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"Hey Cap," Sam called as he peeked inside the gym. "Got some news you might want to hear."

Steve let out an even breath as he lowered the 600 pound weights to their hook above his head, then jumed up in one balanced move. Wiping the sweat from his forehead and taking a swig of water, Captain America crossed the gym floor.

"Please tell me Stark decided to let me go back to an apartment and leave his furnished suite," Steve panted, taking another drink.

"Nope," Sam sighed. "I'm not even sure if you would call this good or bad news...Guess it's a little of both."


"Here, read this."

Steve took the file that Falcon offered him and flipped it open, catching his breath as he glanced at the first page. Skimming through the next three pages, which consisted of mostly pictures, Steve slammed the file shut.

"So he's in Old Marty's Warehouse," Steve bit his lip. "One of our favorite haunts as kids. Used to tell ghost stories about the house across the street from it. I think there's something pulling him back there."

"What, like a homing device?" Sam queried, rubbing his chin.

"Sort of," Steve murmured, "I think the Winter Soldier is starting to realize who he really is."

"Well I have the gear all ready," Sam stated. "Luckily Stark is finished, so I have some wings for this trip. When do we leave?"

"As soon as Natasha is ready," Steve stated, grabbing his gym bag. "Lets get ready in the meantime."

He huddled in a corner, knees pulled up to his chest and arms wrapped around his legs, pulling them closer for comfort. Bucky, Bucky, Bucky. The name did not hurt so much now that he could remember it fully, though it was just a name for now. He had a full name.

Bucky clenched his teeth and his head started to pound, wishing he had never even thought about his full name. Shaking, he bolted into a standing position as sirens screeched outside. Instinctively, he grasped a broken table leg and slid out of sight, glancing curiously through a crack to see several police squad cars surrounding the building. Sighing, Bucky fought the urge to burst out, overwhelm the officers, and start running again. Why was he fighting an urge that he had followed for so long? Yet something deep inside told him to stay put, that help was coming. Watching the police set up blockades and come out from behind their cars with shields for long enough, Bucky retreated to a safe dark corner.

"I'm waiting for you," he whispered, not knowing who he spoke to.

The words awakened something in him...something that did not was, hope.