Prologue
Steve stood looking at the wreckage of his apartment. There's the bullet holes left by the Winter Soldier, and the larger damaged left by himself he grabbed his shield and made chase. Books were scattered all over the floor, the store-bought canvases askew on the walls. Sam had driven him back here after the hospital, he supposed he should start cleaning up, picking up the pieces.
Except that there was nothing here that he wanted to restore.
Outside, there was the chaos of Insight in the Potomac, the remnants of HYDRA scuttling into the shadows, and Sam.
Inside, there was just some books and kitchenware that he didn't particularly care about.
He looked at the bullet holes on the wall again. Steve’s side still twinged from his own healing wounds from the fight. The Winter Soldier was absolutely relentless in fight on the bridge, not even stopping when his mask was knocked off. Steve had foolishly hesitated, surprised, perhaps, by the fact that there was a face behind the killing machine, unfamiliar though it had been. That had given Rumlow the in he needed, and since then it had just been one long exhausting battle which ended, surprisingly, with being pulled from the river by the same Winter Soldier. At least, if Sam were to be believed. Steve rubbed idly at the bandages -- they were beginning to tickle -- and resolutely set the question aside. The Winter Soldier didn't matter, he was just another person who had bought into HYDRA's ideology. What Steve needed to do, was to destroy HYDRA once and for all. He owed it to Bucky, whose dying screams still haunt his dreams, to Peggy, who can't remember her greatest accomplishments, and to himself.
His life was not a zero sum.
As Steve looked around the darkened room, it looks like a paper facsimile of a life. Sam made him feel alive again, made him smile and holds the promise of something real. Something he could come home to after he deals with HYDRA. Sam, who was still idling in the rental car downstairs, just in case Steve needed help with tidying up.
He grabbed the box with his important papers, and walked back out the door.
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The Soldier sat shivering on a bench in the park. His clothing and his smell meant that people naturally paid him no attention. Over the past few weeks, the city had returned to its normal life, which included ignoring a man with a backpack sitting by himself on a park bench.
The Soldier slowly unwrapped the last of his rations, and took a bite. His stomach rumbled, a dull pain that he was used to ignoring. However, the problem couldn't be ignored any longer. Without food, he would starve. This meant that he must turn himself in to a handler. But that would mean debrief, new missions, and cryo.
The Soldier did not want any of those things, but he knew he still needed a handler.
The Soldier frowned. Maybe he could turn himself in to a handler who didn’t know all the standard protocols.
His mind offered up a possible candidate. Yes.
The Soldier tucked the backpack under him and laid down. The ache of hunger guaranteed no sleep for him, but he closed his eyes nonetheless -- he needed to shore up his energy for facing a Handler tomorrow.