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Bucky was panting. How long was he running now? Hours? Days? He couldn't remember. And in which city was he? Every house looked totally alike. Every street was the same, it didn't matter how often he turned around another corner.
"Go away, Steve!"
Bucky liked Stevie, he really did. But right now he wished to be at the other end of the country.
"You need to eat Bucky, you're too thin!"
Or at the other end of the world.
Normally he could easily outrun the other man. He didn't do it often because he didn't want to crash the ego of the formerly-little boy. But today it seemed like Steve was even faster than himself. And why the fuck was he waving with a package of pork buns?
"Leave me alone, you punk!", he yelled over his shoulder.
He just needed to get to the station, maybe there was a train with destination Timbuktu...
Bucky jerked awake, panting, as if he had really run miles with Steve and food on his heels. What a weird dream. But at least it wasn't a nightmare.
Maybe a nightmare would have been better.