Captain America 1. Way back when

Steve awoke to the muffled sounds of Les Brown coming from the old record player in his living room. The same record player that was off when he went to sleep in his apartment, alone. As quietly as possible the man slipped out of bed to investigate. He had a hunch as to who it was and sincerely hoped Nick Fury wasn't making a habit of letting himself in to listen to his record collection. Airing on the side of caution Steve picked up his shield before making his way out into the hall and towards the living room. Rounding the corner he spotted a man standing with his back to him admiring the framed art on the wall. He paid no attention to the change of songs on the record instead he focused on the intruder. Although was standing in shadow Steve would have recognized him anywhere.

"You drew this," the intruder said without turning away from the charcoal drawing of an old fashioned cityscape featuring brownstone houses and crowded laundry lines. "I remember that place, right past the ball field. How many times do you think that old lady chased us off her fire escape?"

"At least a dozen, not even your charm could keep her from threatening to call the police." Steve said as he moved from the hallway into his living room.

"You can put the shield down I'm unarmed. If I wanted to kill you I would have done it already. Which reminds me you should really lock your windows before you go to bed, it was way to easy to get into this place." He admitted. "You should be a little more careful there are a lot of people out there who would pay a high price for Captain America's head. I'm surprised I woke you up, with the way you snore-don't give me that look. Just because I have my back turned doesn't mean I cant tell." Steve normally would have had to resist the temptation to roll his eyes but he was on high alert and was too focused on this possible threat to be exasperated by the light-hearted jab. "Even as a kid you snored," he continued, "there was more then one occasion where I considered smothering you. I always wondered how such a tiny guy could make so much noise but then again you were born to big for your breeches so its only fitting I suppose."

"Well," Steve said, "I may snore but I've always been a light sleeper. You on the other hand- you slept like the dead as a kid."

Keep the intruder talking that was the plan. It is what law enforcement sometimes did in hostage situations but not the kind that Steve was ever involved in. Men like Steve were never the ones being held hostage, they were sent in to defeat the threat before they even knew what hit them. This was nothing like freeing prisoners of war or taking out Armenian pirates. He wasn't a hostage, not really, however he knew from past experience that if this man wanted to keep him there then he would have to put up one hell of a fight to get free.

"I may have slept like the dead back then but not any more, I wake at the drop of a hat. War changes a lot of things but you know that probably better then most." He was right.

"Then again some things never change do they?" He asked pulling Charge of The Light Brigade off of one of the built in bookshelves in the room, it was one of over one hundred and fifty films in his personal collections. Each film was arranged in alphabetical order by the year it was released. His collection hosted everything from dramas to science fiction to documentaries he ordered off the History Chanel. "Steve Rogers I can only imagine your face when you found out you could watch pictures in your own home when ever you wanted. You must have spent more time at the picture shows then anyone else in Brooklyn." He put the film back and pulled out another. "This was some picture wasn't it? Remember we took those sisters to see it? They sure appreciated us taking them."

Steve couldn't remember the name of either sister or what they looked like, he hardly remembered it being a date at all. However as if it were yesterday he could close his eyes and remember sitting there in awe as Judy Garland stepped out of her house into the colorful land of OZ. Few things can inspire that childlike feeling of discovering something magnificent for the first time in a nineteen year old young man but the brilliance of Dorothy's blue and white dress, the yellow brick road, and her red ruby slippers took his breath away. In fact he loved it so much he went back two more times while it was in its first run. Over Seventy-five years later every movie was made not only in color but digital high definition providing stunning picture quality. Yet in his mind nothing else in cinematic history has or ever will be as breathtaking as that scene.

Before Steve could say anything about that date another movie was pulled from the shelf. "Ha! _Anne of Green Gables_? I know you love films but really even you have to admit this is movie was made for the gentler sex."

Yes he was aware that it was what people in modern times would call a chick flick but he couldn't help but pick it up when he saw it at the store. "My mother loved it. It was the last picture we saw together, we went for her birthday that year." Steve admitted it was the only reason he bought the film.

"Mrs. Rogers, God bless her soul. To this day I've never had an apple pie better then hers."

When he thought about it, Steve could still taste her homemade pie. Only for special occasions did she make the dessert. No matter how hard times were, without fail, every year on his birthday he would wake up to the warm smell of cinnamon and apples as the pie baked in the oven. Then on the day marking his sixteenth year there was no apple pie in the oven when he woke up. Two months latter he woke up to find that he no longer had a mother. Apple pie was still his favorite but its taste had become bittersweet.

The song on the record switched yet again.

"Bucky why are you here?" Steve asked, "I know you did stop in at four in the morning to browse my picture collection and chat about my mother's baking skills." It was the subject they were both dancing around with the pretense of friendly conversation. The men both know what happened the last time they met and incase they forgot Steve still had the scars to remind them. The face off between the Winter Solider and Captain America was perhaps the first time either of them met their match, it should have left one of them dead. It didn't though and now they stood in a dimly lit living room of a small apartment in Washington DC each waiting for the other to make his move.

"Doris Day wasn't she a beauty?" Bucky asked as the female singer's voice joined Les Brown and his band. _"Gonna take a sentimental journey. Gonna set my heart at ease. Gonna make a sentimental journey. To renew old memories"_ Slowly he stepped out of the shadows and turned to face Steve. He looked different from the last time they'd met. He was freshly shaved, his hair was cut it was not as short as it once was but it looked neat clean and his metal arm was covered by the sleeve of his light weight jacket. He looked like your average man in his late twenties but men in their late twenties shouldn't look as weary as he did. It was more then exhaustion that plagued Bucky Barnes.

After a moment he spoke, "My memories have been coming back, things before I fell, before the war, from childhood even. Sometimes they don't feel real like they just fantasies or they belong to someone else but then others feel so real it's hard to believe I ever forgot them." He reached his hand into his jacket and Steve instinctively raised his shield bracing for attack but it never came. Instead Bucky revealed a thick spiral notebook that looked as if it had seen better days. "I've been writing them all down," He continued, "trying to figure out what real and what isn't but I can't tell any more. I thought of going to some sort of doctor about it but I've had enough people poking around my mind for one lifetime. You're then only person who would know if this is who I really was or if my mind is playing tricks on me."

Bucky held the notebook out to Steve who cautiously accepted it as if it might self-destruct on contact. It didn't. "It is going to take a while for me to get through all of this and you look like you need sleep." Steve told him. It wasn't untrue but the he didn't think he could manage to relive memories that often crossed his mind with Bucky watching him so closely. He may be unflappable but even his nerves of steel could only handle so much.

Bucky insisted that he was fine but they both knew that he was lying through his teeth. "Come one, I'll even throw my couch cushions on the floor for you. It will be just like when we were children; I'll even throw in a blanket. I won't even make you shine my shoes for it." Steve offered with a smile. In return Bucky let a ghost of his own smile tug at his lips. "You know pal, right about now that sounds like a pretty good deal."

Fifteen minutes latter Bucky Barnes was sound asleep, awkwardly curled up on a couch that was a foot to short for his body to lay comfortably. Steve on the other hand was wide awake as he sat down with his cup of coffee and Bucky's note book in the arm chair next to his record player. The sky was just starting to show the early signs indicating the sun would be rising soon. On a normal day he would be waking up soon to go for a run. Taking a sip of his drink he mused that if he couldn't lace up his sneakers and take a few laps around the capital then jogging his memory could count for today.

* * *

_Hi there! So this is something that was inspired by that flash back scene in Captain America: The Winter Solider. Im not sure exactly how many chapters its going to be yet but I've set up a few plot lines already and have planned out the ending. I'm going to try my best to keep this as accurate for its time period as possible but if I do get something wrong feel free to point it out to me. I do not however support the use of racial, ethnic, or homophobic slurs even if they were socially acceptable at that time. _


	2. Bar-lights

Hi! So I just wanted to let you all know before you dive into this chapter, all of Bucky's memories in this story are going to be told from an Un-objective third person's point of view rather then in a "dear diary" format.

* * *

It started in a small bar not far from the Smithsonian museum around ten pm about two weeks after the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D. The Winter Solider-Bucky- James Barnes, who ever he was, he was sitting in said bar. He wasn't exactly sure what brought him here but something told him he needed a drink, not that any of the four whiskeys he had were doing anything for him. The bartender eyed him warily as he ordered a fifth drink he could sense that there was something off about the man sitting in his establishment. Aside from looking as if he hadn't seen a mirror or a half way decent night's sleep in a month, this man didn't fit his normal clientele made up mostly of college students looking to let loose on their free time and tourists visiting the nation's capital. He suspected this man wasn't either but this wasn't the only thing wrong about him. As he passed him his fifth drink he noted that the man was as sober as a judge.

As the night wore on the establishment filled with more and more young people looking to get class work off their minds and enjoy their Friday night. Two places down from the mysterious man sat a redheaded girl of about twenty-two years old. She wasn't anyone particularly special; objectively she was pretty if not a little on the plain side, her outfit wasn't flashy or scandalous nor was it frumpy, all in all she was just another young woman in a college bar on a Friday night. She would have been completely unnoticeable to the patrons around her if it were not for the two big, rowdy young men that kept making advances on her despite her clear lack of interest in either of them. "C'mon sweetheart let me buy you a drink." The first one said with a tone that was more aggressive then friendly. Within minutes of rejecting the first, the second made his move and when he unsurprisingly failed to get anywhere with the young woman who looked only interested in finishing her beer and wings, the two men paired up to make hitting on her a tag team effort.

Half way through his seventh drink, vodka on the rocks, the former assassin noticed the men still were not taking no for an answer but didn't think that much of it. The last time he was in a bar behavior like that was normal; any unaccompanied woman in a bar was fair game. It was the gentlemanly thing to offer to buy her a drink after all a woman should not have to pay for her own drinks and after she drank it she would return the favor by dancing with him. Most woman would blush and except but sometimes they refused or at least that's what he assumed as he finished of his drink. He didn't have to think about it long because she abruptly stood up and moved somewhere else. As they say, out of sight out of mind.

He was just about ready to call it quits and head out to find a place to spend the night when the bartender stopped him. "Not so fast big guy, you're not going anywhere after that many drinks." He said sliding a glass of water over to him. Part of the former solider felt like arguing but instead he just accepted the water and decided to people watch for a little bit. It was a habit he picked up over the last few days, people watching that is. As an assassin the Winter Solider was adept to assessing situations and reading body language in order to determine the best moment to strike and take out potential threats. Now out on his own without a mission for the first time in decades he decided to put this skill to new use. A lot had changed since he was out on his own and he had a feeling that he no longer knew how to behave in a socially acceptable way. He could go unnoticed if he wanted to but he also had the feeling that this was no way to get by and that who ever he was in life before he became an asset to HYDRA was not the wallflower type. So he watched to see they way people interacted with each other wherever he went, giving himself an idea of what was and was not culturally appropriate.

One hour, a plate of something called mozzarella sticks, and three glasses of water later, he finally left the bar with only a half empty wallet to show for it. He didn't have much left; after all it wasn't as if HYDRA paid him. When he wasn't in use they locked him up on ice so anything he needed was provided at the time of a mission. However he knew the moment he heard of Alexander Pierce's death that he was free. He also knew that not all of HYDRA's agents went down with the ship and he was quick to take advantage of that. It took him less then two days to track down one of the scientists in charge of working on him- little more then a zookeeper. The Winter Solider made quick work of ending that man's life but not before he knew exactly why he was about to be shot point blank in the head. He took all the money he could find in the man's house and his bankcard, it was enough for the time being but it would only last so long.

He didn't have a place to stay that night, not that he was used to having comfortable accommodations anyway so he supposed it didn't matter. For the first time in as long as he could remember he had no idea what he was doing. He had no orders, no one telling him what to do and it felt good, he felt human, but he also felt lost. The sounds of shouting coming from a nearby alleyway caught his attention. Something wasn't right and he had a niggling feeling that he should check it out. The rational part of his brain said there was no reason for him to do that, he didn't stray from his missions, he shouldn't get involved with things that didn't effect him, it wasn't his business. A different part of his brain pushed him forward, moved his feet in the direction of the voices, it told him that it was the right thing to do, it was what he did or at least it was back when he was Bucky. He quickened his pace and was mindful about making as little noise as possible as not to alert the shouting men to his presence.

There was very little light in the alleyway only a near by streetlight and a single 60 watt bulb in a fixture above a side door to one of the buildings but as he rounded the corner he saw enough. The scene before him consisted of two large men pinning a smaller person against the brick wall. It was clear that the smaller person was putting up a fight to get away but it was no use the men were obviously much stronger. The sight sparked a burning anger in his chest that he was unused to but it caused the Winter Soldier's instincts kicked in and in seconds he silently made his way down the narrow space between buildings. Even close up he was unable to get a good look at the person pinned against the wall but in their fight to get away one of their blows must have landed because one of the assailants drew back his hand, "You fucking bitch!" and slapped the person hard across the face causing them to cry out. The cry was of too high a pitch to belong to a man.

As an assassin he killed many women; the wives of political targets, enemy spies, women who happened to be in the way of his target and needed to be eliminated. He had no reservations about killing them but it was always quick he preferred to put bullets in their head before they even knew he was there. He saw no pleasure in dragging out a hit and torturing or fighting his target not that any of them ever were able to put up a fight, except for one. He thought of the man with the shield who had the opportunity to kill him and instead helped free him from the crushing I-beam. Steve Rogers was his name. He claimed they were best friends and the vague memory of fighting with him, supported by the Captain America exhibit at in Smithsonian Museum confirmed it. James "Bucky" Barnes was best friends with Steve Rogers and somewhere in the deep recesses of his mind it registered with him that the reason he was about to intervene here had everything to do with that friendship but he didn't have a clue as to why. Steve was Captain America perhaps they rescued people together. He wasn't sure but this wasn't the time or place to think about why he was about to intervene, it was time to act.

Assessing the situation he calculated that he could snap the neck of the first man and overpower the second before either noticed his presence. Within a minute he easily have killed both of them but something was telling him that was wrong. These men weren't politicians or spies that needed eliminating but it was more then that some deeply ingrained sense of the rules this society played by told him killing people was not the way this was supposed to be handled. It triggered a sense of male bravado that laid dormant in a part of him locked away for nearly three quarters of a century.

"Hey! Didn't anyone ever tell you not to hit a lady?" he asked making himself known. The larger of the assailants turned to him, "Just keep walking buddy, this is between the three of us." His tone was threatening but it did nothing to the resolve of men like Bucky or the Winter Soldier. "I have no where to be so I think I'll stick around. Why don't you boys pick on someone your own size?" He challenged stepping closer to them so he was only a little more then an arms length away. Suddenly the men stepped away from the woman and pulled the knife he was holding to her throat on the newcomer. Although the man was silhouetted his blade caught the dim light of the 60-watt bulb farther down the alley. "I'm telling you this is none of your business, if you know what's good for you then get moving." He waved the knife around for emphasis. Bucky snorted, "Yeah well I'm making it my business." Instantly he reached out his left arm, grabbed the knife by the blade and ripped it from the other man's grasp. With little effort he snapped the blade in half and tossed it aside. At that point anyone with a half decent sense of self-preservation should have known to make a run for it. Unfortunately this man who Bucky realized was drunk was only egged on by the action.

The situation might have been funny if the young woman wasn't involved. Two drunken tough guys trying to take on the worlds top assassin with a bionic arm strong enough to rip doors off of cars and snap steel in half. Bucky humored the bastard by letting him throw the first punch. It made a dull thud as the blow glanced off his metal shoulder hidden under his jacket. Using the opportunity Bucky used his left hand to grab the man's outer forearm and twist it until it made a sickening crack and when he released it, the arm hung limply from the elbow at an unnatural angle. He roughly shoved the man who was howling in pain to the ground. He then advanced on the second man who until that point was preoccupied with tormenting the girl pressed against the wall to seize his one chance for escape.

It was too late now; he was roughly grabbed by the back of the shirt collar and ripped away from the woman. Bucky released him for only a second before grabbing him again by the front of the shirt before ramming the man's back against the wall. Pinning him to the wall with all his strength he leaned in so their faces were inches apart, "It's not so fun when you're the one who is defenseless is it?" he growled. Rather then answer the man twisted in a fruitless bid to get away. Bucky pulled his free arm back and using all of its strength he slammed his metal fist into the brick next to the man's head. He flinched as the fragments of the wall were roughly dislodged but Bucky paid no attention to them. "That's what I thought. Now I suggest you get out of here before I change my mind and decide I'm not finished here."

With the two drunks out of the way he turned his attention to their victim, the young woman who was where they left her, slumped against the wall. His first thought was to throw her over his shoulder, find the nearest Police station or hospital, and drop her on their doorstep where someone who knew how to deal with assault victims could find her. It would be safer then leaving her in the alley. A voice in the back of his head told him that wasn't the right way to handle the situation. The voice, which he suspected was the same one that told him to intervene in the first place, told him that while manhandling Captain America when he dragged him out of the river was acceptable it was different. This required delicacy something he felt unfamiliar with but again instincts that he was unaware he possessed surfaced and took control.

"Are you okay?" he asked, crouching down to where she was huddled with her arms raised to protect her self. Clearly startled she flinched away from him. "I'm not going to hurt you but you can't stay here." As an after thought he added, "It's not safe." Lowering her arms the woman turned to look at him, judging whether or not it was safe to take his help. She must have decided that if he was willing to intervene on her behalf then he wasn't going to attack her. Bucky stood by watching her intently as she shakily stood up and brushed herself off. He guided her out of the alley way and onto the sidewalk that was surprisingly empty for twelve o'clock on Friday night. "Is there a secure location I can bring you?" He asked. She stopped and threw him a questioning look at his odd choice of words but answered non-the less. "My car is about two blocks that way." She told him, jabbing a thumb to her right.

In yellow glow of the streetlights he saw that she was the redheaded woman sitting near him in the bar and realized that her assailants were most likely the men harassing her in the bar. Bucky also used the visibility afforded to them by the light to assess the damage done to her; her hair was disheveled, her make up had smudged around her eyes and her clothing was dirty but hair could be brushed, make washed off, and clothing replaced. It was the physical damage that showed the most, for all it was worth her body language gave no signs of the assault; she walked briskly with arms crossed and an emotionless expression on her face. It was a brave face to wear considering the busies she sported. There were a matching set of small round ones on her upper arms from where the men grabbed her and held her to the wall, her cheek was swollen and an unhealthy yellowish green in the place she was slapped and on her neck were a series of alarmingly purple splotches and bite marks. She didn't look like the type to take unwanted advances sitting down as the evidence on her fingernails told him. They showed signs of having dried blood under them from where she used her nails to fight back. Yet as hard as she fought back the men overpowered her to get by force what they wanted from her. He knew this wasn't something Bucky Barnes or Steve Rogers would stand by and allow happen if they had a say.

When they reached her car she informed him that her friends would meet her at her apartment, "Thanks for the help… I didn't catch your name." She said as she climbed into the driver's seat of a little black sedan. "James." He informed her. She didn't smile, there wasn't a reason to after all, she shouldn't have been forced into a situation where he had to help her and so she just nodded. "Well thanks again James." And with that she shut her door and drove off while Bucky stood watching until she made a left at the corner.

James, that's the name he gave her but it sounded foreign on his tong he couldn't remember the last time he went by a name let alone his proper name. For decades he was simply актив, _The Asset. _As he walked along the darkened streets of Washington DC he thought about his name, James Buchanan Barnes, someone must have called him that at one point or another. His mother and father must have called him that at least once; it was what they named him after all. This brought up another question- where did Bucky come from? The most obvious place would be Buchanan but why? Why not just nick name him Jim? There were too many unanswered questions and it frustrated him.

He was like a wounded beast and a petulant child; he was immensely powerful under normal circumstances but for him this was anything but normal. He was never out on his own for more then a few hours let alone weeks. He had no idea who he was other then the information he read in a museum and he was unfamiliar with his surroundings. It put him on high alert anything could be a threat. He was frustrated by his confusion and vulnerability, logically he knew HYDRA was gone, that he was a free man but that didn't stop him from checking over his shoulder everywhere he went. He was waiting for someone to grab him, to shove him back into that chair and wipe his mind again. He didn't know how to deal with the frustration and he wanted to lash out, to attack but all he had left of his weapons was a knife. He spent the last of his bullets in that scientist's head and left the empty guns behind in favor of a bag filled with clothing and food.

Eventually the newly freed assassin found an unassuming park to spend the night in. After settling for the night he fell in to a restless sleep dreaming of alleyways and a golden haired boy being pummeled by angry fists.


End file.
