Serial Killer

Don’t do this. This is wrong, the innocent side of James pleaded from the back of his mind. If you do this, you’re signing your death sentence.

He stood next to the hospital bed, staring down at the man he had shot. There were tubes sticking out his body every which way, and an elderly woman slept silently in the chair in the corner. It would have been so easy to finish the job, to end the mission, but he couldn’t.

If he wakes up you’re dead anyways, a sinister voice hissed back.

He thought of Steve, and he thought of Anne, and lastly, he thought of Connie. Three people he cared about that wouldn’t want him to do this.

“I can’t, I’m sorry.” He whispered to himself, to the Winter Soldier. The woman stirred in her seat, slowly opening her eyes. She was startled when she saw James standing there. “It’s okay, I’m a friend.” He said to her. “I was just leaving.”

He ducked out of the room, and made his way back out into the cool air.

The voices inside of James’ head were screaming at each other. It was almost unbearable. He pulled out the small bottle of Aleve that he had in his pocket, and emptied the last two pills into his hand. He stopped in an alley, leaning up against a damp brick wall, forcing the dry pills down his hoarse throat. Trying to get a grip on his searing headache.

“It hurts, doesn’t it?”

James yanked his head up, peering into the darkness, looking for a source of the voice.

“Your head. It hurts.”

He still couldn’t find the woman behind the voice. “Where are you?”

She stepped from the shadows. He recognized her immediately. If anyone was going to find him so soon, it made sense that it would be Natasha Romanova.

She smiled at him, but kept her distance. Sticking to the wall opposite him.

The assassin inside of him nearly beamed, wanting and trying desperately to snap the red head’s neck. James kept his cool though. He didn’t want her knowing that he was having any difficulties keeping himself under control.

“You’ve got voices in there, pulling you in different directions.” He nodded. “You want to kill me right now, don’t you?” He hated how perceptive she was.

“Yes.” He hissed. “And no.”

It was silent.

“How’d you find me?” He asked. “Who else knows?”

“You left a paper trail. A rather bloody paper trail. You haven’t exactly been hiding. I’m surprised that the Winter Soldier hasn’t been trying harder to cover his tracks. You did so well in the past.”

“I’m not…” He gritted his teeth. “I don’t want to be…” He wanted to hit something. “Who else knows?”

“No one.” She said. But she was probably lying.

“Steve?”

“I threw him off your trail, but he won’t be for long.”

“Why are you helping me?” He asked.

She sighed. “Because I know what it’s like to not want to be found. And even though you tried to kill me… a lot, we aren’t that different. You might want to think of moving on, soon. Rogers is looking for you. And he’s looking hard. He will find you.” Natasha threw a duffle bag his way. “Some stuff for the road. скоро увидимся, солдат."

He partially unzipped it and found stacks of cash inside, along with a couple changes of clothes. When he looked up, the Widow was gone. He wasn't sure what had just happened. Why was the ex-Russian spy helping him? Why was she really helping him? What was her real motive? Or rather, what was S.H.I.E.L.D's real motive?

"See you soon, Soldier." Her words rang through James' mind, keeping him from sleep. He stared at the blotchy ceiling, wondering about Steve. Was he okay? Where was he? Was he any closer to finding him?

Natasha said it would be too long before Steve caught up with James. He sighed, not knowing what to do. Leave? Leave New York? Leave Anne. Not when he has just begun to open up to her. But it wasn't smart to stay. What if Steve did find him? It's not like things were going to change. Nothing would get better.

Steve would still be righteous as ever, trying to get James to be the person that Steve always remembered him by. Bucky Barnes. His best friend. It wasn't that James couldn't fill that roll, because he felt like he really wanted to. He just couldn't right now. Not while he's still battling his own battles inside.

However, there was another question: Even if Steve found him, there'd be others too. Others from HYDRA. James was damned if he was going to go back to that; a brainwashed, piece of junk, toy. Even if Pierce was dead... There would be others, countless others, wanting to make a name for themselves and would use James to do it.

He turned on his side and closed his eyes.

Tomorrow, he would be leaving New York.