The Winter Soldier doesn't glance back, apparently trusting Steve to keep up with him as he easily (eagerly, alert and focused without the flat utility of his kill missions) scales the debris of what had once been a warehouse. He compensates easily for the pack as if used to dealing with extra weight, and maybe isn't quite as light on his feet as Steve might remember from their childhood. Structures that seem incapable of supporting his weight are avoided instead of risked, even ones that hold up to Steve's not inconsiderable mass, like he's already spent enough time falling through floors, and he thoughtlessly stabilizes himself with the fingers of metal arm jammed directly into brick walls to create a hold when he needs it.

The route takes them quickly away from the safehouse and across the entire block, and when the distant squeal of tires and the sound of sirens reach them on the wind he glances down automatically to check the response time.

Nineteen minutes.

There are emergency vehicles on the streets when they finally hit a slightly more civilized end of the neighborhood and come to the end of an alley, and he automatically goes down on one knee with one fist raised to halt Steve behind him, staying in the shadows. He eyes the nearest cop car and the uniformed men standing around it with a calculating sort of look.

There's another way out of the alley, up the fire escape if one of them could pull it down (and they could, with two people, wouldn't be the first time Bucky had catapulted Steve's ninety-five pound ass up over a chainlink fence or the first time Captain America launched Sergeant Barnes across a fuckton of barbed wire), but the Winter Soldier only glances briefly at the fire escape before returning to the cops, free hand edging towards one of his knives.