AN: This scene had to be written, it is not same universe as previous oneshot and takes place after events of the show. Hopefully the flashbacks are easy to tell, but if not, well, they're separated by a linebreak (why can't I use a dash?) so, now you know. It really bothers me they haven't shown how Bucky transitioned from 70 years of relying on orders to being himself and having choices, and before that he was in the military taking orders as well. He's spent more time under close control and not having options then he has with options.

Torres had just left after briefing Sam on what he'd missed while out on the last mission with Bucky. "Well, looks like we have the rest of the evening free, I'm famished man. What do you wanna get?"

Bucky's lips quirked, "Who says I wanna eat with you?"

"Com'on WALL-E, you pick I'm buyin'."

Bucky opened his mouth to answer but stopped himself. He couldn't say it. He pulled out his knives to start wiping grime -no blood this time- off and to give himself a moment to answer without looking like he was doing so. He enjoyed bantering with Sam, enjoyed the comradery although he'd never say it out loud, why couldn't he answer a simple question when the answer was on the tip of his tongue? It was so stupid!

Just answer the man!

Instead he said, "Yeah you definitely owe me dinner for that save."

"Say what? I had that guy at the airport I was like, Pow pow! And my wings were like, shinkt! Oh no you don't bullets! I had that dude. You just wanted to show off, admit it."

This was much easier, the banter. "Yeah yeah, if that helps you feel better about yourself flappy bird."

"You play flappy bird? Let me see your phone, what balls you have unlocked?" Sam spotted Bucky's phone on the worktable and made to grab it but Bucky was quicker and snatched it up just as Torres came back in to retrieve his jacket.

"You don't need to see my balls Sam." Bucky deadpanned.

Torres blinked, "Wow, did not see that one coming guys."

Sam crossed his arms, "We talkin' flappy bird man, get outta here."

"Oh you guys play flappy bird? That's so old now."

Both Bucky and Sam quirked an annoyed eyebrow at the same time, "Out Torres."

Torres raised his hands in mock surrender, grabbed his jacket and left.

Sam smiled and shook his head, "Seriously though man what'chu want?"

The smile faded from Bucky's face and he turned back towards his knives hoping to hide the expression. Why couldn't he just answer? What the hell is wrong with me? His grip tightened on the knife and his gaze seemed to fall past the knife and into nothing.

Sam waited a moment, and had a moment of clarity when he looked at Bucky and saw the intent look on his face. "You gonna bore through that metal with that cyborg stare of yours Buck." Sam walked over and leaned back against the table next to Bucky and crossed his arms. "Its okay to tell me to pick you know. Its okay to still have a hard time, having choices."

Bucky swallowed and closed his eyes, "Its not that." It is.

"Mhmm."

Bucky's brow furrowed deeper and he opened his eyes, "Okay it is. It's, I don't know why I can't say it." He struggled.

Sam put his hand on Bucky's shoulder, "I think you know why. And its understandable dude, you spent almost 70 years probably not taking a piss unless you were told to. Choices are, new for you, it's a huge change."

Sam gets it? He's never talked about it, not even with his therapist, but Sam seemed to just get it.

Sam went on, "And you were on your own after pulling Steve from the river. How long did it take before you even fed yourself?"

Bucky was at once relieved Sam got it, and ashamed at the same time. He curled in on himself and his next words came out breathless, "I um, it took awhile." He admitted. "I knew I could change clothes, as the asset," and Bucky nearly choked on the word, "as the asset I had to be able to blend in and hide and wait for my handler if needed. So I did that, but I couldn't, beyond that I couldn't. It was a battle."

The asset had just pulled Captain America from the Potomac, Americas super soldier coughed up water, his serum ensuring his lungs expelled the water he'd taken in after falling from the helicarrier, ensuring survival. Satisfied he hadn't jumped for nothing, that the man lived, the asset backed away and fled.

The asset continued walking through the thick foliage, finding himself walking through campgrounds conveniently emptied since everyone had fled at the site of massive airships crashing into the ground. The asset knew what he needed to do, there was a rendezvous location at Haines Point, south of where they had washed up. He now stood at a crossroads, would he go and wait for Hydra to pick him up? Or would he keep traveling and unravel the mystery presented by the blonde man who hadn't fought back? His mind went in circles and he would have stood there all day in indecision if the wind hadn't suddenly snapped an advertisement flag taught alongside a street lamp. The assets eyes narrowed on the poster, the face of the man he had just dragged from the river looking back at him.

Smithsonian exhibit. It wasn't far from here, a little under 3 miles. He would go there and learn more. A mission he could accomplish.

If he wanted to survive outside Hydra he needed to blend in. He took clothes that had been left out on a picnic table from a campsite that had been left in the midst of setting up and changed in the campsites bathroom stall. He stowed his weapons in a likewise pilfered backpack from the same campsite. This he could do, he'd had several missions where extraction came late. Often times in the wilderness where he didn't need to worry about being in the public eye but a few times, he'd been in the city, and had had to dress accordingly and then wait at a rendezvous point for his handler. He'd once waited three days in the rain, sitting stoically on a public park bench before his handler had caught up to him. But this time he wasn't waiting.

His first mission was to find a place to hide and recoup his energy. He made his way to I-395 N, there was a walking path over the river alongside the highway, under it had several places to dig in and hide. He chose a spot where he would be hidden and undisturbed, unseen when people would undoubtedly start trickling in after the explosions, and he slept.

He didn't know how long he had slept, but eventually he made it to the museum a crossed the river. And then he saw it, his face on that display "James 'Bucky' Barnes" 1917-1945. And now he was remembering, little things. Little things were trickling in like how his ma' used to scold him when he didn't remember to take off his hat when entering the house, and how she made the best stuffed cabbage in the world but the worst fried chicken.

And it was terrifying because remembering meant the chair and the chair was pain.

But I'm allowed to remember because I'm not going back to them. But I'm not allowed to not go back, I'm not allowed to make that choice I am the asset. Assets don't need to make choices Hydra makes the assets choices. Except, except I've already made a choice and now I'm here and I'm not there and I'm remembering and I am allowed to remember because I'm not going back.

I'm not going back I'm not going back I'm not going back.

Sam had hoisted himself onto the worktable so that now their shoulders and sides were touching, reminding Bucky he was in the present, not alone staring at his own exhibit in the Smithsonian. Bucky's face was turned away from Sam but Sam had no doubt there were tears in the mans eyes as he brokenly explained the logic loop his brain had been caught up in at the time.

"After I snapped out of it, a noise or something, I think some kid tipped a queue stand, my eyes locked onto where it said my family came from. I knew I could get there and hide."

"Romania?"

Bucky nodded, then explained how he knew the locations of hidden hydra stashes where currency and weapons could be found. Money would get him where he needed to go and the places he used to take him wouldn't need a passport. Although eventually he had made use of the memory's he had of people who could supply him fake papers. He'd been careful to choose suppliers who weren't keen on hydra attention and wouldn't be calling them to gain favors by reporting sightings of the Winter Soldier.

Sam realized they had gotten off the topic of his original question but he knew Bucky needed to tell this story. To share those days of confusion and panic.

There was a few minutes of silence, the only noise Bucky's heavy, slow breathing. "Rations were before a mission. Wake up, drink my ration, ordered to the bathroom, get dressed. After mission's I had to report, have my arm checked," Sam didn't miss that Bucky curled his vibranium arm into his lap as he said this. His next words were just above a whisper, "Punishment if I made mistakes on my mission, then the chair. Always the chair to make sure I wasn't, wasn't malfunctioning. And then back into the cold." He shivered despite the warmth of the evening.

"Cryo?" But Sam knew the answer to that.

Bucky nodded. "That was my life for so long, I didn't know how to start. I didn't know how to..." He swallowed, "The first thing I ate made me sick."

Asset, Bucky? ...was standing on the sidewalk, a hot dog cart ahead of him. It had been several hours since he had his ration and he had to take in something. He saw several people walk up and order and get their food. He had found money in his stolen backpack, he could use it to get something to eat. He had memories of eating food, that's what people did, he remembered. He could do this. But indecision froze him and made his feet feel cemented into the earth. He was disobeying so many rules now...

"Dude are you okay?"

Bucky's eyes snapped to the speaker, muscles tight and ready to spring. But it was a husky teenager who had stopped in front of him, armful of wrapped hotdogs and standing with a friend, a girl who nudged him and whispered harshly, "Dont talk to weird strangers." The boy whispered back, "Look at his eyes Betty, this dudes jacked up." Bucky ignored the two, but was startled nearly to violence when the teenager thrust a hotdog into his chest and said, "Here man, you look like you need it." And walked off, not realizing the danger he had been in.

"Man a hot dog, that'd mess up anyone's digestive system."

"Didn't help that it took me half a day to work up the nerve to eat it. I just, stared at it." Bucky was sure his face was red.

"That I can believe." And if Sam's shoulder bumped his just a little, that was okay.

"I puked it up pretty fast. I didn't try hot dogs again for a long time. I ended up at the docks though a day later, I was a little out of it from everything, I must have looked terrible too because some old lady ushered me into a soup kitchen, sat me down and put a bowl of brothy soup in front of me. It must have been less busy than usual too because she just kept refilling my bowl, never said a word," his voice cracked and Sam could tell he was openly crying now.

Sam never felt so grateful to a stranger he'd never met than in that moment. He could just imagine Bucky passing out from hunger over the edge of the boat to Romania, the criminals he had paid to not ask questions not caring whether their passenger drowned or not as long as they'd been paid.

He wondered if the kitchen was still around and if it was maybe he could publicly commend them for their efforts or something. But it'd been years, and with the snap and subsequent blip there was no telling what had happened after. Still though, he made a note to look into it.

Sam cleared his throat, now feeling a little misty eyed himself, "Man you just took me on an emotional roller coaster. I'm gonna hug you now dammit, and its your fault so you cant tell me not to."

Sam reached over and pulled Bucky into a hug, he resisted for just a second as shame filled him to the brim, but when Sam pulled him he gave way and let himself be pulled in to Sams chest. And damn if this wasnt his first hug in over 70 years. Bucky went limp in Sam's arms and just cried. All this over one little choice? So pathetic.

As if Sam had read his thoughts he spoke, "Its all good man, you just cry it out." And Sam meant it. He only held admiration for the man, and if he needed to bare his soul and cry on his shoulder he'd be there for him.

When Bucky finally calmed, Sam knew he'd be mortified. "Hey Buck? I'm still starving. What the hell are stuffed cabbages?"

Bucky was relieved and took the way out as he straightened, "What do you mean, don't you ever travel? How have you not had stuffed cabbage?" And if Bucky's voice was a little raspy Sam didn't comment on it as Bucky swiped his face several times.

"I mean I've had smothered cabbage, cuz you know, that's how cabbage is meant to be eaten." He slung his arm around Bucky's shoulders as they walked out of the hangar, "I'll ask Sarah to make some this weekend. We can head over after dinner. Since you never picked I get to pick. And no arguing cuz' you took too long and now its too late brother." With his free arm Sam opened his phone and googled Romanian Restaurants, "No whining about my choice either."

Bucky sniffed, "As long as its not hotdogs." He was still subtly wiping his face as he allowed himself to be led outside, listening as Sam sassed him about the restaurant and going on about smothered cabbage. He felt a load off his chest, he felt so much lighter like he'd just float off if it wasn't for Sam's arm a crossed his shoulders, and when Sam had casually called him 'brother' Bucky had felt that deep in his bones. This was his brother in all but blood, in all the things that mattered.

"I still hate you birdman."

"Right back at you terminator."