Hi, guys! Time for chapter 6! Hope you enjoy!

Copyright stuff: I claim no ownership.

Chapter Six

I jump as I wake and then groan. My shoulder screamed in pain. I reach up and massage my aching shoulder, and though it made the muscle feel better, it only made the skin that was fused to the metal more irritated.

According to my memory, I've only slept twice, and both times were terribly restless. I almost wake up more tired than when I fell asleep. The nightmares are somehow draining, though some part of me knows that the dreams I've had were not just dreams. They felt more real than that.

I take the notebook out again and flip to what I wrote earlier-yesterday. I don't read what I wrote and cover it with my hand. My memory slips too much. I can barely remember the fact that I fought with the Capt-Steve-on the tarmac only two days ago. I need to memorize the information. It might make it easier for the rest of me to come back.

I click the pen open and begin to write on the paper, writing whatever comes to mind under the heading "Day Two". "Steve is my friend. We fought together. I lost my arm when I fell off a train. HYDRA made me try to kill Steve. My name is" I freeze. What was it that Steve called me? I force myself to think about it harder and harder, but I only succeed in giving myself a headache. The only thing that comes to mind is Soldat, but that just means "soldier" in Russian.

I move my hand and glance at what I wrote yesterday. "My name is Bucky." Bucky. It's an odd name, but I like it. It's better than Soldier.

I rewrite the name under Day Two and close up the notebook. I place the notebook back in the pack and take out a granola bar. I unwrap it as I start to talk aloud. "Bucky. But Steve called me James...something. How do you get Bucky out of James?"

I take a bite of the granola bar as Steve's words on the crashing helicarrier drift into my mind. "Your name is James Buchanan Barnes."

"Must have been the Buchanan part," I mutter.

The granola bar was finished quickly, and I take two quick swigs of the warm water before stowing it back in the bag. I need to refill it, but I'm not in a park, and it's not like there's a water fountain on the side of the highway.

I stand and swing the backpack over my shoulder. I step out of the trees and continue in the same direction as I was going yesterday.

After a few hours of walking, I come across a sign that said there were fast food places and gas stations up at the next exit. I find my way there after another hour and discover several whole blocks filled with gas stations and fast food restaurants. I don't have any money, but one of these places might at least have a water fountain inside.

I slowly walk through the door of a small shop behind a gas station and glance around the place. It is filled with food both packaged and fresh. The smells of baking make my mouth water. I look towards the back and find bathrooms with a water fountain in between them. At least I didn't have to steal water, too.

I move through the shelves and the few people in the shop towards the water fountain. I take the bottle out of my bag and drink the remaining mouthful in the bottle. I fill it with water from the fountain and find it to be cold. I won't have to drink warm water for a few hours.

I screw the top back on the bottle and stow it back in the bag as I take another look around the place. There were three rotating cameras in the room. They rotated at the same rate but were angled differently, which makes a blind-spot between them all every minute or so. I could snag something different to eat and last longer without having to steal at all.

I slowly approach the counter in front of me as I waited for the cameras to create their own blind-spot. There were fruits resting in baskets on the counter: oranges, limes, and what looked like plums. I would have enough time to grab just two.

A second after I reached the counter, the cameras turned, and the blind-spot was created. I quickly snagged an orange and a plum from their baskets and slipped them into my pockets.

"Excuse me," a voice asked.

I took a step backwards as a woman in a worker's uniform squeezes between me and the counter carrying a box. I tense as she passes, fearing that she'll notice my bulging jacket pockets, but I forced the paranoia down. She couldn't tell the difference between my hands in the pockets and the fruit.

The TV behind the checkout counter clicks on and changes to the mid-morning news and it displays a photograph of a familiar man with in a suit. "The billionaire has asked that we give Captain America-also known as Steve Rogers-his privacy as he leaves the hospital after the battle on the tarmac in DC where he supposedly battled the Winter Soldier-a highly trained, Russian assassin-though the reports are unconfirmed," the newscaster states.

The picture of the familiar man expands until it takes up the entire screen and plays a video. "Steve heals fast, so he doesn't want to spend too much time in the hospital. He's moving back into the Avengers Tower with the rest of us while he finishes recovering and has asked that he not be bothered by the press."

The picture fades out and the news caster reappears. "That was what billionaire Tony Stark had to say on the subject."

Tony Stark. I don't know anyone named Tony, but Stark sounded just as familiar as the man looked.

"Stark," I mutter under my breath, trying to bring the memory that's tugging at the corner of my mind into focus. It's dark and cold. A winter night. I'm moving quickly and a car crashes.

"Stark," I whisper again as my chest tightens.

The world tilts underneath my, and my head starts to ache. Last time this happened, I ended up on the ground. I can't do this here.

I unsteadily make my way back towards the door, narrowly avoiding running into several shelves.

Stark. I know someone named Stark. He looked just like the Tony on the news, too. I can't remember exactly what he looked like, but he looked like Tony.

I somehow manage to make it outside and stumble down the road to a less trafficked area. There were still people, but no one would notice me here.

The world gives one last tilt, and I fall to the ground, my head pounding with each breath. I manage to sit myself up and lean against the bus bench, but the memory still takes me, my heart beating impossibly fast.

"Where are we going?" Steve asked.

"The future," I stated, tossing his forged military papers over my shoulder.

We made our way to the science expo as the sun set and met up with the two girls I had scheduled the date with.

There were so many fascinating experiments and interesting ideas here that when they worked, they would change the world. But I couldn't wait until Howard Stark got on stage. The brochure said he would be unveiling a flying car! It's entirely impossible, but if you had the money and resources-which Stark did-you could probably make anything happen.

The sun was down and the sky was dark by the time Stark appeared with a red car surrounded by showgirls. "What if I told you," he announced, "that in just a few short years, your car wouldn't have to touch the ground at all?" Stark held up a remote and clicked a button. The car's tires turned inward and the air wavered around them like it was heated. The car actually floated a few feet up off of the ground! I didn't care if it was just some stage trick, it was still amazing to see.

I checked behind me and found Steve staring at the floating car, too. Maybe he was enjoying himself again. He hasn't since the War started. I smiled at him before turning back to Stark.

The tires of the car sparked before the entire vehicle smoked and came crashing back down onto the stage.

Stark glanced between the car and those of us watching in the crowd for a few seconds before holding the microphone up again and laughing lightly. "Well, I did say a few years, didn't I?"

"Hey, Steve!" I laughed. "Isn't this…" I trailed off as I turned around to find Steve missing.

Steve just got beaten up in another alley. What if he inhales some of the chemicals here and dies? Or if he just happens to find some stairs and trips down them? Steve could survive a lot, but it could still lead to him being bedridden for weeks if he breaks something or gets sick.

"Bucky!" one of the girls groaned. "Come one!" She tugs on my hand.

"Just a sec," I say. "Sorry. Gotta find Steve. If he gets himself lost, I'm gonna kill him."

I walked off and searched everywhere I can think of. Eventually, I spot a place for army recruitment. Of course he went there. Steve's small form comes into view, and he steps up to a platform that would reflect your face in an army uniform, but he was only tall enough for half of his head to be seen in the reflection.

The memory becomes faint and changes, this scene clearer than the last.

I toss a grenade near the back tires of the speeding car. A loud pop sounds with a bright flash and the car swerved off the road, impacting a tree.

"No witnesses," they said. If the passengers aren't already dead, they're about to be.

A door on the car opens as I dismount the motorcycle. I walk through the crunching glass as a woman's voice calls, "Howard?"

I rip the car's trunk open to be that what they need is inside, then round the car and find an aged man with white hair an a mustache dressed in a suit. He crawls on the ground, cutting himself on the glass. I take hold of his hair and lift him up. He cries out and tries to pry my hand off.

"Howard!" the woman calls again.

The man freezes as he looks up at me. "Sergeant Barnes?"

Barnes? Why do I know that name?

Their orders echo in my mind as I start to lose focus. "No witnesses."

I fist my silver hand and repeatedly punch him in the face until he dies, the woman in the car screaming his name. Blood drips from my hand as I hoist him back into the driver's car seat. I lean his forehead against the steering wheel. I close the door as I leave, making it look like the impact is what killed him.

The woman fumbles with her seat belt as I move to her side of the car. She freezes as I come closer, and I reach through the broken window and wrap my hand around her throat. She chokes and struggles, trying to force my hand away, but after a few seconds, she loses consciousness. I keep my hand around her neck for a few minutes more to make sure she was dead and wrap the seat belt around her neck when I'm finished.

I check the street lamps and power-line poles for any cameras and find one hanging from a lamp post near the car. I lift the gun from my belt and fire a single bullet into the camera, shattering it to pieces.

I go to the trunk and open up the silver case inside of it to make sure the contents is inside and unharmed. I take the case and close the trunk. I get back on the motorcycle and drive off.

I snap my eyes open as the memory stops. The headache is still there, but my breathing and heart were both slowing.

Howard Stark. He was an inventor with a wife. The man on the TV-Tony-looked enough like him to be his son.

I killed Howard Stark and his wife. I orphaned Tony.

My heart sped back up with the realization.

I orphaned Tony. How old was he when I killed them? I hope he was an adult able to take care of himself by then, but I have no way to find out. He might as well have been a baby for all I know.

But if he was a baby, he would have been adopted, and he wouldn't have been old enough to keep his parents' last name. He had to at least be old enough to have some memories of them.

The rationalization does not help. I still feel like the worst person alive.

Why did HYDRA even keep me alive? They must have found me after I fell off of that train, so I was near death. Why keep me alive? Why? I killed Howard Stark, orphaned his son, nearly killed Steve, and I'm sure countless others. Why would they make me do that?

I should have fought them. Why didn't I fight them? If I fought them, Stark would still be alive, and Tony would have a father and mother. Why didn't I fight longer?

The longer I think about the limited memories I have, the more my heart races again. The memory of killing Stark replayed inside of my mind over and over again. I could almost feel the breaking of Stark's skin and nose against my metal knuckles.

I want to remember, but right now, I want to forget again. I don't want this memory in my head anymore.

I take the notebook and pen back out again and add to the "Day Two" heading. "I knew a man named Howard Stark. I murdered him and his wife, orphaning their son."

Writing materialistically like this was better than not writing at all, but I probably should write more detail in case I forget again. Overall, I want to remember, but it seems like it will be a painful process.

"It was December, so it was cold," I continue to write. "I rode a motorcycle and made their car crash with a grenade. I killed them both after they crashed. Stark knew me. He called me 'Sergeant Barnes'. I made it look like the crash killed them and shot a security camera. I stole a case filled with ice and a serum from their trunk and rode back to my handlers."

The more I wrote, the more my memory stirred, and I wrote what came to mind.

"They said 'Well done, Soldier' in Russian, and froze me again. They only spoke to me in Russian and hurt me when I spoke English. They put me into cryogenic freeze when they were done with me."

I tried to write more, but the ink in the pen suddenly ran dry, so it only made deep scratches on the paper. I groan in frustration and throw the dry pen into the street. I couldn't go back into the same store to get another pen because I already stole the fruit from them. I shove the notebook back into the bag and stand, swinging the pack onto my shoulder.

I cross the street to the next gas station and peer through the windows of the shop behind it. It seemed to have the same kind of rotating cameras as the last store, though they rotated at different rates. There was still a blind-spot, but it was shorter than the last one.

I walk in and scan the shelves as I walk through the store. There are several small packages of pens hanging off the side of one of the shelves. I slow my speed and wait till the blind-spot appears where I am. No one was in the store, and the young clerk at the checkout counter was distracted with her phone. I take one of the packages and stuff it inside of my already full pockets.

There's also bread left out in the open. It smells freshly baked. My mouth waters as I wonder what bread even tastes like. Normal people know these things. The fact only makes me more angry towards HYDRA. I can't remember what bread tastes like, and it's their fault.

I keep myself in the moving blind-spot of the cameras and make sure that the clerk is continually distracted. I swipe one of the rolls and stuff it in my other pocket that had the plum in it. I pretend to look around the rest of the shelves as I make my way towards the door. I slip out of the shop and walk as quickly as I can without drawing suspicion.

I walk until I make it back to the highway. I take both of my gloves off and take the bread out of my pocket with my metal hand. I stuff the gloves in my back pocket and concentrate on the bread in my silver hand. It was warm, but I barely felt it. The more I concentrated on it, the stronger the warmth becomes. I put the bread in my other hand for comparison and found it to be so much warmer than my metal hand said it was.

I tear a piece of the roll off and pop it into my mouth. It was good. Rich, but good. Chocolate and bread were the two things I know that I like to eat. I finish the roll and take another drink from the bottle and continue walking.

I take my direction from the sun and head east towards the ocean. I don't know exactly how far it is, but I'll get there eventually, and when I do, I'll leave the country. It's what's best for the both of Steve and myself.

When will I stop feeling like I need to kill him? Part of me is still anxious about the incomplete mission. I get hurt when I don't do things right.

I glance over my shoulder and find nobody following me.

I'm alone. I'm alone. I'm alone.

No matter how many times I repeat it in my mind, it doesn't shake the feeling that HYDRA is five seconds away from shooting me in the head. I failed them, so they have every right to kill me.

Hope you all liked it, and hope to see you soon for chapter 7, and feedback is always welcome. Good feedback, bad feedback, stuff you hope to see happen (I'll try to put it in, but I can't promise that it will get in.).