Chapter 4-A Not So Rude Awakening

Third Person:

Bucky was instantly alert the moment he opened his eyes. Where was he? Wherever it was it was to soft compared to what he was used to. It was uncomfortably so. But that didn't bother him like the lack of clothes did.

He quickly sat up and pulled the blankets off of him. He still had his pants, thankfully, but he wasn't wearing a shirt of his shoes.

That meant that someone had seen his arm, and the faint scars that were scattered across his chest from various missions. And because he didn't have his shirt of jacket, he was unarmed. He had only been carrying his knife and his SIG-the only gun he didn't get rid of when he decided to run away. That meant someone took it. He-or she, judging by the lingering smell of peppermint-took it and hid it, or threw it out completely.

He was thankful for all of the languages and hand-to-hand combat. He could kill a man with a ballpoint pen in 335 completely different ways, so he didn't necessarily need a gun. It would, however, help him sleep better at night.

Speeking of which, how did he get here? He remembered he had just finsihed burying a body. The one of Tyler Clark, the man who made the chemicals and such that were injected into Bucky. Then he had ran. But he had been to busy covering his tracks that he hadn't bothered to pay attention to the road. Then there was a pair of bright lights and...

Then it was just darkness. Next thing he knew, he was waking up in the strange room that smelled like feet and peppermint and a little bit of cinnamon mixed into it. It was an odd smell, but one he wasn't about to get used to. He would be leaving soon. He just needed his clothes back.

He swung his legs off the side of the bed and bent down to put his boots on with the grace that only an assassin or a spy could ever have. He quickly pulled them on and tied them, barely even glancing at the laces as he tucked the extra inside of his boot out of habit.

Then he felt a need. It was as annoying as having to eat and sleep. He never had to do that as the Winter Soldier. Not often, anyway.

But having to use the restroom every few hours despite the fact that he hardly ever drank anything, and when he did, they weren't very large drinks. Only enough to get by, because in his mind, he was always at risk of being caught. Always at risk of being killed, or worse.

But he had already been through the worse. Death would seem like a gift at this point.

Once he was done, he looked in the mirror. The bags under his eyes had only grown. He was sure that if he wanted to get on a plane, he would be charged extra for luggage. His bags that had bags had bags. His face was sunken in from lack of nutrients, and his hair was a mess. It probably smelled, too.

He was in someone else's home. He was in a bathroom. There was soap. He could get things a bit more managed, and he could smell. He was sure that anyone who came within a two foot radius would gag from the smell. So he took a chance and hopped in the shower.

Because Bucky was so paranoid he was only in there for maybe ten minutes, despite how much he wanted to stay under the warm spray of water. It was welcoming, and he felt almost safe under it, like it was a safety blanket.

But he was, again, paranoid.

He stepped out and, much to his disapproval, there was no towel. He hadn't thought this out all the way when he made the split decision to take a shower. He huffed and peeked his head outside.

The door was closed, and there was no sign of entry or exit, except for the fact that the bed was made, and lying on top was his shirt, jacket, a pair of pants that weren't his, a belt, and a pair of socks folded neatly near his pillow. Right next to it was two towels. He almost let out a sigh of relief, but weapons didn't make sounds, and he would be a weapon until he killed every person who was linked with the Winter Soldier program.

He quickly got dressed and headed out. The pants were jeans, and they fit rather well with the belt. Without it they were a little to big. The shirt and jacket felt nice against his skin. They weren't crusted with dirt or blood, and they smelled fresh. He hadn't even realized that he was in need of a clean pair of socks until he put the pair on. It felt much better than the dirty, crusty pair he had been wearing for weeks. He zipped his jacket up all the way to hide any signs of metal from his arm and headed outside.

It didn't take Bucky very long before he found the living room. And through the living room, his nose and stomach betrayed him, because the living room as directly connected to the kitchen. Bucky's mouth watered, and his legs started to move in the opposite direction of the front door.

When he got inside, he was only half surprised to see a woman sitting at the wooden table, eating a slice of bacon.

She had long, golden hair with vibrant blue and green stripes, as if they had been put there the night before, pulled into a wet ponytail. She wore a white tank top, but he couldn't see her bottom half. She looked up at him with big, green eyes that reminded him of freshly grown grass, a slice of bacon in her mouth. She quickly swallowed and sat up straight.

"Oh, you're awake. Awesome. Sorry about my friend hitting you with his car and everything. He's always been a shitty driver. Anyway," she bent down to pick something up next to her, and he tensed up greatly, expecting the worst. But she only came up with a pair of crutches.

"Anyway," she continued saying as she stood up, revealing a pair of black basketball shorts and only one leg, "Do you want some food? My friend, John, the guy who hit you, went out before I woke up and bought some food, and left with a note of 'thanks, you owe me one.' So I washed your clothes, made some breakfast...All of that good stuff."

Bucky stayed silent. She might only had one leg, but he could tell by her body language that she didn't trust him despite how nice she was being. From every angle she walked at, he was in her line of sight. Not only that, but he noticed how she seemed oddly muscular for a girl, and she had dog tags around her neck. That led him to believe that she had been in the armed forces of sorts.

"So...About that breakfast? Do you wanna serve yourself, or what? I mean, I made plenty, so eat to your heart's content. I don't really care."

Bucky watched with a steady gaze as she made herself a glass of orange juice and carefully sat back down.

Bucky slowly, hesitantly, cautiously walked forward and grabbed a plate. There were pancakes, bacon, scrambled eggs...And it all smelled so good. So he allowed himself this one pleasure by trusting that the food was at least edible and piled his plate high.