Steve entered his kitchen slowly; wishing just once that he could cross the kitchen without thinking, grab his mug from the cabinet without worrying, that he could just pour water in the coffee machine without checking the amount with his finger.

Steve touched the edge of the counter, feeling the cool granite. He carefully followed it around the edge of the kitchen, carefully counting out the ridges that he passed. The fourth ridge in the marble edging marked where his plates were, the fifth one was under the cabinet for his glasses and mugs. Mugs on the right, glasses on the left.

Steve was careful about filling his coffee pot. The first week he had a bad habit of overfilling the machine and then hot water would flow over the edges and usually ended up scalding him when he hastily reached forward at the beeping sound.

After making sure his coffee was brewing correctly, his mug carefully pushed against the notch that signaled the place directly beneath the spigot, Steve leaned back against the counter. He closed his eyes, even though it didn't change anything.

It had scared him at first. Sometimes, when there was no sound around him, no one talking, no music playing, he wondered if he had gone to sleep. As if the world around him had just stopped existing.

He actively avoided that feeling. He played an assortment of songs, usually more classical songs since they tended to last longer. The TV in his kitchen, which was a constant hum of news anchors talking about the world's problems, was a new addition to Steve's attempt to never be in silence. But even with all those ambient noises, Steve sometimes felt like he lost himself to the nothingness. He was always forced to focus on the now. Like how now his ears picked up the soft whir of the coffee machine, the grumble of electricity boiling water, and the drip of coffee hitting ceramic. He focused on these noises to stay in the present.

While Steve drank his coffee he decided to forgo breakfast for the day. Coffee would be enough to help him make it to lunch. And then maybe he would go to that new restaurant down the street. Yeah, that was something his therapist always encouraged: trying new things and doing something outside his comfort range every day. It would also break up the monotony of his job.

Decided, Steve moved his way carefully across the living room to grab his coat and shoes. He had walked for three seconds before he noticed that he had forgot to start counting. Cursing under his breath he held his hands out ahead of him, taking slow steps so he wouldn't hurt his hands when he reached the wall.

Rough drywall brushed against his fingertips, letting Steve breathe out unsteadily. The nervous energy that welled up inside him was overwhelming at times.

Taking a breath to bolster himself, Steve continued along the wall, one hand around hip height so that he could feel the small table that was pushed against this wall. He brushed his hands along the table, looking for the pair of sunglasses that he normally wore when he left the house. Some people were very off-put when his eyes wouldn't focus on anything. He had taken to wearing the sunglasses so that he wouldn't disturb strangers. And, if he was being honest, so no one would disturb him.

Navigating himself around that rounded table, Steve reached out and touched the course material of his windbreaker, The next jacket was his heavier jacket, which Steve grabbed off the hook and navigated it around his shoulders. Lately someone had been constantly blowing AC through his work building, making it unbelievably cold.

His jacket on, his keys and wallet safely tucked in his pocket, which was their forever-home, Steve was finally ready to put on his shoes. His shoes were always the longest part of his morning. Steve had to carefully feel each shoe to make sure that they matched, and then had to carefully make sure that he was putting the right feet in the right shoe. It was one of his only points of pride. He had been able to tie his shoes since he was five. He was 25 now and could very well take care of it himself.

Finally ready to brave the world, Steve pulled his door open, taking a few cautious steps into the hallway. He was always nervous that he would run into someone standing right outside his door. Sometimes it felt like someone was just standing there waiting for him. Those feelings had yet to prove true, but Steve could swear he felt a presence in front of him half the times he left for work.

Out in the hallway, Steve took a large breath through his nose trying to see if he could smell any blood. His neighbor tended to have the worst nosebleeds. Sometimes the entire corridor would smell like that copper tang. Steve had met him on one of those days.

Steve had been moved into his apartment for two weeks before he had met his next door neighbor. Steve had just stepped into the hallway, his mind on the amount of steps it would take to get to the staircase, when he heard a shuffle to his right. He paused in his movements, turning towards the noise uncertainly.

It sounded like someone was fiddling with the lock of the next door. Could this be his mysterious neighbor who came in at the oddest hours of the day? This guy was so quiet that Steve had wondered if anybody had even lived there until he heard a marathon of Criminal Minds blare out in some ungodly hour of the night.

"Um, hi," Steve started out, unsure if his neighbor would be even interested in talking to him. He sounded pretty busy.

…And now it sounded like no one was there.

The shuffling that Steve had thought he had been hearing was completely gone! Like Steve's mind had decided to start inventing noises! What the hell was with this? First he thought he was going crazy when he dealt with Natasha, Clint, and their random moving furniture fad not more than a week ago. Now he still wasn't sure if his ears were trustworthy!

"Hello?" Steve questioned out, feeling an absurd amount of deja vu.

"What!" a rough growl sounded back.

Part of Steve wanted to pull back into himself, to apologize to this gruff man who seemed to be very pissed off at the moment. But another part, the part that got him thrashed in high school, bared its teeth at the rude man. He had just wanted to talk! Perhaps just a general passing "Oh yeah, we live next to each other," conversation at most. But this guy was acting so hostile right off the bat!

"Sorry," Steve gritted back, "I was just wanting to make sure you heard me." And that I heard you.

"Well, I heard you," came the snappy reply.

Steve felt his hands start to close into tight fists at his sides. What was with this guy? Who was so rude to someone they just met!?

Steve opened his mouth in a huff, ready to send back some scathing, witty remark that his mind was racing to come up with, when he smelled it. There was a deep copper tang. It floated into the air and laid heavy at the back of his tongue. It reminded him of dry summers and pain throbbing in his cheek after being punched. Steve took another small huff, trying to make sure that he was really smelling this. It was rather worrying at the level of saturation in the air.

"Is that blood?" Steve asked, turning his head as if he was searching the hallway. It was an old habit from when he could still see.

Steve opened his mouth as he inhaled this time, letting the air cover his tongue.

"Is there some blood around here? Can you see anything?" Steve asked, turning his head back in the general direction of his "conversation" partner. "I can smell a lot of blood!" A small bit of fear flickered through his voice now that he couldn't see what he thought was already there.

"What do you mean "smell"?"

Steve jerked back with how close the guy sounded.

A hand grabbed onto his arm, the fingers encompassing the entire bicep.

"What do you mean smell?" The man repeated, his hand tightening.

"What the-" Steve started, trying to pull himself from the man grabbing him.

"Are you blind?"

Steve paused at the suddenness of the question. After finding out what it was like to really be blind, it was weird to hear people use it as an exclamation. Weird, and super annoying. He had come to hate that saying. Steve rolled his eyes behind his sunglasses, letting his voice become dry and bitter.

"Yes, actually," the blonde spit at his captor, "I can't see, so that's why I was asking you if there was any blood around here. Now would you let go of me!" Steve yanked at his arm again in irritation.

Steve would have shied away from the touch on his face if he had been suspecting it, but one moment, he was standing there, trying to get away from his clearly neurotic neighbor, when his sunglasses were ripped from his face.

"Hey! What the hell are you doing!?"

Steve glared out into the darkness, hoping that the man would be in the general direction of his eyes.

He felt a small puff of air against his cheek, and had a horrible revelation.

"Are you waving your hand in front of my face?" Steve asked, nonplussed. The hand still wrapped around his arm loosened at the question.

"…No," his neighbor muttered. Steve ignored how sheepish the answer seemed.

The blonde sighed and held his hand out before his body. "Now that you've stared long enough, can I have my glasses back?" He made sure to keep his voice snappish.

The hand on his arm loosened, and Steve was once again standing alone in the darkness.

His glasses were firmly placed into his hand, his fingers brushing against someone's palm as he carefully closed them around the object.

Steve brought his finally freed arm up to uncross the sunglasses and put them precariously on his face. He made sure to keep his fingers on the inside of the legs of the glasses, always worried about poking his eye out if he wasn't careful when he put them on.

After a bit of shuffling, Steve finally had everything back in place.

"So, is there blood around here or something?" Steve asked again, still annoyed and miffed at this man's reactions.

"Oh, uh, yeah… I have a nosebleed," came the stuttered reply.

Steve paused at the answer mildly confused. "Do you need some tissues?"

"…No."

Steve wondered about the hesitation in this guy's answers. "…Okay. If you're fine without them." Another silence filled the void and Steve remembered why he came out of his room in the first place. He had turned and carefully walked in the direction of the stairs when he realized he forgot something.

Steve couldn't help himself from sighing one more time as he turned back around to face his neighbor. "I'm Steve Rogers, by the way. It was… nice to meet you."

Steve waited for a reply, but when a minute passed, he grit his teeth and turned back towards the stairs. He was feeling around for the door handle when he finally got his reply.

"I'm Bucky."

Steve twisted and waited for a last name, but when none was given just rolled his eyes and huffed out an "It was nice to meet you, Bucky," before leaving the hallway.

James Barnes leaned his head against the door to his apartment, feeling the tired weight wrap its way around his shoulders and pull at his muscular frame. He huffed out through his mouth, watching with dazed interest as the longer pieces of his scraggly hair twitched in the breeze as if they were alive.

He should go into his room before anyone saw him like this. The police couldn't connect him to the murders now, but all the blood that was literally on his hands might be some good evidence for his misconduct.

But he just was too tired. The last kill had taken a lot of energy, and now that all the bloodlust was gone, James felt empty. This feeling was coming around more and more often after his hunting. Instead of that sense of fulfillment, that release of anger and pressure, James just wanted to pull into himself. Disappear from the world. Only when he was stabbing repeatedly into those hateful warm bodies did he feel somewhat normal.

Finally, the brunette forced himself to move. His hand fished inside the long black pockets of his oversized pants. His leather jacket that he had gotten at the army surplus moved easily, supple and stretched across his shoulders, but not too tight around his elbows or wrists. The all black attire helped in his hunting, allowing him to blend into the shadows and to hide the bloodstains that always splashed him when he hit the adrenaline overdrive.

The half gloves on his hands helped him grip his knife better, but they always seemed to gather the gore in between their creases. James had an almost unlimited supply of them in his room, continuously having to burn the previously used ones, since they were unsalvageable.

After what felt like an eternity of his fingers numbly rustling his pocket, James finally found the lanyard that was attached to his key. He pulled it out and tried to fit it into the keyhole on his door. It was difficult to have any depth perception with his head firmly planted on the door, so Bucky kept on missing the lock. The situation seemed hazy to him, like he was looking down a long tunnel at the back of his mind as someone else controlled his fingers.

A hint of paranoia flashed through the back of his mind at the thought of someone else controlling him. With the flash of fear, other mutterings came to the forefront of his mind.

People didn't appreciate what he did. He was a visionary. He helped society. And yet that society had turned against him, had started to blare on newspaper stands about how his purges were obliterating lives.

What lives? Those people would only destroy society and what James was trying so hard to protect!

The world was full of sheep, and James was the wolf sent to sparse out the unhealthy. Hidden in the rest of civilization, James was meant to destroy the sick and degenerate. He was there to save those little sheep from horrible fates. But the sheep didn't understand. They tried to stop him, aiming to protect the malign cancer that seemed to seep through the herd. They didn't understand what greatness he was committing by destroying those bad sheep. They didn't realize that he was shaping a century.

James was so far in his thoughts that he didn't notice the sound of his next door neighbor's door opening. Later he would curse himself for not noticing the small blonde that stepped into the hallway, but at the moment James was still hazily imagining the human shells that he had left behind.

"Um, hi" broke through the constant whir of thoughts, and James froze in place, head twitching so he could stare at the new arrival out of the corner of his eye.

There wasn't much to stare at. The man, or was it a boy, was small maybe 5'1" at most. The coat that seemed to hang from his shoulders emphasized the smallness of his body. His face was surprisingly wide, a strong chin and jawline. The sunglasses that hid his eyes were rather ridiculous looking, they were so big and took up nearly half of his face.

"Hello?"

James sneered at the annoyed tone in the boy's voice. It must be a stupid sheep to pick a fight with him! All the other sheep that met him could see the wolf that slunk through his skin and kept their distance.

"What!" He snapped back, baring his teeth.

The blonde responded how Bucky knew he would, pulling back in fear, just like he should. At least initially. Then that small little sheep, a lamb really, pulled itself together, straightening its spine, and its mouth going thin.

"Sorry. I was just wanting to make sure you heard me." The boy bit out, his lips pulling down into a frown.

James scrutinized the boy once more. "Well, I heard you." This was much different than he had expected the conversation to go. The small blonde had more courage than many criminals he met in alleyways. His interest was piqued.

James narrowed his eyes at the sheep, a small buzz of excitement working it's way through his system as he watched the sheep's hands fist. He watched that red mouth open wide, seeming to be ready to nip back at his jarring response. James almost smiled as the blonde hesitated. Maybe he was rethinking pissing off someone who so outmatched himself in height and strength.

"Is that blood?"

Or not.

James stomach plummeted. He glanced over at his hand, still touching the handle of the door, already knowing what would be there. The red streaking on the door just emphasized the blood that clung to his glove. The edges of his sleeves were still dark from the wet splotches that covered them up to his elbow. His keys looked like they were covered in dark red paint.

He had kept the secret so well! He had always been careful to dispose of his kills in different states. He made sure that he didn't leave evidence. He traveled back to his home on different paths every time! He once even climbed up the back wall to enter into his third story window! And here, here a doorway away from safety, some little lost kid had found out about him!

And now James would have to do the one duty that he hated. The one necessary to his responsibility to protect the world.

He twisted and stalked forward, his eyes locked on the small blonde. His right hand freed the hunting knife from its hiding place against the small of his back. Part of him felt pity for the little lamb. It looked terrified, its small mouth open in a silent scream.

Or maybe they were just open so that the lamb could talk. "Is there some blood around here? Can you see anything?"

The questions were confusing to James. He paused in his hunt, his body just a foot away from his prey, his knife arm already prepped to take the killing blow. Maybe that was the point of the question! To make him doubt himself.

"I can smell a lot of blood!" The blonde muttered, a small crease between his eyebrows.

'Smell?!' That truly stopped James in his place.

"What do you mean "smell"?" Small inconsistencies on how the boy was standing, talking, acting started to jumble in his mind.

The boy jerked back from him, like he hadn't been aware that he was there.

James automatically reached forward to stop the escape, his hand wrapping around the thin bicep, his fingertips almost touching.

"What do you mean smelled?"

The uncertainty in their first meeting, the ill-fitting sunglasses, 'smelling', the way the kid reacted when James had come so close to him, like he hadn't seen him…

"What the-"

"Are you blind?"

No way. This couldn't be happening to him. How could this small kid be able to smell the blood on him! From across the hallway! That should be impossible, right?

"Yes, actually," the blonde snarled, answering the brunette's thoughts. "I can't see, so that's why I was asking you if there was any blood around here. Now, would you let go of me?!"

James barely felt the tugging on his arm, his eyes still locked on his captive's face. James' hand automatically put the knife back in its place, James barely noticing as his thoughts continued to stumble over his neighbor.

The sunglasses were completely hiding the eyes from view. James couldn't tell if he was telling the truth. And if he wasn't, this boy would be in some serious trouble. So, unceremoniously, James reached out and yanked the dark shades away with a flick of his hand.

The blonde's eyes were blue. Like looking up into the sky, or the falling feathers of a bluebird. Just a marvel of blue that James found himself caught in.

"Hey! What the hell are you doing!?"

James pulled himself back into the present, his eyes focused on what he had meant to look for. The blue eyes that he had been admiring were glaring into a middle distance at his chest, a little low, but fairly close to where his face was. James stared at those pupils trying to decide if they were truly not seeing or just purposefully unfocused.

He slowly reached up towards the blonde's prominent chin, watching the eyes carefully to see if there was any flicker towards the movement. He waved his hand slowly before those flat eyes, looking for the focus that usually came from such rapid movement.

"Are you waving your hand in front of my face?"

James froze in his motions, seeing the completely unimpressed look on the other man.

"…No," he lied quickly, his chest dipping into a new emotion that he hadn't felt for a long, long time.

The blonde scoffed before mulishly sticking his hand out. "Now that you've stared long enough, can I have my glasses back?"

The new feeling deepened as James released the blonde's arm. This was guilt right? The dip of his stomach, the way his heart felt like it would drop through his chest from the new weight, the way his jaw tensed his mouth into a grimace.

'When was the last time I felt like this?' James wondered as he gave back the shades, his mind wandering back trying to find the memory as he watched as the blonde carefully place the glasses back on.

"So, is there blood around here or something?" The blonde asked once again, surprising James for maybe the fiftieth time in those ten minutes.

"Oh, uh, yeah," James mumbled, trying to think of some reason there would be blood. "I have a nosebleed." The wince that flashed over his face at the terrible lie made James curse himself.

"Do you need some tissues?"

James looked up in shock at the question. He had just threatened this kid, insulted him, and yet he would still ask if James needed something. James barely choked out the "no" between the uncomfortable tightness in his chest.

"…Okay. If you're fine without them," the blonde replied, sounding just as hesitant as James felt.

James just stared at his counterpart in silence, unsure if there was anything he could really do now. He tried to come up with something, anything really, to keep the strange boy talking to him. To help alleviate the weird pressure that was sinking into his chest, but he could only watch as the blonde carefully walked away, unsteadily bumping into the stairway door. James was thinking this would be the last moment James would see him when the blonde turned back, face set in determination.

"I'm Steve Rogers, by the way. It was… nice to meet you."

James just stared back, reeling in shock at the absolute insanity that was this kid. He was still standing there in awe when he saw the boy turn away, a look of dejection on his face, to open the doorway to the stairs.

He wanted the blonde to look back at him, to pay him just a little more attention. He said the first thing that came to mind. "I'm Bucky."

And that was another shock. He hadn't been Bucky for years. He had always been James, or in moments of pressure, the Winter Soldier. But Bucky was something of a far past. Bucky was boyhood and dancing. Bucky was his naivety of the world and it's dangers. Bucky was before his "change".

Bucky stood there in the hallway, unsure how to proceed with this moment. Eventually the silence seemed to be too heavy for the smaller man and he carefully turned around to the door.

"It was nice to meet you, Bucky."

It was the last thing Steve said before disappearing through the opening, leaving Bucky alone with the silence.

The Winter Soldier will shape the century…

James Buchanan Barnes (aka The Winter Soldier)

MO: Current kill count- unknown. Victims range through all ages, genders, and races and bodies have been found in State parks throughout the East Coast. All victims have been linked to crimes that have gone unpunished. All victims are found with a pile of evidence linking them to the crime. These crimes range from embezzlement to rape to blackmail. All killed with a 5 mm serrated stainless steel blade. Suspect has been spiraling in the past 3 weeks, killing more frequently and inflicting more wounds upon his victims. Last victim was Heinrich Zemo, stabbed 48 times in the chest. Zemo has been linked to corporate espionage against businesses in the United States. The FBI has taken over the case and have begun to think that Suspect is in the New York area.

Due to his upbringing, Bucky has a very black and white view of the world. His parents were charged with crimes and sent to jail, and the people who adopted him reinforced that it was the right thing to happen. He joined the Seals at 17, which gave him another family as well as strong military training. However, he was Other Than Honorably Discharged for disagreeing with an officer's orders during a combat situation. The discharge was inappropriate, but he lost connection to his military family because of it. At home, he was invited to join an unsanctioned group who helped the police fight criminals outside the legal system. It gave him a new family, as well as taught him police procedure and the idea that the police can not protect everyone. However, James discovered that the group was only eliminating opponents for people who paid them(a mercenary group for the political elite). In the same breath, James found out that his adoptive parents had committed blackmail to achieve their standing in the political realm. Losing all of his social group and with a strong disillusionment towards the police, James psyche broke and he turned into a vigilante serial killer, thinking that he was protecting society.

Some of you might think that this version of a serial killer is too disorganized for a Navy Seal who grew up with a very structured environment and who has yet to be caught by the police. And when I thought about it later, I was almost convinced I made him too aggressive. However, I think that the Winter Soldier isn't disorganized, he's just rage-filled. He is very patient about collecting evidence and stalking who he thinks is a danger to society, but when he moves in to kill, he becomes frenzied. After the kill, James returns to a more focused mind set, knowing what to erase or move to avoid detection by the police.

Some of you might also point out that Bucky is a marksman, and that he would probably shoot his victims instead of physically assault them. I thought about that later as well, but I just really am drawn to the more out of control Winter Soldier. Guns are just so restrained, and I don't think that it quite captures the rage that the Winter Soldier always seems to feel. And as seen in CA-WS Bucky is very good with a knife.

Next will be the Odinson Brothers... Another pair of Serial Killers how exciting.