When Steve awoke, he was greeted by a splash of cold water to his face. He spluttered and opened his eyes, to be greeted by the mischievous face of Bucky Barnes.
The image of his friend faded away into the blank face of the Winter Soldier. Steve closed his eyes again and rolled away, hoping that it was just a dream, and it would all dispel if he ignored it for long enough.
"Get up," the voice was rough, a tad unsure but not unkind. Steve was bombarded with flashbacks of their other life, when Bucky would help him up after an alley fight, grinning at him and brushing the dirt off his clothes.
He would then scowl of course, and call him punk or idiot, depending on his mood. Steve would always shake it off, because he knew that Bucky never meant it. This Bucky had none of the charm and bravado of Steve's friend. He was broken, lost.
The Winter Soldier seemed to see the flash of emotion cross Steve's face, and hastily pulled away. "It's time to go," he said in a rough voice. Steve heard the thump of Bucky's heavy footsteps on his way out of the tent and waited until they had faded into the distance to open his eyes again.
The disoriented feeling one gets from a short rest left Steve, and he was up in a flash. "Why the heck did you have to dump water on me?" He wondered to the empty room as he pulled on his shoes and his jacket. He trudged out into the crisp morning air and headed for the fire, where the rest of his team sat.
His 'team' being a disgruntled Clint with bedhead, an even more disgruntled Sam, and Natasha who nodded her head in greeting to Steve and then went back to sharpening her throwing knives. Not the ideal team, but one can't be picky when everyone else wants to kill you. Besides, he could have ended up so much worse off.
Steve grabbed a piece of toast from the stack sitting on the plate and munched on it lackadaisically as the team sat in groggy silence. He spotted Bucky sitting outside his tent, removed from the circle.
Steve studied Bucky's face. Only hints of the man he'd once been remained. His eyes were dark and emotionless, his hair was stringy and uncared for, and his metal arm gleamed in the early morning sunlight. Sighing, Steve turned back to his breakfast. There wasn't much more that he could do about Bucky; he had tried everything he could think of to trigger recall. Steve felt a bitter wave of hopelessness sweep through him. With HYDRA hunting them down, they needed a safe place, and fast.
As the sun rose steadily overhead, the team packed up camp, loaded up the Jeep, and started westward. They had been moving from safe house to safe house, trying to find one secure enough to hide them from HYDRA for an extended amount of time. They were running out of places to go. As the silent stretched into a long awkward silence, it was Clint who spoke.
"So, Bucky is it?" Clint said as he attempted to flatten his bedhead to no avail, "Fought with Steve in World War Two?"
Steve saw Bucky tense up, as though he thought Clint was going to strike him. He may not have his memories, but the knowledge of what he had done haunted him. Clint, however, just let out a loud snicker.
"Coulson's gonna flip. You know he asked Steve to sign his vintage trading cards?"
Bucky subtly glanced over at Steve, who was awkwardly fidgeting with his fingers to avoid looking back. "No, I didn't."
Silence fell again after the failed attempt at conversation. The air was thick with tension, and Bucky could tell that it was because of him. Never mind that they were running from an evil organization bent on world domination, they were now stuck in a smallish Jeep with said organization's specially designed murderous supersoldier.
"Better not let Stark see that arm, unless you want to end up with a machine gun for a hand," Clint attempted joking again.
"Stark?" Bucky asked sharply, his eyes darting nervously about.
Clint quickly realized he had said the wrong thing, "Oh yeah well-"
Bucky held up a hand for silence. His face showed a mess of emotion; fear, confusion, hope. Steve sat up in his seat. Bucky was remembering.
"Stark… Howard. Howard Stark," Bucky muttered to himself.
Unfortunately, the revelation didn't last long as Sam let out a strangled yelp and swerved off the road and into the surrounding tress. Glass shattered and airbags unleashed.
"You trying to get us killed Wilson?" Clint grumbled, heaving himself out the door and examining a wound in his shoulder that had been pierced by a glass shard.
"HYDRA," Natasha muttered grimly, pointing at the approaching helicopters labeled with the telltale HYDRA symbol.
Bucky let out a strangled, almost animal like noise and shot off into the woods. Steve went to chase after him, but Clint held him back.
"We've got bigger problems," Clint said to him. "We'll find him later, I promise."
Steve wanted desperately to ignore Clint and go rushing after his friend, but he knew that Clint was right.