December 20th-Recommended Music: 1.) Christmas Eve in Sarajevo-Trans-Siberian Orchestra

Bucky ran through the streets as though his life depended on it. His heart pounded with terror and he kept looking over his shoulder to see if he was still being followed. His worst nightmare had come true. He'd finally been spotted by HYDRA agents who had recognized him. The pair, a man and a woman, had been walking towards him, looking intently in his direction, though he'd done his best to avoid making eye contact.

The woman had whispered, "The asset," and the man had nodded in agreement. Both had withdrawn guns discreetly. "You need to come with us," the woman had said firmly, but calmly. Then she began reciting a trigger phrase that he suspected wasn't the first time had been used on him. It made him want to obey her every word, but he'd fought it and before she'd finished, he'd clapped his hands to his ears, turned around, and ran in the opposite direction.

He ran as fast as he could, hoping his pursuers wouldn't be able to keep up with him. He hadn't killed anybody since leaving his life as the Winter Soldier behind, and he wanted to keep it that way, but he would do whatever it took to stay free from HYDRA. If that meant taking out a couple agents, then so be it.

After some time, the agents dropped out of his sight, but he continued to run anyway. They could be getting into a car to follow him more quickly, or calling for backup. He wouldn't be safe until he was as far away as he could possibly get.

The sun was beginning to set and he knew he'd have a better chance of escaping in the dark. He ran blindly, taking several twists and turns along the way, to keep anybody following him confused.

After what felt like an eternity, Bucky finally allowed himself to slow down and take in his surroundings. He was struck with a sense of déjà vu as certain buildings began to look familiar. Not from a time that he had seen them recently, but from before. From his childhood. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end and he felt goose bumps break out on his good arm. He had been here before. He knew this place very well, or at least he had…Brooklyn…He had come home again.

So much of the neighborhood he had once known was gone, but there were a few buildings he recognized. A dilapidated shoe repair shop on one corner, an old diner on another. He stopped short when he saw a church that caught his eye. This was the church he'd gone to at the orphanage, with Steve. He was overcome with a sense of homesickness, though he didn't know why.

Church…You're safe at church, he thought to himself before taking a step towards the building. Light from inside lit up the stained glass windows, beckoning him ever closer. He'd never been very religious as a young man, and hadn't given a single thought to God since the war, but at the moment, the church was where he wanted to be, more than anywhere else in the world.

There were people going about their lives there, and none of them noticed the disheveled man walking up the steps to the church, for which Bucky was very grateful. He carefully examined the sanctuary from the doorway before stepping inside. There was an exit at the back if he had to escape.

Since it wasn't Sunday, there wasn't much activity inside. There were a few parishioners praying or lighting candles, but nothing more than that. The lights were dimmed, and nobody paid any attention to him. He was most likely perceived as a transient seeking shelter from the cold for a little while. It wasn't too far from the truth, really.

The church still seemed familiar to him, after all the years of being away from it. It even had the scent he remembered. When they'd been young, he, Steve, and some of their friends used to sneak down into the basement and drink the Communion wine. Most of the time they managed to not get caught. A couple of times, though, they'd been found out and he could still feel the painful sting of the ruler whipping his hand as penance. Even though his left hand had been missing for nearly seventy years, he could still occasionally feel it. He looked down at the metal hand that had replaced it and swore he could feel the ruler hitting it. He clasped his hand tightly and held it close to his chest to try and make the sensation stop.

Once the phantom pain had faded, his mind turned to a thought sparked by the memory of his wine drinking days in the basement. The church would be locked up in a couple hours' time, but if he could get into the basement, assuming it was unoccupied, perhaps he could sleep there for the night and not have to worry about anybody finding him.

Bucky sat in the back pew, which was under the balcony, obscuring him from view of the parishioners. He waited for the church to empty out and when the last parishioner had left, he stood up and walked to the foyer, and through a door he knew led to the hallway. At the end of the hallway was the door that would take him down into the basement. He was fully prepared to pick the lock if he had to, but thankfully, it was unlocked.

The musty smell hit him halfway down the staircase. More memories of his childhood and youth came flooding back once again. He and the other boys from the orphanage ran around the basement on hot summer days, enjoying the coolness the room provided. He thought he could almost hear the echoes of their laughter if he listened hard enough. And when he was older, he'd snuck down here a few times with girls, and kissed them without getting caught. A fleeting smile passed over his face; the first smile he could recall since before he had fallen off the train so long ago. With a sigh, he continued to walk down the stairs.

The basement hadn't changed much over the years. There were still piles of junk covered in dust clothes and the Communion wine was still kept on the same shelf he remembered it to be.

Bucky removed one of the dust covers from a stack of folding chairs, and took a bottle of wine and a box of Communion wafers for his dinner. There was a small window at eye level and he settled onto the floor to one side of it. After wrapping up in the dust cloth, he opened the wine and crackers and ate his fill. As he looked up out the window, he could see snowflakes falling, lit from behind by a street light. He ate his makeshift dinner while watching the snow fall. In spite of having bad memories of the snow, a part of him always felt a thrill to see it falling. That small part of him that still remembered how much fun it was as a child to have a snowball fight or to go for a walk with a girl, holding hands and keeping close together to stay warm. He ate the entire box of crackers and drank the whole bottle of wine before settling down and closing his eyes from the snowfall. The wine made him sleepy and it wasn't long before he drifted off to sleep. He would be safe here. For tonight at least.

A/N: From this point on, the story will cross over with a character from another one of my stories, Just Like the Ones I Used to Know. It's a Christmas piece I wrote two years ago about Steve Rogers and his first Christmas back after the events of the first Avengers movie. I would highly recommend reading that one if you haven't read it yet or you might be a little lost. Also, I promise there will be actual dialogue as well from here on out…! –Foodie