He's laying low as best as he can, and the best he can is surprisingly the worst because:

1. He's Soldier boy.

And

2. He just escaped from a CIA facility after being put on ice again, and now he couldn't count in his fingers anymore the amount of times he had been put under sleep.

Benjamin is lost, not because he doesn't know where to go but because he does but doesn't know if you'd accept him in your home. Last he knew, you were utterly confused whether to help him or that damn bastard Butcher.

Oh, he'd be getting his revenge. But not now, not when it was so dark out and he couldn't even see his feet. He wasn't worried about robbers or people pointing guns at him, he'd just blow them up or cave their heads in, though he was worried someone would catch up to him and put him back to sleep. He didn't want that.

He trips over an elevated curb and he's thankful for once that there's no one around to see the fiasco that he got himself in. Benjamin had barely managed to steal some proper clothing before making his way out of the facility and he's sure the entire world was looking for him right then and there.

It's not long before your apartment comes into view and he's climbing the stairs since, for some reason, your complex seemed to not have elevators and he absolutely hated that fact. Maybe he was getting lazy from all that forced sleep.

Strong, but insistent and yet weak knocks to not bring down your door could be heard through the hallway, and then he's cursing your name when you take more than a few seconds to come get the door. He's an impatient man, after all. "Jesus Christ, open the damn door."