The Apartment Of Bucky Barnes
What was it like when the Winter Soldier left Steve on the riverbank? Where did he go? How did he survive in a world he didn't understand?
The apartment he'd decided to live in wasn't bad. It was a ground floor, one bedroom, one bath space, small, but it had the added bonus of a very small back yard. Surrounded by a chain link fence so he could see past it. It was at the far end of the corridor, so he had plenty of escape options.
Getting the money for the place was trickier. He'd basically been dead for nearly 70 years. He could use new guns and advanced weaponry… but all of the things people were dependent on now- what civilization was based on- were foreign to him. He'd gone to the bank where he'd originally opened an account, way back in the forties. He'd found out how much money he had in there. The interest had increased it by a lot. He was basically rich. But of course they wouldn't let him get it out. He couldn't prove who he was- even if he could, no one would believe this man (who looked thirty years old, tops) was really a WW2 veteran. He'd tried claiming he was James Buchanan Barnes III, but without ID that didn't work either. The Russians had stripped him of everything. No money, no identity, and very few memories.
He'd done what he had to do. He'd broken in at night, tied the guard up, used his knowledge of explosives to get to the money, and taken exactly the amount that was owed to him by the bank. He figured that was fair- it was his anyways. Not exactly legal, but what else could he do? He'd left the guard's cell phone with him when he left so he could call it in. He wasn't worried about leaving prints- any prints would be from a dead man, or so the police would think. He wasn't too worried about being caught either.
He'd paid cash for this place, in a ramshackle brick building in upstate New York. Cash in advance, rent for a year. It was furnished, which was nice, because he owned nothing. It was dark, especially in the evenings. His windows didn't face east or west. It was depressing really, but he figured that's probably what he needed right now.
He hadn't left a trail as far as he could tell. He knew he had no cyber footprint, since he didn't even know how that worked. He'd bought some clothes. He'd studied how the majority of men dressed now. Poorly, in his opinion. Gone were the button up shirts and slacks of his youth… replaced by something called a "T-shirt" and "jeans", which he had to admit were comfortable if not exactly amazing looking. He had to be careful of what he wore- his metal arm wasn't exactly easy to hide.
And the women. He wasn't prepared for what they were wearing now, though if he admitted it to himself, he wasn't entirely opposed to it either. He'd always loved women- the more he could see of them, the better. He remembered Steve always being exasperated whenever he'd show up (or leave) a gathering, with two ladies on his arm.
There was a girl who lived next door. She wore black a lot, a lot of tight pants and wingtip shoes. And tattoos. The tattoos. Women didn't have those in the forties- but he realized they didn't exactly mean now what they had then. Her hair was a short little black bob- those he recognized. It was nice to know some things never changed. She was interesting, but he'd only seen her in passing. She seemed nice enough. He'd helped her with her groceries once.
But he was utterly alone. Alone in this old apartment building with what little memories he had left of his old life, and the ones he wanted to forget of the time since he'd fallen from that train. Everything had changed so quickly. The last 60+ years were a blur of being woken up, going on a mission, and being put back to sleep. He vaguely remembered shooting that redheaded woman who had been helping Steve, but years before. So he supposed he'd shot her twice now. She was lucky. Not many people could claim to have been shot by him and lived, let alone more than once. Six months ago he'd dragged Steve out of the water after nearly killing him. He wanted to kill him. Killing Steve Rogers had been his mission. It was the only mission he'd ever not completed. And he'd done it on purpose. To be honest, he still wasn't sure how he felt about that. Steve said he'd be with him til the end of the line- but what if that line had already been crossed?
Read Part 2 "Being Human Again isn't as Fun as it Looks, is it Bucky?"