It's not surprising, really, that Sam's hand slips down to his gun, finger on the safety catch. Not when the Winter Soldier, the living breathing winter fricking soldier, is standing not ten feet away - his own hand inside a pocket gripping something Sam strongly suspects might sting a little if used.

The Soldier's head's bowed enough that the checkpoint guys have to ask him to look up, but, from this angle, Falcon can see his eyes flicking around - quickly finding all their 'hidden' back up. When, for a second, steel blue eyes lock onto Sam he braces further into his stance - resisting the flight or fight urge that thrills through his nerves. Even with the metal arm, currently broken, hidden under an aged denim jacket Falcon doesn't doubt the damage that the Soldier would cause if he felt it necessary. He totally gets the whole backup squad that's standing in the shadows "just incase something happens" (Read: "If we've misread this whole thing and 'Bucky''s gonna try and kill us then I'd at least like someone in the vicinity to clear away my corpse").

Clint on the other hand had rolled his eyes when he'd heard they were sending an enforcement team to escort an man off a plane.

("Really? 23:1, including the better half of us lot? C'mon man, you wouldn't exactly call those betting odds, would you?"

"Better half my ass"
"Oh, I'd forgotten Bruce and Thor aren't coming with us."

"Clint we've got no idea how he'll respond - he could still be conditioned for all we know."

"Yeah yeah, I know. I'm just saying,- you seem to have forgotten what our day job is.")

Even though he's not in Sam's line of sight Hawkeye's gaze is almost palpable, arrow pointed straight at the Soldier's sternum. The Soldier can tell too, if the full body shudder he just gave is any sign. He looks pretty tense but doesn't appear to be resisting Steve's guiding arm as they begin to walk toward the cars. Actually, it's Steve who keeps looking like he's going to learn in and say something, or punch someone, but pulls his gaze forward again before he can.

Sam wonder's what's going on in the Soldier's mind. Whether he's aware that the security is there for that exactly, security. Not, say, to attack him, for instance. He wonder's whether the Soldier's thinking at all. He wouldn't be that surprised, he's seen plenty of veterans do something similar, disassociating from everything - functioning basically on autopilot. The Solider hasn't lashed out yet - so Sam presumes that he's aware enough to know they aren't there to harm him. Or that he simply doesn't care anymore.

To be entirely honest Hawkeye's not entirely sure how exactly they got to this point, with the Soldier actually about to (hopefully) drive three hours with them to a nearby safe house where they'll stay until (if) he's cleared back into civilisation, rather than, say, lost in eastern Europe doing hell knows what. Being honest, there was a fairly large part of him that didn't even think they'd get this far. He'd trust Natasha's judgement with his life, but the comic books hadn't been wrong when they painted Steve as the idealist he is.

It's maybe because he doesn't quite believe that they've got this far without a hitch that Clint saw the the black smudge on Aron's wrist almost as soon as he stepped off the plane and handed his papers over. Of course, then, he didn't know that the S.H.I.E.L.D fight attendant was called Aron. He knows that now - it's practically the only thing he knows though. The kid's good, Clint has to admit. He's just repeating his S.H.I.E.L.D number system and name over and over, no matter how hard Clint presses palm into his jugular or knee into his lower stomach. The man's got to be in fair amount of pain now, and he'll almost certainly know the chance of survival from this point in is negligible. He's bleeding out from the impact wound, an slightly barbed arrow had gone diagonally into the middle of his back. The the tip of which is still embedded in torn tissue.

"Who sent you?" Hawkeye finds the tip and twists slightly

"I t-old you… I'm S.H.I.E.L.D Ag'nt 423—6J—R—"

"S.H.I.E.L.D doesn't exist anymore. Who sent you?"

"Fu-Fury, Director Fury I'm assisting Fury —S.H.I.E.L.D Agent 43—"

Hawkeye hounds the man further against the wall,

"I'll repeat. Who sent you?" Aron continues to stare at him, eyes enlarged with a lack of oxygen, repeating the same continuous code. "What house d'you work for?"

"House? I-I'm-I work for S.H.I.E.L.D"

"S.H.I.E.L.D doesn't exist. Who do you work for?" When he get's no answer Hawkeye asks again, accentuating every word with an amount of pressure on the arrow. Aron's about to loose consciousness again and Clint needs answers before then. The blood on Hawkeye's hand is wet and warm.

"I-I-There's not a- I don't know. Please, I don't know-"

"That's ok. Tell me who you're working for and it'll stop hurting." He really is still a kid. Hawkeye wonders how long he's been working with them.

"I-there's a - please please I can't I don't-" He's terrified, whimpering a little, slight tears tracking their way through long lashes.

"The asset yes?"

"He-the trial- I, he - they're going - to take - I don't know 'm sorry I don't please -"

"Ok. I need the name of your house, then you can go."

"I-I don't work for - not a house - I- a man. H-He didn't I don't have a name - he - they called him Don - The Don - please I don't know his name —"

"Aww crap."

Hawkeye releases the boy completely, as he finally looses consciousness for the last time. He grabs the kid's documents and leaves - joining the others near the cars. The blood on his hand is beginning to dry and he wipes it on his gear as he runs.

The Soldier sits.

The metal arm spasms slightly now and then, you wouldn't notice it except the electrical charge is making the fingers twitch ever so slightly.

The bird man (Sam, his name is Sam) sits on one side of him. The Captain, Stevie, is on the other side. He might be asleep. Listening to his breathing the Soldier, James Barnes of the 107th, thinks he might be.

He's restless, relentless.

Skin itches, a need to fight. To flee. Pointed pricks of pain.

Only it's not pain. It's background noise.

The screaming too ("Who the hell is Bucky?" "Your name is James Buchanan Barnes". James Barnes don't exist. -Steve!- He died in 1941. You're a weapon. a gift to mankind. "You're my friend." Steve? Steve… ), it's all just background noise. And somewhere behind that there's blackness. Still, he doesn't flee, doesn't fight. He sits and tries to think about squat. Not thinking was easier when there wasn't anything to think about; or any reason to want to think.

They're in two cars, using one that the support squad brought. Sam, Steve and the Solider in one, a guy with a gun driving, and Clint and Natasha in the other. It's an peculiar kind of procession they make as they press through the morning, passing the border into Indiana State. You wouldn't know that the red Mazda, which is ostentatious as fuck and clearly belongs to Tony Stark (only it doesn't, Natasha won it off him last month), houses two of the most dangerous people you'll ever meet. Or that in the black Sudan three cars in front sits the most dangerous. Behind is a handful of select agents, just in case.

They're headed toward a safe house Natasha knows - near enough Lawrence that civilisation isn't ever out of reach but far enough that if something were to go wrong, civilians won't be compromised.

Even though she drove all yesterday, Natasha stopped the car 40 minutes ago and told Clint to get out of the driving seat.

("W-what're you doing?"

"You, out. I'm driving, I'd rather not die before we get there please."

"I don't think we're going to—"

"No, but you're tapping again and I know you Clint. If you're tapping you're not concentrating.")

The thing is, he's still tapping and it's not that Natasha's not getting irritated, it's actually exceedingly annoying, but tapping and Clint never go well together.

"Stop."

"Huh? Oh. Sorry." Clint looks down at his hand, like he's only just realising he has one. To his credit he does stop tapping. For all of two minutes.

"Clint…"

He blinks a few times, and focuses on his fingers, which stop tapping again.

"Where did you go, huh?"

"Sorry I just… Today's been kinda weird, you know?"

"Yeah. Only a couple'a hours now though."

"Huh, can't wait to get in'a bed again. Maybe have a sandwich or somethin' first though." Natasha smiles slightly, and if one of her hands reaches over to rest on his then he doesn't say anything.

The car hums to itself for a few minutes and Natasha switches into the outside lane, which is almost entirely empty.

"You know how we weren't sure who's looking for The Winter— for Bucky? I think, I might have an idea at least of one person. Or rather, peoples." Clint says, suddenly.

"Oh?"

"Yeah, you remember the guys who took my ears?"

"Yes…"

"Well, the kid today, from the airplane —"

"—The security one?"

"Did you see his wrist?"

"Only quickly. Why? Was he..?"

"Yeah… I, um, he's not a problem anymore - although his friends might be… He, uh, told me a couple've interesting things…"

Someone give this kid a pay rise and cut the damn check. Sam glances over at their driver when this particular thought passes through his consciousness. The kid, in question is the driver, who, at this point, hasn't raised an eyebrow (or a gun) at whose sat in his car. It's not possible that he hasn't heard the horrific stories about his passenger and Sam wonders what they were trained for, these kids back at S.H.I.E.L.D school. Whatever it is, he must be fearless - or really, really stupid.

The Soldier has barely moved since they got in the car, a couple'a hours ago, though, and Sam is starting to relax a bit as the adrenaline seeps away, even if it does mean that it leaves space for the paralytic exhaustion to creep back, bit by bit. He'd risk sleeping for a bit, only Steve's already snoring quietly and, even though he isn't posing to much of a threat, the Soldier is still staring straight ahead. Instead Sam sits back and lets random thoughts swim around his head for a bit.

He's reminded of the morning, where, were he supposes the 'hunt' for Barnes had begun, in his mind at least. Contrary to Steve, who believes that it began back when S.H.I.E.L.D fell, Sam would say that it was the morning Black Widow had appeared, unannounced, in his kitchen ("Jesus fuck Nat there's a door most people start with, y'know, knocking") that it actually begun.

The Beginning. (Or at least The Beginning according to Sam Wilson, The Falcon):

"Jesus fuck Nat there's a door, most people start with, y'know, knocking" He's covered in sweat and really just wants to shower, eat and sleep a couple more hours before he has to pick Steve up from the airport.

"Hey Sam, you don't mind do you? I need to lay low for a couple of days. I brought you a present." She gestures to the large crate that Sam's just tripped over on his way to the fridge.

"I can see. Who's on your case this time? More importantly—" He says with a mouthful of bagel "—am I going to have to infiltrate anything again? Juice?"

" No thanks, I ate already." She sits as Sam continues preparing his breakfast.

"So, what up?"

"Your /hideous/ light fitting." She bends to pull a folder out of her bag just as a spatular goes flying at her head. She catches it with one hand and throws it back before Sam registers she actually caught it. "No seriously, I can't believe you haven't replaced it yet."

"I wasn't the one who shot the old one with an arrow in the first place."

"Neither was I."

"It was definitely your idea though. 'Oh Clint let's see who can reck more of Falcon's possessions in one go while trying to send objects though the closed window.' - yeah sure, you're totally innocent in that scenario."

"What was that voice?! I don't sound like that… Anyway have a look at this, it's a basic summary of the who and the what parts at least." Sam tips the scrabbled eggs onto his plate, flicking through the fairly thick file.

"So this terrorist gang, the what - Maggia? - these guys, they're trying to kill you?"

"If by kill you mean maim, torture, and extract information from, then yeah sure. Not all of them though, see, these ones are split up into houses."

"And the assets are the ones blocking my fridge then?"

"I'm taking them to a storage unit not far from here. They might be useful one day."

"Wait - You don't actually want them?" Sam turns from the sink, spinning almost comically.

"Not really."

"Nope, m'not following…walk me through that again; You stole a whole bunch of shit which got an unknown terrorist organisation chasing you're ass for /no reason at all/? Is this some kind of scary assassin mid-life crisis is it because—"

"Haha very funny" Natasha deadpans. "Don't worry we've got a few more years before that sets in, I assure you. I needed in to the facility, and while I was there I found them. You didn't run with Steve this morning?" It's not really a question, more of a statement.

"I - he's not in town right now. I though you knew that?"

"Yeah but he was coming back on tuesday, I skyped him monday night once I got on the ground."

"He rang tuesday morning, said he was staying a few more days; I'm picking him up this afternoon…"

"Huh, that's odd. He's a shit lier, I'd've known if he was. Wonder what changed his mind?"

"Damnit Steve, you'd better got a good reason this time… So these crazy folks chasing your ass, you got a plan?"

"Lay low a couple of days then I'll go back, take them down from the top - easy, quick, minimal fall out. I don't think I was the only one who broke into the storage facility where the assets were though. There was damage to the security panel, not extensive but definitely sophisticated. Whoever did it's been trained properly at some point. There was, uh, bits missing, at a guess, stuff that could be used to repair some kind of metal prosthesis."

"You don't mean - he's been there?"

"Maybe. Maybe we'll know, depending on what Steve's found - wherever he's gotten to. Don't tell him anything just yet though?"

"Sure. I'm working this afternoon but I was gonna drop Steve 'round the tower when he gets in."

"I guess I'll see him there later then."

Nat didn't inform anyone about anything that afternoon. As it turned out that was the afternoon Tony's once pet project now mass murdering mechanical monstrosity, Ultron, decided to drop in.

"—according to these he was 19. 19. He was still a kid Nat. How sick are these guys?"

"Some of us started that young."

"But… look where we are now, I mean, we're doing the right thing now, aren't we? But — can you imagine what kinda life that kid'a got —"

"Don't. Even if he didn't know what was signing up for, that's no-one's fault but theirs. So, right now, the priority is making sure no more of them get that close to us again. Right now, our job is to stop them getting to James. And after this is all over - maybe I'll come with you to take them apart properly."

"So. What're we going to tell Cap?"

So when I said next weekend or there about, I was aiming for sooner than 3 weekends later but hey, UCAS, uni visits, coursework and music competitions have pretty much filled my time. Also this chapter was a pain to write and is pretty long. It was going to be longer but I cut it off so I could get at least something uploaded. I hope you enjoy it though.

- Thank you to Charliee who had a look over the previous stuff and pointed out the flaws in my german grammar btw ;p x