Bucky had finally escaped HYDRA.

After years of torture, brainwashing, and being turned into the Winter Soldier, he was free—or as free as a man like him could ever be. He hid in a small, rundown apartment on the outskirts of the city, keeping the curtains shut and the doors locked. He avoided people, spoke to no one, and barely slept, haunted by nightmares and fragments of memories he couldn’t fully understand.

His metal arm remained hidden beneath long sleeves and gloves. He rarely left the apartment, only venturing outside when absolutely necessary. Every unfamiliar sound made him tense. Every shadow made him reach for a weapon.

He didn’t trust the government. He didn’t trust the Avengers. Hell, he barely trusted himself.

Bucky wanted nothing more than to disappear, to live quietly without HYDRA ever finding him again.

But the past had a nasty habit of catching up with people who were desperate to escape it.