Run

Bucky refused to call Nick Fury for almost over a week. The metal smartphone sat on his hotel room counter, untouched, and he went about his business, pretending to be undisturbed. He didn’t know why Steve Rogers’ name was in that phone, but he knew he wanted nothing to do with him.
As for old and lost memories, Bucky had made next to no progress recovering anything. He had been too busy, he had more dire and immediate concerns and, gosh, it hurt to think about. It was painful. He knew he ought to remember this man and he ought to love him, but the image of his face in Bucky’s mind brought nothing but frustration and dead-end grief. So, not for the first time and not for the last, Bucky made a conscious effort to put Captain America out of his thoughts.
But Fury’s offer was one Bucky couldn’t dismiss as easily. To think Fury was interested in putting Bucky back into assassin work made his stomach turn. He didn’t know much about who he was or who he wanted to be, that was true, but if he knew one thing it was that he wanted to put the Winter Soldier behind him and never ever look back. Rationally, he told himself, working for Fury might be different. No metal cells without windows, no work he didn’t want to do or people to treat him like a weapon instead of a human being. But he still couldn’t bring himself to say yes.
His shoulder was killing him, though, and that was what brought him to the brink one morning, clutching it with his metal hand and gritting his teeth to put off the pain. It had been swollen before, and now it was getting stiffer and more painful. Bucky shrunk away from using it and flinched when it was touched. It hurt what pride he had left, pride and his deep desire to run away and be left to sort himself out alone, but he knew he needed to ask for help, beg for it even, if only to save his own life. He could not live like that.
So it was utter desperation that brought James Buchanan Barnes to put aside his fears and call Nick Fury. He hated it, he hated to ask for help, he hated being powerless, he hated to feel as though by accepting Fury's help, he became indebted to him. James Buchanan Barnes would not be a tool again, not ever. But he needed the help.
"Mr. Barnes," said Fury's voice from the smartphone. "You've considered our talk then."
"Yes sir," Bucky said, holding the phone to his face with his left shoulder and cradling his right. "I have to say no."
"That's a shame," Fury said.
"But, um, you offered, uh, about my shoulder," Bucky gritted his teeth and squeezed his shoulder, gasping sharply when the sting attacked him. He'd pinched the wrong place and his whole arm felt on fire. Humiliated, he tried to talk over his gasp, trying to wet his mouth. He could feel sweat break out on his forehead. "I don't want to owe you anything, Fury," Bucky said through clenched teeth. "But I-I-". He stopped abruptly. He didn't want to admit that he wouldn't be able to stand it much longer. He couldn't sound desperate. Fortunately, Fury seemed to understand.
"I'm sending someone to pick you up now," he said and Bucky allowed himself a sigh of relief. "But I am undercover Barnes, and I can't be there to oversee you, so I'm sending Mr. Overeager Rogers to assist you. He’s one of the only SHIELD members I trust right now."
If it was possible for Bucky to feel sicker than he already did, he felt that now. His stomach turned and his voice caught.
"Oh gal, please no, please no," he begged, forgetting in seconds his determination to sound in control. "Please, anyone, not him."
"I'm sorry, Barnes," Fury said to Bucky's horror. "Its Captain America or nothing. He is your only option." Bucky was panicking. "You won't owe us anything," Fury was continuing. "All you have to do is stand this man for a few hours at best. He's in charge in my stead." Bucky, scared and panicked, scooped the phone out of the crook of his neck and used his left arm to hurl it at the wall. It shattered and the wall busted into a large dent. Someone on the other side cried out in surprise, but Bucky was already out of the room. He ignored the pain and the sweat dripping into his eyes and tried to make a break for it. His metal arm wasn't covered and he was only in a dirty wifebeater and three day old jeans, but he was too panicked to care. He burst out of the hallway and skidded, barefooted, into the lobby.
Bucky slammed full-force into the wall on his screaming right side as he slid, out of control. He screamed loudly in pain, only vaguely aware of the horrified hotel patrons in his desperation to avoid Steve Rogers. Pain blinded him, he saw light flashes. The pain was so white-hot that he felt he could taste it’s tang in his mouth, but it also might have been blood where he had bit his tongue. Next to the wall, Bucky dropped to his knees, his sight blurring together as the pain, pounding, grasped his mind.
"Buck! Oh gal!" Bucky looked up to see that blasted familiar face, blonde hair, broad shoulders, features contorted in fear, and his stomach flipped. He wanted to cry out and move himself away from Steve, but he choked on the pain. His stomach protested and he blacked out, coming back seconds later to find himself vomiting, delirious with pain, before his vision sizzled out for good, everything blurring, and he slumped to the floor in a dead faint.