The man, Steve, was standing in the doorway, leaning heavily on a crutch. Beneath his shirt there was a very visible crease that Bucky assumed was a bandage, and Steve's face looked as if it were almost healed. I did that, Bucky thought, feeling his throat beginning to close. In an instant Bucky could tell the man was in a sufficient amount of pain, but his smile looked warm and genuine. The way someone would smile when looking at someone they loved. Overwhelmed with memories all screaming for his attention and the sickly sweet smell of the woman's perfume the room began to spin. His vision swam and the familiar taste of bile rose in his throat. His dislocated shoulder began to throb. He couldn't handle it. He couldn't handle this man who continued to run back to him like a loyal dog. No matter how many times you beat it and shame it a dog will always return. Bucky wasn't sure how he knew this but he did. He couldn't handle this woman who was so forgiving after he had shot her and beaten her, leaving her for dead.

"Buck, are you alright?" Steve asked, concern in his voice. Bucky hadn't realized he had been swaying back and forth with the room that threatened to flip at any moment. His left arm came up with a soft whirring and cradled his right, which felt like it was trying to tear off his body.

"I'm fine." he rasped. His stomach heaved and he gagged loudly. Even if he wanted to throw up, he couldn't. he didn't know how. Wow. I don't like that feeling. He thought to himself as he rubbed his abdomen.

The woman rose off the bed and walked over to him then, holding the empty plastic back out to him. "Do you need this?" she asked, holding it under his chin. Bucky shook his head. He didn't need their help.

"Bucky when was the last time you ate?" Steve asked.

Bucky looked at him with a blank stare. Ate? What was Ate?

The woman exchanged a worried glance with the man in the doorway.

"Its okay, Natasha has food for you." Steve said softly, hobbling awkwardly into the room using the crutch. Natasha disappeared into the hotel bathroom and returned a moment later with a cup full of tap water. She pushed it into Bucky's left hand, as if she knew the right was hurt.

"May I touch you? " She asked. This was surprising to the solider. He was so used to people touching him with out asking, poking and prodding him, smacking him and punching him. He nodded and in the next moment her slim fingers brushed the hair way from his face, revealing the wounds.

"I'll be honest with you," Natasha said as she examined his face, "you didn't make it easy for us to find you."

He remained silent. She pulled some cotton balls out of her bag and some liquid in a brown bottle. She poured some on the cotton ball and turned to him again. "This is going to sting a little, alright? Tell me if you want me to stop." Natasha pressed the cotton ball onto the cuts and scraps and it did indeed sting just as she had promised, but after the burning subsided they felt better. She worked in silence for at least two minutes, treating the injuries, with Steve watching anxiously. Bucky sipped on his water while she worked and eventually the burning in his throat subsided. She stood back and admired her work before placing the used cotton balls in the trash and the brown bottle with the stinging liquid back into her bag.

"Why are you here?" Bucky broke the silence. He had spoken without being addressed, it occurred to him, and he waited for the blow. However none came, to his confusion and relief.

"We are here to help you." Natasha replied.

"I don't need your help." Bucky spat with sudden venom.

Steve and Natasha seemed unfazed.

"You do need our help, Bucky." Steve said, his voice firm.

"It would be in your best interest to hear us out." Natasha said softly. The tip of a folder was peaking out of her backpack, intentionally so he thought, and Bucky thought he could see B. Barnes stamped in the right-hand corner.

"I will not be your weapon." he growled.

"Well then it's a good thing no one is asking you to be one." Steve replied.

"We've seen you down at the Smithsonian, looking at the displays. Mainly the one with the picture and biography of James Barnes. You're not going to learn much from that." She slowly pulled the folder out of her backpack and held it close to her. His life. She was holding his life, so carelessly. He felt a hunger for what was in the folder. Perhaps it would answer some of the many questions he had.

"Natasha and I managed to swipe that just as S.H.I.E.L.D. started to crumble. It wont be long before they realize its missing." Steve said, shifting uncomfortably, his face twisting with pain.

"Its not just files from your time in the army." Natasha added.

Steve nodded and continued. "Natasha and I went and dug around. Like, really dug. We have things about your life. Your family, your friends, where we lived as kids." Steve hesitated before adding, "I dug up some old pictures, Buck. Of us. Of our families. You really need to look-"

Bucky shook his head and stood shakily. He felt to overwhelmed by all this. He couldn't deal with this right now.

"I think you two should leave." He said shakily.

"But, Bucky-"

"LEAVE!" Bucky yelled, throwing the glass cup at the wall. He realized a moment too late he had used his left arm, and the glass when straight through the wall, shattering at the same time. He heard someone on the other side cry out in alarm, and he looked at them, panic in his eyes. "Leave!" he yelled again. "Leave-" so I don't hurt you! his voice broke and he couldn't find the strength to get the words out. He took a breath and yelled, "Take your folder with you! I don't need your help!" Very quietly, Natasha picked up the folder and slid it back into her backpack. As she slung the bag over her shoulder, her eyes seemed to fill with ice, no longer showing the warm open light they had at first. Steve looked on silently, such pain in his eyes it forced Bucky to look away in shame. Captain America hobbled out the door awkwardly, not saying a word more and the Black Widow followed him. She grabbed the door handle and stopped turning back to face the broken man standing in the middle of the shabby hotel room.

"We really want to help you. But you refuse us. Perhaps you like being the Winter Solider, huh?" And with that she shut the door. He listened to the knob turn and the door click shut. Her words cut him deeper than any blade. How could he have done that? How could he hurt them, when he didn't want to hurt them? Frantically he grabbed the few items of clothing that he owned and stumbled into the bathroom, making sure he had grabbed everything. If there was one thing The Winter Solider could do right it was disappear. He was about to stagger out when he noticed a white piece of paper neatly folded on the sink. It looked out of place in the worn bathroom. He slowly walked over and picked it up with shaking hands. He unfolded it delicately, forcing his right arm to move and listen to the commands he gave it. He read it, the only sound his ragged breathing and the panicked babbling of his neighbor. Sirens wailed in the distance, sounding like they were nearing the hotel.

Bucky, if you ever need help, don't hesitate to call.

-Natasha & Steve

At the bottom there were two phone numbers, labeled either with an S or an N. He let out a strangled noise and felt something warm and wet roll down both of his cheeks. Then he threw up.

Poor Bucky.

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