He’s tired. So incredibly tired. He keeps running for days, for weeks, maybe it’s even been months before he finally is able to find a place to stay. He’s cleaned out the hiding places where he’s kept passports, money, and other ids and currently, he’s using the name Grant Stevens and, since he still looks like he’s twenty four years old, he passes as a college student, and with the money he’s managed to salvage, he’s able to get an apartment in New York and pay twelve months in advance, much to the happiness of the landlord. He doesn’t look for a job just yet. He doesn’t think he can handle that with all of the memories coming back to him in batches, leaving him to where he’s not sleeping at night or eating during the day it seems. He looks a bit malnourished, there are dark shadows under his eyes, and a haunted look about him as he makes his way by train to DC twice a week, wandering through the Smithsonian, reading the plaques, watching the videos, trying to remember.
At night, he hangs out in a bar near his apartment, taking over a back table where the light doesn’t quite reach all the way. He drinks his way through shots of vodka and bottles of beer until he’s so unsteady he can barely walk back home but he manages to do so. He’s gotten into drugs that let him sleep but steal even more of his memories. It’s a double edged sword, he thinks. But it’s not as if anyone is around to help him.
It’s been six months now since the debacle in DC and he knows SHIELD has started putting itself back together and, to his knowledge, Hydra thinks he’s dead. So he goes about his days, walking through the city, trying to remember, and spends his nights wrapped up in alcohol and drugs, trying to forget. It’s a never ending cycle but he knows at some point it will end.
Possibly in his own death… but maybe that would be for the best so he doesn’t hurt anyone else.
Realizing Steve was alive and then losing him when the carriers fell had hit Bucky hard, but it didn’t stop him from trying to find him. He had looked for months before a trip to the museum had him thinking for a moment that he’d seen a familiar face among the crowd. So he made it a habit to go back every day, keeping an eye out. And sure enough, the same person moved among the people, and he followed him a little further each day. It took a while before he could follow him along the streets of the city, on the train back to the small apartment. For a while he would just go and stand outside, wondering if he knocked on the door if he would find Steve or the weapon Hydra had created. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. So when one night, he saw Steve leave, he followed him at a distance to the bar, waiting outside for a while before he dared to enter.
He sat at the bar for the first and second nights, then slowly made his way around each table every few nights until he was just a few tables away. Tonight he ordered an extra beer and moved to stand just out of reach. “Seems kind of lonely. Want some company?” he asked, holding out the unopened bottle.
themusechronicles 