Work Text:
Winter picked up the phone. “Wrong number,” he said, phone barely reaching his mouth before he hung up.
He sighed, more annoyed by the call than he had any right to be considering he wasn’t even doing anything important before it came. Also, he chose to answer, so if there was anyone he should be mad at, it should be himself. “What am I supposed to do now.”
Another thing about unwelcome phone calls? They broke your routine. And now Winter was outside of his porch, two feet in the grass and facing the trees, with no idea of what he was about to do. A ridiculous image of a buff man ripping logs apart crossed his mind, but he certainly wasn’t about to do that, especially as he had no chimney or wood burning stove. And yet, turning to face the door to the house didn’t yield a magical burst of inspiration either, which was a bummer.
He stared accusingly at his phone. He’d leave it at home, before it could ruin anything else. And then he’d go walk around. Maybe inspiration would strike.
Inspiration did not strike, but walking did bring him into a better state of mind. Isolation had not been anyone’s treatment of choice for rehabilitating the Winter Soldier. In fact, Winter had nearly been driven mad by the lack of alone time he’d been granted once the Avengers had found him. He hadn’t exactly escaped from them, but his isolation had not been through lack of effort on his part.
He sighed again. The call may not have been a wrong number. In fact, it could have very well been Steve, or any of the people looking for him. Picking up the last piece of vegetation that had caught his attention to add to his collection, Winter shook his head and trekked slowly back to his current lodging.
He didn’t want anyone to call him and hadn’t given out his number. So even if whoever had called him had in fact wanted to reach his number?
“It’s still the wrong number.”