Bucky
The journal was tattered and stained.
He'd found it. He wasn't sure why he kept it, but he found it comforting to own something.
His messy scrawl read:
1. Can't go back to Hydra. 2. Can't go to the Captain either. 3. Need to blend in. 4. Need new clothes. 5. Need somewhere to stay. 6. Need money. 7. Need food.
He couldn't go back to Hydra because he'd been out of cyro too long. He couldn't keep his secret much longer.
He couldn't go back to the Captain because it hurt. He'd gone to the Smithsonian to find out more about the Captain and whoever Bucky was or is...
Since he couldn't go back, he had to blend in. He knew that whatever was left of Hydra would try to find him. And somehow, he knew that the Captain would not stop looking for him. He'd been watching people, and he didn't look like them or act like them which meant he'd stand out. And he couldn't stand out.
So, he needed new clothes. Something less assassiny.
He need somewhere to lie low—a home. He'd had that once.
He needed money if he was going to get normal clothes and a home. Heck, he needed money if he was going to get food.
8.Need job 9. Need identity
If he needed money, he needed a job. But what could he do? Most of his skills were assassiny. And he didn't want to do that anymore. He couldn't. If he was going to get a job, he'd need an identity. Something that wasn't the Winter Soldier and wasn't Bucky.
The Smithsonian had said his name was James Buchanan Barnes.
He thought James sounded too old.
He didn't know what a Buchanan was.
He didn't even want to think about Barnes.
But Jamie might work.
Something warm curled around his heart.
He almost remembered someone calling him Jamie.
***
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