Bucky was just as disoriented. He didn't know where he was or how he'd gotten here. The last thing he remembered was sleep, being in the cryochamber in Wakanda. It had been the safest thing to do, the right thing to do after so many people had gotten hurt because of him. But now, instead of stasis, here he was--apparently in some kind of library.

If someone wanted him to save them, he was pretty sure they'd picked the wrong guy for the job.

He was barefoot, dressed in the white shirt and pants he'd been provided with during his medical check up before stasis, but at least he wasn't too far away when he heard a familiar voice. He rounded a corner, a little on the slow side because he was still compensating for his missing arm, and saw--

"Steve?"