Bucky threw himself into research, holing up in public libraries and stealing wi-fi when he could. There were so many places he vaguely remembered from his youth. His family home, a dance hall he had taken Steve, the corner grocery store. He was sure that if he could see those places again, it would spark new memories. But searching up addresses online revealed that most of the old places had been torn down or changed beyond recognition. He wandered his old neighborhood and didn't recognize a single thing.

Eventually, he found himself in the Captain America exhibit at the Smithsonian.

The second he set foot in the exhibit, he felt like he had gone back in time to the 1940s. There was an image of his Stevie before the serum that Bucky almost reached out to touch, the uniforms of all the Commandos, a startlingly realistic replica of Steve's shield, and Steve's beloved motorcycle.

He came to a stop in front of a large display dedicated to the life of and supposed death of James Buchanan Barnes. It was his face and his body, but he might as well have been looking at a stranger's image. He just wasn't the same man anymore.

From there, Bucky traveled abroad with a notebook full of scraps of memories. He moved from country to country, visiting towns he had fought through in the war. He never stayed in one place for long. Hydra was still out there somewhere. He couldn't let them find him and make him back into the monster he had been.

It took almost a year for him to work his way to Bucharest. He couldn't stay there forever, he knew that. But he had set himself up in a tiny apartment that reminded him of Steve's cramped little place back in the 40s and after a few weeks there he found himself reluctant to leave.

He kept to himself for the most part, venturing out of the apartment only when he had to get food. It wasn't safe for him to be out on the streets for too long. The market he frequented was only a block away from his apartment which meant he was usually out of the building for no more than an hour.

His favorite things to buy at the market were plums. They were a rare indulgence, bought only when he had some spare change and enough supplies in stock. Because he was living by scrounging for discarded items and carefully using false documents, having a full stock of supplies was a rarity. Today was only the second time he felt he could afford the plums.

Bucky carefully picked through the plums on offer and finally selected one that looked ripe and juicy. He savored his treat slowly, lingering outdoors a little longer than usual before he finally started heading back to his apartment.

As he was about to cross the first street back from the market, carefully keeping an eye out for the police or Hydra, he noticed a newspaper vendor giving him an odd look. The man stared right at him with wide eyes and then raced off, abandoning his stall.

Bucky crossed the street and snatched up the paper the man had left sitting on his stall. There on the front cover was an image of him supposedly planting a bomb at the embassy in Vienna.

Fuck. He knew he shouldn't have stayed put for so long. Now he was going to have to leave quickly and didn't have time to plan his next location.

He hurried back to his apartment, quietly letting himself in through an open window.

Unfortunately, he wasn't alone. There was a man poking around in his kitchen with his back to him. But Bucky recognized the broad shoulders beneath the uniform. Steve. Steve had found him.

As if he could sense him, Steve's back suddenly went rigid and he turned around slowly. He regarded Bucky carefully. "You know me?"

Of course he knew him. Steve was the one thing he knew with any certainty. But he was too dangerous to be around now. Steve would be safer if he gave up on him as a lost cause.

"You're Steve," Bucky said carefully. He averted his eyes. "I read about you in a museum."

"I know you're nervous. You have plenty of reason to be," Steve said soothingly.

"I wasn't in Vienna. I don't do that anymore."

"I know," Steve said. "But there are people who think you did. They're on their way here right now. And they're not planning on taking you alive."

"That's smart. Good strategy."

Bucky's eyes flicked upwards. He could hear movement overhead. Somebody was on the roof.

"This doesn't have to end in a fight, Buck."

"It always ends in a fight." Bucky clenched his fist and prepared for the inevitable.

The first projectile through the window was a stun grenade, easily blocked with Steve's shield. Bucky kicked the second one aside and shielded his face from the blast. But the flash bang came through another window and caught Bucky off guard. Before he could get rid of it, it went off, temporarily blinding him.

There was a loud crash as someone came through the windows, the sound of the door splintering, and the pop of gunfire. Bucky's right side erupted in pain.

And then he woke up on the mattress on the floor of his apartment.

Bucky scrubbed his flesh hand over his face and sighed. When he had woken up for the first time that morning, all he had wanted was one goddamn plum. But he should have known better. His life just wasn't that easy.

He should have headed straight out of town. If he didn't stop at the market, he'd probably make it to the train station before anyone was on to him. But, well, he was tired of running. And as stupid as it was, he did want to see Steve again, even if it got him killed a few times.

So Bucky started every version of the day the same way. If he was going to die, he was at least going to savor his plum first. He lingered out in the open, letting himself be seen and resolutely ignored the news seller dashing off to inform the police of his whereabouts.

After six different deaths, Bucky had gotten the timing down pat and arrived back in his apartment shortly after Steve's arrival.

He watched Steve reach for his memory notebook and grimaced. "Stop touching my stuff, Steve."

Steve turned around and beamed at him. "You know me."

"Course I know you, punk. Can't forget a trouble magnet like you. You're going to get me killed." His eyes narrowed. "Again."

Steve's smile dimmed. "God, Buck. I never meant for anything to happen to you."

"It doesn't matter." He shoved Steve aside and snatched the notebook out of his hands.

"Of course it matters! Buck, I-"

"And tell your fucking cat guy to stay the fuck out of my way."

Steve's forehead creased. "Who?"

"Not with you then. Good."

Steve grasped Bucky's arm. "I'm not letting you kill anyone."

Bucky shrugged him off. "I don't do that kind of thing anymore."

"But there are people-"

"Who think I do. Yeah, I know."

Steve sagged and he made a helpless gesture with one hand. "So I suppose you already know German special forces are on their way here."

"Yeah, no thanks to you," Bucky muttered.

"I'm not with them," Steve said. "I'm trying to protect you from them."

"Well, maybe you'll do a better job of that this time." He punched a hole into the floorboards and pulled out the backpack that held all of his meager supplies.

"Buck," Steve said with a sigh. "There doesn't have to be a fight."

"Bullshit. You don't even believe that." Bucky shifted, eyes flicking from the window to the door. They had maybe seconds before the battle started.

"We can still fix this," Steve pleaded.

"No, we can't. You can fix a busted window. But you can't just plaster over an international incident."

Right on cue, the glass shattered.

Steve swung the shield backwards and the stun grenade exploded in the kitchen. Bucky kicked the second grenade towards Steve and watched with satisfaction as Steve trapped it under his shield.

Bucky moved towards the other window and shoved his mattress up towards the window, blocking the flash bang.

It was always going to be Steve's first time in the fight, but he moved with practiced ease, matching Bucky's movements as if they had choreographed the battle together. God, was Bucky glad to have his best friend backing him up.

While Steve worked to keep the police force occupied, Bucky tossed his backpack out the ruined window onto the rooftop of the building next door and made his way out of his apartment towards the stairs.

There were swarms of police outside the door and even with the benefit of having gone through the experience several times, it was hard to fight so many people at once. He was really trying not to kill anyone, just get them off his back and keep them down for awhile. But he hit one man hard enough that he went toppling over the railing.

A few steps below, Steve leaned over and grabbed the man before he could plummet to his death. He leveled Bucky with an exasperated look. "C'mon, man."

Bucky gave him a savage grin and elbowed the man he knew was coming up behind him. It had been so long since his days fighting at Steve's side, but this was really bringing back old memories. Maybe once they got out of this place, they could team up again, just like old times.

But now was not the time to be thinking of the future. He had to focus on the present.

Bucky took a deep breath and paused to calculate the trajectory of a jump across the stairwell. It had hurt like a bitch when he had impaled himself on the goddamn railing. And Steve had refused to just shoot him and put him out of his misery. Goddamn stubborn punk. At least the special forces had been all too eager to oblige.

This time, Bucky cleared the jump without issue and proceeded down the stairs to the best level to jump across to the neighboring roof and grab his bag. He'd have to be wary of the guy in the black clawed catsuit once he hit the rooftop, but he wasn't going to let him catch him this time.

Bucky hit the roof on the other side, rolled to his feet and started running. He knew where the cat guy was going to tackle him and he was just going to run a different way and head down the other side of the building, jumping from balcony to balcony until he made it to street level.

The cat guy was still on his tail, but Bucky just kept running. At the edge of his consciousness, he noted that Steve was a little distance behind them, desperately trying to catch up. But Bucky couldn't slow down. He spotted the opening to an underground tunnel and jumped down, dodging traffic.

So far, this was the furthest he had made it without getting killed, but he tried not to get too excited about his chances. He could hear sirens approaching, which didn't bode well for him. A man on foot didn't have much chance outrunning a car. He needed to get faster.

Spotting an oncoming motorcycle, Bucky made his move. He yanked the man off the bike and gunned it.

He was almost out of the tunnel. He could see daylight in front of him. But as soon as he cleared the tunnel, the cat man took a flying leap at his motorcycle and punctured the tires with his sharp claws.

Steve tackled the cat guy to the ground, but it was too late. They were surrounded by police cars. The escape attempt was over.

At least the task force was no longer intent on killing him on sight now. He was arrested, waiting for extradition. And before they took him off to trial, they wanted to interrogate him.

Bucky was led inside a secured room with a big glass pod sitting in the middle. Inside the pod, he was strapped into a complex series of restraints. It was a ridiculous amount of overkill in Bucky's opinion. But whatever it took to make the task force feel better.

A small man in spectacles entered the room with a laptop bag and a clipboard. "Hello, Mr. Barnes. I've been sent by the United Nations to evaluate you. I'm not here to judge you. I only want to ask you a few questions."

Bucky rolled his eyes. "I don't want to talk about it."

The psychiatrist nodded and made a note on his clipboard. "You feel that if you open your mouth, the horrors might never stop. But don't worry. I'm only going to ask you about one."

The psychiatrist pulled a red book out of his bag and held it up so Bucky could see the star on its cover.

Bucky shuddered and swallowed convulsively. He knew that book all too well.

He struggled against his restraints as the man started to read the trigger words. "No! Stop!"

But the psychiatrist read on, seeming to take pleasure in Bucky's pain.

It was the worst fate imaginable. He had worked so hard to free himself from Hydra's programming and now he could feel himself slipping under again.