down punk, look down.'

But the target hadn't looked down. His eyes had stayed focused on something up high, or in the distance, it was impossible to be sure of which. But one thing was for sure, he had missed the figure wearing a dark blue sweatshirt and a baseball cap, standing on the sidewalk across the street. Blue eyes turned up to watch him at the window in the darkness.

'Look down,'

Again that voice spoke that had risen up inside him when he saw Steve Rogers on the bridge.
Again that voice spoke that had sounded so much like his own.
Again that voice spoke that was driving him mad.
And that was all he could think about.

He had been to the Smithsonian; he had seen the memorial exhibit. He stood there for some time, looking at a man who wore his face, standing beside Steve Rogers, laughing as he spoke in an old and grainy black and white film. It both captivated him, and shook him to the core. The Winter Soldier was frozen with eyes locked on James Buchanan Barnes, a man who wore his face. His face. His face was etched in glass beside that name, a listing of achievements and honors playing over a speaker above. It was then he recognized the voice in his head. The voice that told him he knew the man on the bridge. That voice was him.

Watching as the target moved away from the window and vanished into the darkness beyond his line of sight, anger seared in his chest. His chest that rose and feel sharply with his heavy breath.

'Why don't you see me? Why didn't you see me?'
'You didn't look down.'

The target had made himself so vulnerable, so easy to find. He knew this was what he wanted, he wanted to be hunted; he wanted to be found, right? But he didn't understand why he hadn't even looked. He was giving him what he was searching for, chance after chance to find him, to see him. But he didn't see him, he never saw him. Why would the target make himself so obvious, so accessible, and then; he didn't even see. Isn't this what he wanted?

'Why didn't you look for me?'

The Winter Soldier was crumbling. Strange images, sounds, and emotions were coming to him of their own accord. Flooding him. He didn't know what they were, or why they filled his head. But they were broken and shattered; and they fell on him, burying him in shards of broken bloody glass. One now taking hold over him- he was falling from a train, falling, and reaching. Though he knew he would never reach him, the target, still he tried, he had to try. These glass shards, some large, and some small, were very sharp- they cut everything he knew, everything he had been forced to know; they tore him apart slowly and viciously, and yet he could not fight against them.

He was unstable and trembling almost violently with a mix of anger and hurt and a thousand other emotions he could not even begin to recognize or process. He didn't ask for this, he never asked for this. And all he knew to do was to be angry. It was all he had been allowed to know, been programmed to know. And so he was, angry, and shattered. Though he did not know at who or what his rage swelled.

'He's my mission.'
'But I knew him.'
'I knew him.'

Steve had been asleep now for a little over an hour; the TV was still on playing re-runs of I Love Lucy. The volume was almost down to mute, he had very acute hearing and besides, he was trying to sleep- no need for it to be on any louder. But the white noise of it did help him rest, he found silence hard to handle these days. Steve's chest rose and fell evenly and slowly under his white cotton shirt. A true image of peace lit only by the eerie bluish light of the flat screen.

But a quiet thump echoing up the hall from the living room was enough to wake him. His breath catching and his chest froze just where it was mid-rise. Steve didn't move otherwise, putting all his focus into listening. There was no further noise in the apartment what so ever. But Steve was not a fool- he lay still and silent. His chest rising and falling now a little quicker than it had been before; still he kept himself even, and calm. He was here. He had made his presence known. Cap' knew that the Winter Soldier was never heard unless he wanted to be, that the noise that had woken him was made with full purpose. He also knew that if he was here to kill him, he never would have woken up to start with.

Slowly Steve opened his eyes, and sat up, letting the blanket rustle as he got up off of the bed. He was making sure that his actions were clear and audible so he would not surprise him as he padded down the hallway. Reaching the end, he stood there with no weapon in his hand. Steve's sensitive eyes easily made out the outline of the figure standing in front of the open window in his living room. And he knew he could see just as well in the dark of the apartment.

The silence was heavy on them, but it was not a true silence; soft buzzing voices came from the TV in the bedroom, as well as that pale and eerie bluish light.

Steve was the first one to speak. "Buck," Was all he could manage, at a loss for words and unsure of what to do or say to fix this. Suddenly he was reminded of that little guy from Brooklyn, standing there lost and stammering in front of his friend. But this was different, Bucky was not going to laugh and pat him on the shoulder, he was not going to tell him it was alright. This was on him now, he had to fix it. But could it even be fixed? Could he come back from this? Steve shoved those thoughts back, of course he could come back, Bucky was a fighter, and the strongest man he had ever known.

"Bucky, I was-"
"Stop calling me that." The Winter Soldier's voice was rough, and it broke, full of anger and full of fear. And it was the fear in his voice that hurt Steve the most. He knew that he could help him, he would help him. He was not all gone. He was still in there, terrified and lost. He could help him.

"Alright, then what should I call you?" Steve got no answer, and after a few moments, he decided to press again, trying to get a handle on how far he could push before he snapped. "What do you want me to call you Buck?"

Steve could hear his breathing, it was ragged and uneven and heavy. He knew this was the line he did not want to cross, this was the snapping point. Any further and things would likely escalate to violence, something that could be deadly for them both. Slowly Steve moved over into the kitchen, keeping the island counter between them. He flipped on the lights over the counter, which caused those familiar blue eyes to narrow some as they adjusted. Now Steve really got to look at him. He was wearing a blue sweat shirt and a baseball cap, black jeans and a pair of dark boots. His hands were at his side, gloves on both of them, and he looked like hell. There were dark circles under his eyes showing he had not been sleeping and his face could badly use a shave. His hair was long and tangled, though he had it tucked back behind his ears for now and away from his face.

Letting the other man calm down for a moment, Steve tried again with something different. He wanted to keep Bucky here, keep him safe and calm. He wanted to help his friend, his best friend, and maybe this was his chance. "Are you thirsty? Do you want some water?"

The change of topic didn't work. His eyes narrowed at the target across the room. "Why do I know you? How do I know you?" His voice was softer now in volume, but shaking still with the tension he felt.

"You're my friend Buck, always have been."
"Stop calling me that!" This time he shouted it, his voice on the edge of some sort of burning growl; the look in his eyes was just as wild, and feral, and angry, and terrified.

But Steve didn't flinch at the raise of his voice. "Alright then, tell me, what should I call you?" He asked again.

'Bucky, my name is Bucky.'

The Winter Solider was quiet, his eyes searching the blonde man's face for some sort of answer, some sort of validation- that he did in fact have a name. That these shards of glass would not cut him forever.

'I knew him.'
'He's my mission.'
'But I knew him.'

The fear was winning over the anger now, and it was clear in his eyes as well as his stance. And there was the target right in front of him. He couldn't finish his mission, he couldn't do it. Those glass shards of his memories were tearing him to pieces from the inside out. Flensing away at layer after layer of his programing, and filling all that was left with piles and piles of jumbled, broken, bloody shards. How was he expected to do this; how was he going to piece it all together?

The Winter Soldier grew quiet, his breathing slowing, and evening out. His blue eyes framed in such dark lashes rolled back into his skull and he fell to the floor with a heavy thud, his head cracking against the hard wood floor.

'I knew him.'

The sound was sick, and it turned Steve's stomach to hear it. He rushed to him, rushed to his friend, his best friend, and rolled him onto his back. Shaking him a little, but he got no response. "Bucky?" He waited for a minute, patting the side of his rough and dirty face. "Buck come on, you're going to be alright." He said, more to calm himself than to soothe the unconscious man as he moved his hand down and patted his chest, still getting no response.

Steve got up from where he was kneeling at his side, hurrying down the hall to get his phone, ripping it from his charger and scrambling to dial the only person he could think to call. She answered on the first ring, though she sounded as if she had been asleep.

"Cap'?"
"Natasha. He's here."

There was a silence on the other end of the line.

"I'm on my way. Don't let-"
"He needs help, he's not stable. I can't take him to the hospital." Steve interrupted.

"I've got a secure location, we can take him there."
"Where?"
"I'll send you the address, but wait until I get there. Just keep him there Cap'."

Before he could say anything else, the line went dead.

A/N - Alright so first fanfiction. Actually like a complete first timer in the whole fanfiction community. Please leave me some reviews, I'd love to get opinions and different takes on the story. Questions and comments and all that. Love it? Hate it? Also another little note um, this story's format looks best at 1/2 width and was written in the font Times New Roman. So, if you wanna give it a look that way, or not, up to you. Anyways, thanks all!