Hi again everyone! Once again, I'd like to thank my wonderful beta, Phyoaros, as well as anyone who's reading this. I hope you enjoy!

Warnings for gun violence, violence in general, a bit of gore, some swearing, and purposeful alcohol abuse/overdose.

Disclaimer: I still own nothing. Chapter title is from "Run Boy Run" by Woodkid.

Chapter Four: But For Now (It's Time to Run)

It was a week later and Jamie found himself in Cleveland, once again desperate for sleep. He had been going nonstop since his run-in with the police, and he needed rest. Not wanting a repeat of last time he checked into a motel, Jamie chose instead to go up on the roof of an older brick apartment building, one with roof access, which meant it had a few benches and plants. He claimed one of the benches and curled up on it, cushioning his head with his army jacket. It was a warm night and he could see the stars from his position. The hubbub of the city around him was enough to lull him asleep, and as he drifted off, he felt the faintest of smiles tug at his lips, brought on by the peacefulness of the moment.

+(/O\)+

Jamie was flying off the bench before he could even process what was happening, a guttural cry ripped from his mouth as he tackled the man hiding in the shadows of the apartment complex roof. He could hear the man's grunt as his head made contact with the filthy cement, and Jamie quickly pinned him down, using extra strength from his Other Hand to keep the much larger man under him.

"Soldier," the man rasped as Jamie grabbed his neck. "This is Agent Markus. Stand down. We've been sent to retrieve you." Jamie inwardly screamed. HYDRA had found him again. He would need to leave, need to get on a plane to Russia and jump out halfway through the flight, need to escape and never look back. He would do whatever it took to protect himself from Them.

"Are you hydra?" Jamie demanded. "Who do you work for? Where are they? How did you find me?"

"I work for the same people you do," he replied smoothly, despite the hand around his neck. "Obey my orders, Soldier. Stand down. I'll take you back to where you belong."

"Rumlow's dead," Jamie growled. "I don't work for anyone. Now either answer my questions, or I'll make you." He didn't want to torture anyone, but this agent was HYDRA and he had been sent to bring Jamie back to hell, so he wouldn't feel any pity if he had to make the man scream.

"I don't believe you," Markus hissed. "Look at you. Your hand's shaking. Stand down, Soldier, or I'LL make YOU."

Jamie didn't let go. In fact, he gripped Markus' neck harder as his Other Hand swung around and connected hard with Markus' face. He grunted again, and spit out a mouthful of blood. Jamie punched him again, this time harder, and heard the man's soft cry as his jaw cracked.

"If that's how you want to play it," Markus snarled, voice laced with pain as his face began to swell. "Go!"

Suddenly, there was commotion all around him as dozens of grappling hooks attached to the edges of the roof, bringing dozens of agents with them, all heavily armed and decked out in Kevlar. Every gun was trained on him.

"You've disobeyed orders," a cold voice said, and Jamie glanced around in a desperate attempt to locate who had spoken. He recognized that voice. It sent a shiver down his spine, and he bit his cheek to stop his teeth from chattering at the onslaught of memories, memories of cold and pain and that voice barking at him as he fought against his restraints. "Surrender now, Soldier, and I might be lenient."

Jamie knew if he tried to attack, they would easily overpower him. He was good, but they had sheer numbers. Him against at least forty heavily-armed and trained agents were not odds he liked. He bowed his head in a sign of submission and quickly checked Markus. He had passed out, but Jamie could still detect a pulse. He slackened his grip and slumped his shoulders enough for it to look like he was preparing to give in, and was rewarded with the sound of some of the guns being lowered. Those were probably the ones with real bullets. He guessed the rest were tranquilizers. Without any change in body language, he took a deep breath and jumped up, slamming Markus's limp body into the nearest agent, plowing through the first two. His senses were alive with adrenaline, and he could hear the discharge of guns behind him. Reflexes kicked in and he spun the nearest agent around, hearing their cries as the bullets bounced off the Kevlar but still pierced his arms. His theory was correct as the agent's head drooped from the sedatives. Jamie wrenched the gun out of his hands, glad to find real bullets in the barrel, and used it to take out another agent, all the while moving towards one of the grappling hook lines.

The blows they landed barely registered as sheer willpower got him through the rows of agents. Stab, shoot, punch, kick. The motions were painfully familiar. He felt a sharp pain in his side and he stumbled for just a second, which left him open to more bullets. Still, his desperation kept him going. Jamie couldn't return to HYDRA. He wouldn't. Hydra had brought him agony and suffering and a shattered mind. Hydra had ripped him apart and reassembled him into a merciless killer. It was time to show them exactly what they had created.

He had been hit with a few tranquilizing darts, but they weren't enough to overpower his sped-up metabolism. He reached one of the cables and grabbed onto it with his Other Hand without hesitation. He quickly slid part of the way down before jumping off, soaring through the air for a few seconds before tucking and rolling. He jumped back to his feet effortlessly and took off down the street, shooting behind him and grinning when he heard the bullets tear through two of the agents in pursuit.

Jamie pushed all thoughts out of his brain and kept running, feet pounding on the rough asphalt, lungs burning, even when he no longer heard the sound of feet behind him. He didn't stop until he saw a Walmart right ahead. Jamie slowed down enough to push through the door without breaking it (besides the spiderweb crack that formed from his Other Arm, but he ignored that). He tucked the gun into his waistband before staggering through the aisles, ignoring the stares and muttering. He pulled his cap down further and made sure not to expose his face to any cameras. He grabbed three rolls of gauze, a sewing kit, disinfectant, and two bottles of the strongest vodka he could find. He dropped it all onto the conveyor at one of the check-outs. He had to lean against the station when a wave of dizziness from the blood loss hit him hard.

"Jesus, dude, are you okay?" the clerk asked. "Woah, you're bleeding, sir. Like, a lot." The teen- Damien, according to his nametag- swallowed. "Do you need me to call 911?"

"No," Jamie said forcefully. "It's not as bad as it looks. Just fuckin' hurry up before I bleed out."

Damien picked up his pace, scanning each item as quickly as he could manage. "Cash or card?"

Jamie reached into a pocket and withdrew the last stack of (now slightly bloody) cash from the ATM and slammed it onto the counter. Damien flinched slightly but accepted it. The teenager counted it out, eyes growing wider with each bill.

"Keep the change," Jamie growled, already beginning to limp towards the back of the store, bag of purchases in hand.

"But, sir, this is at least three hundred dollars!" Damien called, but Jamie ignored him. He needed to stop the bleeding as soon as possible, or he would pass out and someone would call an ambulance and it would all be downhill from there. He made it all the way to the men's restroom and locked the door behind him before he collapsed.

"Ah, fuck," Jamie muttered as he emptied the plastic bag and started unwrapping the supplies. His hands were fumbling and it took him longer than it should've. He eased off his jacket and shirt, which were both stuck to his skin from the dried blood, and sighed. The initial shot had merely grazed his skin, as well as the second. The third was lodged in his metal arm, but the fourth bullet was still in his shoulder. He could see the glint of metal in the wound. Jamie quickly scanned the wound to make sure he wouldn't end up doing even more damage before yanking the bullet out with a strangled yelp. He unwrapped the gauze and tore off three pieces. One was bunched up and placed under the graze on the back of his shin, and the other two were used to apply pressure to the wounds on his side and shoulder. He sat like that for exactly two minutes and thirty four seconds, fighting back nausea and intense pain the entire time. He knew the serum running through his veins helped his blood clot faster, so when he finally removed the cloth, the bleeding had almost stopped.

Jamie took a long swig out of the first vodka bottle and dragged himself over to the bathroom wall so he could lean against it before using the disinfectant on all three major injuries. By the time he was finished, he had cursed in a total of seven different languages and bit his lip hard enough for it to bleed. After that, it was easy and relatively painless to sew up the injuries and wrap them up with gauze. Once he was done, Jamie let out a long breath. The pain was still very much present, and he was still woozy from losing so much blood, but he had patched himself up and done all he could. Well, almost.

Jamie stared at the bullet lodged in his Other Arm. It was supposed to be bulletproof, but he wouldn't be surprised if they had invented bullets that could pierce its outer shell and cause just enough damage to debilitate it. He tried to move his pinky and ring finger, but nothing happened, just like when he had tried earlier. The bullet must have destroyed some of the inner workings. He couldn't feel the pain of the bullet- his Other Arm's technology wasn't sophisticated enough- but he could feel that the technology inside was damaged. He was faced with yet another choice: rip it out and hope it wouldn't cause any further harm, and spend the rest of his foreseeable future unable to move either finger, or finally return to Steve and enlist the help of Steve's friend, Tony Stark: brilliant engineer, scientist, and creator of the Iron Man suit. He was confident Stark would be able to help him, but that didn't mean he would want to. It would be a risk.

Jamie drained the rest of the vodka bottle and let his head rest on the bathroom wall he was sitting against. He had an increased metabolism, which meant he needed much stronger and much more alcohol to get intoxicated than normal humans. He still could though, especially if it was vodka and he desperately wanted to drink himself into oblivion. He finally gave in and did exactly that, chugging the entire bottle and savoring the way it burned down his throat and in his stomach, like his insides were on fire. He finally just let go and closed his eyes, drifting off on the shitty floor of a Walmart bathroom.

He stayed in the dark, murky state, not fully asleep but not conscious either. It was dreamless, something he was thankful for, but it was a light sleep and he woke up at the first noise, which happened to be an insistent knocking on the door. It took him longer than he liked to blink back into awareness, and even longer to get his bearings. The knocking returned, and he winced at how the sound grated at his skull. He pushed himself back to his feet and a multitude of aches made themselves known. Jamie groaned, bending back over to gather up his purchases and stuff them into his jacket pockets, gripping the bandages on his side to make sure the movement didn't loosen them. He then splashed his face with cold water -that's what you get for disobeying Soldier, shut the fuck up so we can start, you brought this upon yourself you little fucker- and unlocked the door. An older man with graying hair and a scowl pushed past him with a muttered "fucking junkies" and slammed the bathroom door, once again causing Jamie to cringe at the sound.

He made his way back to the front of the store, grabbing a few items as he did- brush, scissors, shampoo, shaving implements, and a pair of sunglasses. He swiped the wallet of the older man who had called him a junkie and used his money to pay for everything, then left the wallet right by the doors and left. He walked down the strip mall until he reached a McDonalds, where he claimed the bathroom for a while.

Jamie stared at his reflection in the mirror. His hair was long, even tied back in the ponytail he'd put it in, and fell to his shoulder blades. He cut, washed, and combed it out, then tied it back once more, his head feeling lighter after losing eight inches of hair. Then he carefully applied the shaving cream and shaved off his beard. By the time he was finished, he looked and felt years younger. Jamie donned the baseball cap and sunglasses and emerged, hoping it was enough to throw off his pursuers just long enough for him to make a plan. He knew They expected him to build up his artillery and form a strategy, so Jamie knew he had to do what they least expected. He thought about it as he ordered three McMuffins and two black coffees. By the time he left the fast food restaurant, Jamie knew what he would have to do.

It was time to visit the city that housed the man he was avoiding.

New York City.

A bit of a cliffhanger! Don't worry, the next chapter will be up shortly. Chapter five is the last chapter I already have written, so once it's up, update speeds will definitely slow. I don't really have an update schedule, since life often gets in the way. I'll try to update at least once a week, but we'll see how it goes. Thanks for reading, and please leave a review! It really helps! :D