It had been two months, two months since that fateful day on the Hellicarrier when he'd almost lost his life trying to save the world and the man he'd once known as his best friend. Two months since he had toppled S.H.I.E.L.D and the underlying faction of HYDRA. It all had to go; the lies, chaos, death and destruction. He still stood firm by what he had done; the world was yet again safe – for the time being.

They were all scattered now; Fury in Europe, Romanoff and Barton were off who knows where, S.H.I.E.L.D agents were scattered through the various intelligence organizations of the C.I.A and F.B.I but Steve, Steve was in limbo. The HYDRA snakes who had survived were on the run. There were bases still out there harbouring them; Steve would track them down but first, first he would focus on dealing with another matter.

The file he'd been given from Natasha hadn't given him much; HYDRA had kept tight lock on the Winter Soldier archives; it gave him the details recounting his missions but that was all. Heads of the beast may have been here in Washington, but Steve doubted they were all the heads he needed to remove to rid the world of the organization once and for all.

Where those heads would be; more information on the Winter Soldier project would be there as well. Steve needed those files. He knew there would be something in there that would give him a way to bring Bucky back.

Steve had read the file countless times; nothing gave him much headway. Sam didn't touch it – told him it weren't any of his business to know all the details, but that he was by his side. Sam had fast become a trusted friend following the events leading to the downfall of S.H.I.E.L.D and he couldn't have asked for another by his side for this job.

Stark had given them residence in the Tower, Bucky wouldn't have stayed in Washington and they had better luck with Stark's equipment than any chase Steve gave without a location to pinpoint from. Sam knew how to work the contraptions better than Steve but he was learning. In the downtime of trying to find any sign of Bucky, Stark had been repairing Sam's wings – citing it purely for research reasons into the technology.

Steve had been sleeping less than usual; Bucky had dropped so far off the grid when he'd left him on the shore that day – there wasn't a blimp on a camera for him or anything. He didn't know how he would survive in a world so far from theirs had been, especially if his memories were returning. Part of Steve wanted him to remember so he knew the man he had been and not what HYDRA had made him.

But – there was the repercussions of what that might further do to damage Bucky's mental state. The file had touched on the subject of how they had kept the Soldier in line; electroshock therapy. He had scoffed – that wasn't therapy it was torture, plain and -

BZZT. BZZT. BZZT.

He reached over and hit the alarm. It was a useless item – he was up most of the night and by morning he would be laying there just staring at the ceiling trying to process the fact that Bucky had left; rejected him.

Pushing himself up from the bed, he went about his morning routine like the good soldier he was; taking his time though as had become his morning tradition. What was the rush anyway? There would be no news on the whereabouts of Bucky, just as there hadn't been for the past two months.

By the time he dragged himself down to the surveillance floor; Sam was nursing a fresh mug of coffee and tapping his legs along to some music. Steve ran a hand through his mused hair and dropped into the chair alongside his friend.

"Still nothing?"

Sam shook his head and rolled his shoulders. Steve settled himself in for the next four hours of his rotation at monitoring, hoping today was the day.

The car stolen, just like the clothes – he'd pulled those off a clothesline whilst heading out of Washington – and a duffel bag of cash on the passenger floor. Two months of running and living in this car with no real idea of where he was going to next. There were fragments of a long forgotten past breaking through the longer he was out of cryostasis.

Nothing he could solidly piece together and make sense of but fragments none the less.

He was a soldier without a home base; the Soldier in him told him to return to another secondary location for regroup. But he hadn't completed his last mission; something had stopped him from killing that man.

A less conscious part of his mind had screamed for him to spare the man the moment he had coughed out those words: "I'm with you til the end of the line."

The Solider in him had only seen the mission but the part of him that was rattled by the words had seen a friend from a life he couldn't remember living.

Until that day, finishing a mission had always been quick, precise and easy.

The less conscious part of him, buried deep beneath the Soldier also knew that returning to his superiors meant losing himself again. He would be strapped into that chair, wiped and then sent out to kill another who jeopardized HYDRA's ultimate goal; their future.

Or worse, they would put him back into cryostasis. The Soldier wouldn't admit the fear his less conscious self felt at the idea of losing hope of life after so many years lost following orders.

He was on autopilot though – he didn't know this world and it was larger than he had ever expected. Leaving Washington hadn't been difficult; he had wanted to put as much distance between himself and the Captain as possible.

Before he had left, he had visited the Smithsonian. A museum filled with so much of a history he had been asleep for. The Captain America exhibit had drawn his attention. Perhaps there had been some mention of him, if he was so close to the Captain as he believed them to be.

He'd broken in; better to come now then when hundreds of people would be filling the buildings' walls and crowding him in. It had been a simple break and enter; he didn't leave any tracks or signs behind as he had come in and as he had passed by all the exhibits a part of him felt a desperate need to discover them all, read about the history that he had not truly been a part of.

But the Captain America exhibit had been his goal and the Soldier in him made a beeline for it. If there was any shred of truth to the Captain's words, then he would surely be mentioned in here somewhere.

As he had passed by the various pieces in the exhibit, he felt a tug in his subconscious whilst skimming the articles of the Captain. Nothing useful yet; he turned towards another panel of information and froze. Hands buried deep into the pockets of his jacket and cap pulled low, he stared at the larger picture of a man identical to him in appearance with shorter hair and less stubble on his jaw.

James Buchanan Banes better known as Bucky. A Howling Commando, Steve Roger's best friend since childhood and a decorated soldier. He was part way through the article when footsteps close behind him drew his attention.

Turning, he found an elderly gentleman in a security uniform; frail and short. He seemed to stammer for a moment before finding his voice. "Sorry son, you can't be in here. Museum's closed at the moment."

The Soldier wanted to take the elder down, but the man in him won and instead he just walked by the officer, not looking back and not uttering a word. He had what he wanted. Even if only a small scrape of a vast past he still had to-

A horn startled him back to reality. The Soldier, normally so alert, had slipped into his thoughts and drifted across the lane. A large truck was bearing down on him. He swerved harshly and hit the brakes as he went off road and onto the dirt.

Looking in the rear view mirror, he watched the truck disappear into the night and leaned back into the seat. He didn't sleep presently. The last two months he had spent traveling long distances and keeping himself as far off the grid as able with maps he had stolen.

If he slept, he had nightmares. Fast, shaky images of things he couldn't make heads or tails of. He'd wake up sweating and with a knife in hand. No, he'd rather cover as much distance as possible and try to find a place where he could lay low and think of what to do with himself; what his next move would be.

Pulling back onto the road, he pressed the radio on, hoping the music would distract him from all those dual thoughts running through his head. About ten minutes down the road, he caught sight of a sign reading: Harry's Hideaway Diner and Gas Stop 5kms.

His stomach growled at him and he winced in discomfort. He had been driving for over five hours; one hour or so in some small diner for food wouldn't hurt. Living off those odd bars he had found were sustaining him but real food, now that sounded like some soft of sweet dream he had been longing for, for quite some time.

Harry's Hideaway Diner and Gas Stop wasn't much to look at; small, back road place that was open early and closed late. It hadn't been renovated in about forty years – the previous two owners and the present one enjoying the retro feel of the place. It was kept in good order; the kitchen was run by two chefs, the front staffed by four waitresses and one busboy.

Nora always took the late shifts – she didn't sleep much and there was less of a crowd meaning she could clean the place as she went.

It was nine o'clock – two hours left until closing and the place was quiet. A couple of young girls heading on a road trip had left about twenty minutes ago and now she was by herself. Harry, the owner, was in back singing horribly off key to There Goes My Baby by the Drifters and she couldn't help but sway along as she wiped the counter down – Eddie the poor busboy was half crazy by now. Headlights out the front of the diner didn't faze her.

She simply kept wiping the counter down, waiting until the jingle of the bell signalled a new customer. Harry was still singing along as the jingle came and Nora smiled – poor customer would probably think they were walking into a crazy house.

She tucked the cloth into the string of her apron round her hips, straightened the skirt of her uniform and raised her eyes to the person coming in the door.

A single person, a man to be exact, stood in the doorway. He looked rather unkempt and had one hand tucked into the pocket of his jacket. Part of her heart skipped a beat as her brain told her that he could be here to rob the place; he could have a gun in his pocket for all she knew.

Nora decided to just put on a smile and see what he was after, rather than turning him away because he looked a little shady. So put on a big, friendly smile is what she did. "Hi, were you looking to sit in, hun?"

His eyes snapped round to her and he just stared. She waited patiently, not really worrying about rushing him to a table. He looked like a lost soul, a wanderer. After a few beats, he slowly nodded. It wasn't very noticeable but it was there.

She pushed her ponytail back from her shoulder, grabbed a clean mug and pot of coffee. "Alright then, follow me," she instructed and came round the counter. She heard the door shut behind him as he followed her silently.

Moving to put him in a booth by the front window, she was surprised when he put himself in the very back one. Back to the wall and with a view of the whole diner. She didn't miss a beat and put the mug down before him and filled it with coffee.

"Let me know if I can get you anything, okay?"

He gave another small nod and she turned on her heel and headed back behind the main counter. Nora started humming softly as another song came onto the stereo and this time it was Stand By Me by Ben E. King.

The man kept silent, not even sipping his coffee she noticed. It wasn't horrible coffee, she knew that personally but by the sunken look on his face and tired eyes, Nora didn't think the poor man was having a good day, or week.

She made it a strong point to not bother the customers like the elder waitress, Sarah did of a night time – Nora liked just letting them ask for things when needed and then keep to their own little booth and space but this man; this man seemed to be a magnet.

Nora found herself looking over at him every so often. He was sunken into his seat, eyes straight ahead and hand clasped round his mug. He had brunette hair to his shoulders, hidden under a blue baseball cap and he wore a dark jacket and ill fitting jeans.

She wondered where he had come from. Pursing her lips, Nora pulled out her order booklet and wrote up an order and turned to face the open window where the kitchen was. Harry was still jiving round and smiled, pointing his tongs at her when she popped her head into view.

Nora shook her head at him and just rolled her eyes before putting the order through.

As she turned back round to the front, the door slammed open – making her jump, startled and she frowned at the group of four men who came strolling in. Perfect. One man she didn't mind this close to closing but an extra four and a loud bunch at that were not her cup of tea.

Still Nora put on a smile and made to ask them if she could help them only they walked straight past her and took up residence in the fifth booth from the door and three away from the quiet stranger.

Nora grabbed up four menus, sighing heavily as one clicked his fingers while looking in her direction. If you wanted her attention, snapping fingers at her like she was a dog was not the way to get her polite attention but to piss her off.

That and she didn't really like dogs.

Men she thought bitterly. A little irritated already by them, she headed round the counter and noticed her quiet stranger was looking at her; she smiled tightly at him before heading for the new patrons.

"Well, well, well ain't you a nice looking host," the one in the left window seat commented as she reached them, his eyes not so subtly going up down her figure.

Nora gave him a polite smile and simply put the menus down on the table. "What drinks can I get for you?" she inquired, completely ignoring the flirtatious manner coming from them.

However it wasn't Nora's lucky night. The one on the right grabbed at the tie of her apron and tugged her toward him. Nora pulled back, but he still managed to cop a feel of her ass. She scowled. "My boss out back sure don't like creeps, boys. You can order and keep your hands off me or I'll let him boot you out the door. What'll it be?"

They all seemed to look between each other and then back at her before the one who had spoken first opted to talk. "We'll behave darling," he replied but the smile on his face gave her nothing but a worried feeling.

She nodded and quickly took their orders before leaving them to their own devices. Nora walked by the stranger and saw the way his head followed her. Her sharp eyes didn't fail to notice the white knuckled grip he had on his mug. He had been watching the interaction by the way his eyes went back to the men once she was back behind the counter.

Nora put their order in as Harry finished up the order for her quiet stranger. She thanked him and grabbed the plate.

The diner was empty when he'd pushed the door open save for the young woman behind the counter and by the sound of it another person in the back. He waited in the doorway, unsure as to whether to enter the place or not – the lights were still on and the door sign still read open.

He made sure to keep his metal arm tucked into the pocket of his jacket. His eyes were scanning the place, trying to detect if there was anything that might be a threat. The Soldier programming in him was on full alert while the man buried beneath saw nothing but a warm place for a few hours.

His eyes went to her when she spoke. Her face was soft, oval and fair in complexion. It took him a moment to register what she had said.

He gave her the barest of nods. Her smile was warm and soft towards him; his body relaxed just the slightest. She was no enemy with deadly skills; she was waitress in some remote diner in Iowa.

He followed her as she requested. She made to sit him in a booth where there was open space behind him. The Soldier in him didn't like the thought of that and therefore he took up the furthest booth from the door with a wall at his back and a view of the whole place. She didn't say anything against it, placing an empty mug before him and filling it with coffee.

"Let me know if I can get you anything, okay?"

He gave her another small nod and then watched her walk back to the counter. Part of him settled in to enjoy the peace of this place and then he heard it; a sort humming. It was in time with whatever song had started playing through the speakers. It was soft that any other person would not have heard it, but he did.

The coffee mug warmed his hand as he just sat there. Without the need to be looking at the road, he felt a little more at ease and was glad for the rest. Without cryostasis and no sleep, he had no regular sleeping pattern and his nightmares were more of an inclination to not shut his eyes.

The waitress was watching him every so often; he could feel whenever she looked upon him. It didn't unnerve him like he expected.

The door slammed open; his hand tightened on the mug, eyes jerking to the loud group of four men who came in. His nerves were on full alert. He watched the woman quietly as she gathered up some menus and the way the men dismissed her so carelessly.

Something in him, some deep engrained manner made him clasp his mug tighter at the rude behaviour towards the young woman. These weren't men. The snapping of fingers made him frown and he watched her come round the counter. Her smile was tight.

There was something off putting about the men not respecting the woman who was serving them.

His eyes took in her tense back and the way she tried to keep herself out of reach. She was use to men like this evidently. The moment one grabbed at her, his hand went to the knife hidden in his boot but halted as she defended herself.

His eyes didn't leave her as she came back to the counter; his grip tight on his mug. The men made a move and his eyes went back to them.

A peaceful few hours seemed out the window with those men here.

A plate was suddenly placed in front of him and his eyes darted up to the face of the fair haired waitress. His brow furrowed in questioning. "It's on the house, look like you're having a rough week, hun," she said softly with a little smile.

He nodded and looked down at the large plate of food before he found his voice: "Thank you."

She turned and headed back to the counter to get the drinks for the men at the other table. Burger and fries; a familiar meal – from so many years ago and his mouth did water at the smell of the food as his stomach grumbled softly.

His eyes went to the waitress; she looked at him and smiled a little, her eyes soft toward him, and with that he turned his gaze back to the men and picked up a fry.

She hadn't expected him to speak in all truth; it had been more a whisper though than anything. His gratitude was worth it though, Nora wasn't a cruel person and she would show others kindness when she deemed a person needed it as once, many years ago, a random act of kindness had saved her life.

With the drinks delivered to the men, Nora kept her attention at the counter, cleaning the back bench as Harry cooked their meals. Looking at the diner clock she sighed, they were going to run overtime.

Her quiet stranger was eating, his eyes on the four men in the other booth and not on his food. There was something about the way he watched them that made her feel like she was safe; looks were unassuming but the way he kept watch was like a soldier. Maybe he has come home from a tour recently and suffering PTSD from the experience?

She sighed as the men got louder. It was going to be a long night.