Chapter 22
D.C.: Week 2
His head is a mess of "I don't remember".
Sleeps in a motel on the far side of Connecticut.
The memories have been coming back at intense speed, and there's nothing he can do to stop it.
He doesn't want it to.
The notepad on the table is a mess of memories, Russia, Siberia, Brooklyn.
They all mesh & blend but he knows which one is which.
Sweats in his sleep.
He knows that Moscow is blurry. He knows Siberia was everything that was promised (It's punishment, why does he know it was a punishment?).
"S-stop."
He knows Brooklyn hurts. It's the one thing that brings everything back. Azzano (it's a blurred, painful web), France. Austria.
"NO!" He wakes up, looking around the room.
Here, you're here. It's Day 17. You're on your own.
He breathes deep, letting out a shaky breath.
You're on your own.
The news reports had been all over the TV. How much information Romanoff put out... It was impossible to sift tthrough.
He knows about 40% of it.
Sits on the edge of the worn mattress. The other 20% is stuck in his head, in the edges his mind is trying to mask from him, small pieces slipping through the defenseless psyche of his mind.
Everything is a memory of a memory. Writes down something about Rockaway Beach. Another thing from Austria.
Remembers blue liquid & if he thinks about it too hard, it makes his head hurt again.
Looks to the window. They're looking for him.
HYDRA. SHIELD. ...Steve.
He splashes water on himself before he grabs his backpack, leaving the key in the lock.
He's known for a while now. He'll never be able to stop running.
He'll never be able to outrun his memories.