A/N: Quick little one-shot I wrote as a response to a Tumblr prompt about Bucky trying to figure out life outside of HYDRA, especially when it comes to food and water. It turned out a bit more angsty and rambly than I wanted (and the title is...not original, I'll admit), but I liked it anyway. Writer's block, I will defeat you!
This could fit into the same universe as "The End Is Where We Begin", but it doesn't have to - it's meant to stand pretty much on its own.
He's lost.
He's been lost for three days now, or is it four? He's not good at keeping track of time. They always did it for him. Put him where he needed to be and pulled him out when the mission was over.
The mission. He didn't finish his mission. No one's going to come get him until he does. And he's not going to. Not this time. Not that mission.
Not the man on the helicarrier.
But that means no one is coming for him. That means he has to find somewhere to go and something to do. And he has to do it by himself. Has he done this before? He must have, somewhere, sometime, but he doesn't remember.
Trying to remember makes his head hurt. It's a dull throb behind both temples, and it won't go away no matter what he does. He's sweating and shaking, too, under the three or four layers that are far too heavy for this weather, even though he's out of the sun now. He had to sit down, just for a minute. Almost an hour ago. The uniform was bad enough. Adding a coat over the top made it worse.
Why did he need the coat? There was a reason. The coat is important. He just can't remember why any more.
His head throbs, the ache getting worse, and his mouth is too dry to even swallow properly. He knows he's hungry, or he should be, but he stopped feeling it this morning. Wait it out and it'll go away. That's not good. How does he know that? He should have gotten water somehow. That's the problem. He's thirsty. He should have gotten water. He doesn't know where, but he should. He should know this.
Someone starts yelling, and his head jerks up. What –
The movement makes everything so much worse. Vision's blurring and spinning now, and the sound of voices stabs right through to the center of the headache. His stomach and throat tighten, too sharply – he would have thrown up, if there'd been anything in his stomach. There wasn't.
Through the shaking and blurring, he can just barely see the man yelling. All the way across the park. Not even looking at him. It wasn't about him.
He crosses his arms on his knees and rests his forehead on them. Hoping that'll make the spinning stop. Maybe if he just takes a minute to rest.
"Hey, are you okay?"
His head snaps back up again, slower this time. It still hurts. The spinning's not gone. He can barely see the girl in front of him. She's young. Maybe twenty-two, twenty-three. Wearing a blue shirt and pants the same color. Brown hair.
He doesn't realize he's up on his feet until he almost falls down again. His metal hand slams into the tree, sending a jolt all the way to his spine. She flinches and takes a step back.
"Easy. It's just a question. You don't look so good." She studies him with a frown. He backs up. It's too much like the last thing he remembers before they put him on the helicarrier.
"How long has it been since you've had any water?"
He shrugs. Three days? Why does she want to know?
"Here." She turns away slightly. Digs through her backpack and pulls out a plastic water bottle. "Sit down and drink this."
No. He doesn't take orders any more. He disobeyed and now he doesn't take orders. But his legs are shaking and his vision's still blurred and his throat is so dry it feels like it's cracking.
She pushes the water bottle toward him again. "Seriously. You're dehydrated. I don't need nursing classes to tell me that. Drink."
He takes it. Unscrews the cap with shaking human fingers, trying not to crush it with metal ones. Takes a single sip.
Then almost drops it in his rush to gulp down more, because he's so thirsty and he didn't know until just now and it feels so good against his raw throat –
"Whoa, slow down. You'll make yourself sick. Slow down." The girl puts her hand on his arm and he freezes.
Don't touch me. Don't touch me. He's dangerous. Erratic. Unstable. Get your hands off me – I'm not – what are you doing to me – stop – don't touch me –
She takes her hand away. She didn't notice. "There you go. Take it slow." She's still looking at him critically. "Sit down. I'm going to call a doctor – "
That's when he drops the water bottle. Ignores the headache and shakes his head frantically. Tries to say it, too – No! – but the word won't come out. No doctors. It's important. No. Doctors.
"Look, I'm not asking you to go to the hospital or anything, but you really need a doctor. Dehydration can be really bad."
This time he manages to say it. Rasps the word out past his still-dry throat. "No. No."
She doesn't look convinced, but she finally nods and picks up the water bottle. "Okay. Then you have to keep this. And you have to keep drinking. Okay? You stay hydrated. Stay out of the sun and keep drinking water. Small amounts, every half-hour. And have you been eating?" When he shakes his head, just barely, she winces. "You have to do that too. Do you have money for food? Here." She's in her backpack again and handing him a few folded bills before he has time to realize. "Get food, once you've finished that water. There's a store right down there. They have a water fountain, too. It's free." When he doesn't respond, she folds her arms on her chest and stares up at him. "Promise me. Food and water. You'll take care of yourself. Or I'm calling a doctor right now."
He tries, once, twice, and finally gets the word out. "Okay." His vision's still blurry.
"Okay?" She smiles. He can't remember the last time someone smiled at him. "Good. You can drink more water now. Careful. Not too much."
He does. It feels good. He can't remember the last thing that he thought was good.
No. Wait. He can. Not killing the man on the helicarrier was good. It was right.
What was his name? He knows. Maybe someone told him. Maybe he remembers.
Captain America. No, that's not right. That's not his name.
Steve.
The girl's still looking at him. Not smiling any more. "Do you have somewhere to go?"
He's about to shake his head no. But then an image pushes through the headache. A reminder of something he was trying to do. A silver star in the middle of blue and red and silver rings. The voice in the back of his head that never goes away.
Your name is James Buchanan Barnes. You've known me your whole life. I'm with you till the end of the line.
He looks back at her and nods, and manages one more word. Less rough this time. "Yeah."
He's lost.
But he knows where to go. What thread to pull on. And maybe if he does, someday, he'll know where he is and what he does again.