Chapter Text
Stiles sighed as he flipped the burner phone in his hands. He knew he should report the little meeting he had with Steve -he was specifically ordered to do so when it came to him or any of the other, now fugitive, avengers- but he just couldn’t. Steve was one of the few people that he considered a friend and he didn’t want to betray the man so with a last huff of breath he tossed the phone back into the duffle he had pulled out not that long ago.
He glanced over at his clock before looking back over at his duffle with a smirk. It had been a minute since he wore his own suit and this would be a nice opportunity. The outfit itself wasn’t different from most of the tactical suits issued to other active members of SHIELD; the key thing was that instead of blue or black with gray accents, his was red with a hood. It was part of how he got his codename, or rather the final contributor to it.
He probably shouldn’t risk going out again, his dad had been practically on the verge of an anxiety attack when he got home from his run earlier. The man had almost called out of work and likely had someone watching the house right now. Even so it wasn’t in his nature to let his curiosity go, and he was nothing if not curious as to who exactly accompanied Steve on his journey.
BREAK
Stiles paused just as he reached the entrance to the depot. If he had any hesitancy now was the time he should turn back. Of course he found none, as was usual for him, so he just shrugged and made his way inside.
The old metal steps that led into the depot were the only thing to make a sound, the creaking echoing throughout the dusty, practically condemned structure. There was still an old set of trams -they looked a bit like older subway cars really but Beacon Hills was not big enough for a subway system- but other than that the place was mostly empty. There was some trash and a couple of barrels left by the town’s homeless population and a small amount of things from when the place was active but nothing much else.
“You guys gonna come out or what,” he eventually huffed. “I haven’t been followed or anything, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
It was a few silent moments before he got a response.
“Never hurts to be cautious,” Steve said as he, and two others stepped out from the shadows.
One is to be expected; Sam and Cap have gotten remarkably close even after only knowing each other for a couple of years. Then again for those that are adjusted to more typical social interaction that may not seem too unreasonable. But it’s the third person’s presence that surprises him.
He and the Black Widow have a complicated past to say the least. Enough so that she made it clear a long while ago that he was only to refer to her by her codename. Her presence was enough for him to forget all about that.
“Natasha,” he breathed, but her eyes only narrowed before turning her head away from him. “Yeah, seems about right.”
“Anyway,” Sam was the one to speak up, “as heartwarming as this little reunion is, it’s not why we’re here. At least not for one between the two of you.”
He was about to ask Sam what the hell he meant when another person emerged from the shadows that made him freeze. Their hair was long, dark and shaggy. They were a little taller than him, older for sure, and well built. And last but not least the metal of their left arm glinted with the flicker of the barely working lights of the abandoned depot.
“How,” he stammered, every nerve in his body telling him to run. To get out of there before they came and took him away again. “Why?”
“I thought it might be a good idea for Buck to see one of the people he saved before we take him to the people who can make sure he’s never forced to hurt anyone else ever again,” Steve explained.
“I-I,” he didn’t know what to do, what to say.
When he first met this man he was mindless, the kind of weapon Stiles was almost forced to become. Then one day, years later he was standing at the end of a trail of bodies, covered almost head to toe in blood and gore. At the time, he had been certain that he was going to die at the hands of this man just as so many others had -even if due to the will of a much greater threat. He had been ready, fully believing he deserved such a fate, but instead the Soldier disappeared. Left him there, in the wake of all those bodies, and ran.
Stiles had just stayed there, curled up in a cement room -the only place untouched by the horrors that littered the compound. He didn’t leave for days. Didn’t move to get food or water or even to use the bathroom. If not for how obsessively Steve and SHIELD had been following the Soldier’s trail he’s not quite sure what would have happened, other than him starving to death or dying from dehydration.
“Stiles, it’s alright,” Steve attempted to placate, but it did nothing to temper the flood of memories or the rising panic in his chest.
“Christ,” the words, accompanied with a heavy sigh, weren’t really registered. The flare of pain as his head snapped to the side was, though.
His hand came up to touch the warm spot on his cheek before turning to face the person that hit him. Natasha had a raised brow on her face and that same irritated look in her eyes that she always did when forced to interact with him.
“Get it together,” she sneered. “You’re a spy, act like it. Go back to your home, splash some water on your face, and get some sleep. If you decide you still want to talk we should still be here tomorrow, don’t know about after that.”
Stiles bit his lip in thought for a second, fingers still resting against his cheek, but just nodded. Even if he had something to say he’s pretty sure Natasha wouldn’t want to hear it.