The Ghost [Marvel | Steve Rogers]

Chapter 15

Not that that happened all that often, either.

No. He couldn't do that anymore than he could return to DC. Steve didn't deserve that. Steve didn't deserve to shoulder his problems, his guilt. Really, Steve shouldn't be trying to find him at all. Not after everything he'd done. Not after everything he'd done to Steve. Once more the ghostly image of Steve's face on the Helicarrier wavered to the front of his mind's eye, haunting him, taunting him, the ring of a gunshot echoing in his ears at the memory of Steve crumpling as the bullet hit its mark...

Besides, it was unlikely Steve would be able to do anything to help him anyway.

He would only be a liability. A danger.

No, as much as the lost, hopeless little part of him wanted Steve to find and help him, a much larger, louder, more rational part insisted it was a bad idea. A dangerous idea. He was simply too dangerous.

Staying off the grid and alone and out of everyone's reach was the best option for everyone.

At least until he could be certain that the Winter Soldier could never be activated again...and for that?

He'd needed what had hoped to find within the archives of the base in Austria to even start trying to find a way. He'd needed the documents hidden away there that were no doubt out of his reach, now; his asset intake file and the Red Book; one gone and the path to the other lost to him.

And with it? Any hope that he might, one day, be able to reclaim himself for good.

Clenching his jaw, he forced in breath after long, calming breath, willing his metal hand to relax, the damned limb having groaned faintly as his desperate frustration had swelled, the gleaming fingers fisting tight within their worn leather glove.

And now? He had no idea what to do next. His next moves had depended utterly on finding his file and the Red Book. And as he'd destroyed the memory modification machine hidden away in the DC bank he'd been operating out of in a mindless fit of rage and agony after the Helicarrier? Without it and its accompanying computer systems for activating and controlling his programming? The only source he could think of that remained to him to even get a grasp on what had been done to tear his mind apart was that thrice-damned Red Book. And he had a sickening feeling that he had only one real option left to him. The only place he could conceive of where either the book or his files could be found if either still existed at all.

Siberia.

It was the one place he was absolutely dead set against returning to unless he was faced with no other choice...unless he was truly desperate.

And he feared that day was finally upon him.

He shoved that thought firmly away as well. No, he couldn't admit to himself that he was quite that desperate just yet. Not without considering all his options. Not that there were many. As he'd already discounted, returning to DC or seeking out Steve were very much not options he could even afford to dream about. Beyond that, what other options were there besides going to Siberia?

He needed to regroup, and his tiny apartment here in Bucharest was as good a place as any to do just that. Unknown and utterly off the grid, the defunct HYDRA safehouse obviously hadn't been disturbed in years when he'd first darkened its narrow doorway. Maybe even decades. And in the couple months since he'd arrived in Bucharest, the gungy, disintegrating little apartment had become as close to 'home' as he was ever likely to find again. There was a small comfort to be taken in that.

Not to mention that, sometimes the easiest way to stay hidden while on the run was to stay put. Find somewhere to dig in and lay low while those looking looked right past. Because he knew there were people out there looking for him. People other than Steve. So he'd holed up here in Romania, laying false trails away from his new 'home' throughout Europe even as he'd carried out his mission as best as he was able, as he'd scoured the continent trying to piece together who'd he'd once been and eliminating those responsible for tearing him apart and using him as the horrific weapon he'd been made into.