#bucky 1

“So, I’ve got a couple of questions,” Carol announced, landing behind him seemingly out of nowhere. The truth was, tracking the former Winter Soldier, still-currently-a-fugitive James ‘Bucky’ Barnes, had been plenty difficult. The man was a damn ghost, but... Carol Danvers didn’t give up just because things got hard. 

She sized him up with a good look up and down. “Number one,” she said, holding up a hand. “Who does your hair? Is that like, a super-solider thing? Because it’s working, pal,” she said, smirking lightly. “Number two -- are you gonna make this difficult on me?” 

Steve was brooding. He’d had an amazing time in Sicily. Warm beaches and a man at his side that made too-soft beds feel just right. But Tony’s words, that offer he’d made were swimming around his head. What if we didn’t? You say the word, Steve, and I can leave it behind. 

Tony had been willing. But Steve... Steve couldn’t. 

Someone sat down at the table across from him, knocking him out of his thoughts. He would’ve made to close his sketchbook, but it was Bucky. Bucky already had a window into his soul, always had. “Morning Buck,” he nodded. “Didn’t even hear you coming,” he noted, smirking lightly at his best friend. “Made coffee, just how we like it. So, mud,” he quipped. 

Prying his way out of the suit is always the worst part as Harry regains his consciousness, or - maybe that’s not even the word for it, he doesn’t know, it’s like dragging his mind out of sludge, whenever the Goblin is finally subdued, leaving him behind to deal with the guilt of his actions. His apartment is easy to get into - he paid for the luxury to avoid the press if need be, but it seems to be more useful right now for keeping the Goblin out of sight.

He could’ve sworn someone had been following but - it’s hard to tell, when he only sees everything from a backseat, snippets and pieces, words filtering through when he can manage to get close enough to the surface sometimes, especially if it’s not something Goblin is focusing on. The glider is already in his private elevator, the suit going along with it as Harry collapses against the wall of the side entrance to his apartment building. It’s hidden enough - he can stop, take a second to pull himself together.

God, all he wants to do is curl up in bed and hope he doesn’t wake up as him again.

The training facilities had been updated some, but the overall structure was the same. Clint had never asked, but he was at least seventy-five percent positive that Stark had put this catwalk in just for him. He was lounging on it right now, sword and bow behind him, neither particularly calling to him. Both feeling like his and not like his at the same time, and his brain buzzed so hard when he tried to decide that he’d eventually just given up on making any decision. Instead he sat here, arms through the bars, staring down at the gym below. 

“I let myself in,” Wanda explained as the door opened. Bucky was standing there, his expression as unreadable as ever. Wanda took extra care not to probe into his mind -- she knew only a little about the trauma he had suffered, but she knew enough to be compassionate. “I had to search for you, and Steve. His thoughts are rather easy to track, they’re so very... him,” she murmured. She tapped her fingers together nervously. “I’ve missed you. Is that strange to think? But back home... With so many gone, it hardly felt like home anymore.” She glanced around the safehouse. “It seems you found a new home, Bucky Barnes.”