Chapter Text
Act I: Stripped to the Bone
April 2014 - The Triskelion, Washington DC
In the hours after Project Insight fell, the Triskelion continued to burn, and people began digging survivors from the rubble into the ruins of a new world.
Sharon Carter was among those digging, though it took a few hours for reality to click into place. SHIELD was gone. Everything she'd worked for since she was twenty-one years old was gone. The weight of it forced her to freeze in place. Tired brown eyes flickered to the smoking ruins, to the fires still raging, to the sounds of ambulances and chatter around her. SHIELD was gone. In less than six hours, the world had fallen apart.
The world’s strongest intelligence organization was in ruin. What was supposed to be the start of a new era in security turned into one of the most devastating tragedies in DC history. And Sharon was there. Sharon dimly remembered her uncle telling her once that no one ever realized when they were standing in history. She never realized how true it was. She’d stuck to her morals, and she’d done what she could - and it still didn't feel like enough.
As her eyes flickered to the injured, a bit away in triage, she bitterly realized that it would never feel like enough.
She’d escaped harm for the most part, other than a deep knife wound on her arm that she knew would scar. That was courtesy of Rumlow and her own stupid carelessness. It would be a permanent reminder of her mistakes, of the legacy of the organization she’d devoted her professional life to – the legacy her great-aunt bled and nearly died for a thousand times.
And it was all a lie. A corrupt, broken lie.
But Sharon was a Carter. Sharon was a Carter, and Peggy and Colleen always told her that when she was knocked down, she got right back up. That was her personal legacy, the one passed down from Peggy to Colleen to her, and so Sharon took it as everything she had left.
Maybe it wasn’t enough. Maybe she was simply ignoring the trauma and the pain and the nightmare that was this morning, but she didn’t care. She needed something to hold onto, and she was going to hold onto those words, that whisper of a British accent in the back of her head.
Stand back up and do what you must.
And that was exactly what she did. Sharon brushed dirt and blood from her hands and threw herself into finding survivors and focusing on anything other than what happened.
But taking a second to breathe wouldn’t be the end of the world.
She sank down onto a piece of rubble, facing the Triskelion and watching the smoke in the sky. It was easy to fall back into the long-set habit of observing her surroundings, watching every detail and tick of the people around her. Dozens of thousand yard stares. Some tears. People desperately trying to get a hold of loved ones, coordinating relief efforts and clean-up attempts. It would take months for this to be completely cleared, maybe years.
Sharon wasn’t sure how the death toll would be. Evacuation drills were held monthly at the Triskelion thanks to Fury’s paranoia, and once the alarms sounded, agents and techs and everyone else would have made their way out. But others – Sharon included – had stayed behind to fight for Captain Rogers, for SHIELD, for their beliefs.
Sharon knew that far less of them would make it out alive. After that, it would be a question of who was HYDRA and who was SHIELD.
Other than calling Colleen to assure her she was alive and safe and that they needed to think about moving Peggy to a different nursing home, Sharon didn’t look at her phone. Some of her friends were dead. Others were HYDRA. She didn’t want to think about them now, not when there was so much more to do. She didn’t want to process everything just yet.
But when her phone vibrated with an incoming call, Sharon answered it. Not because she knew the number, but if someone was afraid, if one of her friends needed her, Sharon would get to them. She would not lose anything else to HYDRA.
"Carter," she said, forcing her voice to keep steady.
The voice on her phone was terrifyingly familiar, and it nearly stopped Sharon's heart. "Prove to me you're you, and prove to me you're not HYDRA."
Oh, god. They were at this point. Sharon didn't take it personally, but if she was this afraid, she knew that she had to respond.
"You met me when I was a probie agent with Strike Team Delta before I was moved into Special Service. We were in Madrid. Clint won 3000 euros gambling but put them in his shoe, nearly drowned, and lost his shoe in the river. You laughed at him the entire night and I drank him under the table." Her voice went harder. "And if I was HYDRA, Rogers never would have gotten to the hospital, let alone out of DC with you."
They'd come so far from Madrid. And Sharon wished more than anything they could go back to that op.
The person on the other end almost sounded petulant. "I would have gotten around you."
"Yeah, but you would have broken a sweat."
A genuine laugh came over the phone. "Thanks for humoring me," Natasha Romanoff said. "It's been a day."
That was an understatement that Sharon did not want to dig into. Natasha's day had been even worse than hers. “Yeah, I know. Glad that you’re alive,” Sharon added. She stood from the rubble, tugging a hand through her messy hair. "You're okay?"
“Takes more than a HYDRA coup to kill me,” Natasha replied, her tone far more conversational and causal than Sharon thought it should be after something like this. And it didn't escape her notice that she avoided the question. “Are you alone?”
Sharon glanced around. Medics were nearby; focusing on a man whose leg was bloody and nearly crushed. Government officials were running around trying to make sense of the chaos. DC police looked as though they wanted to be anywhere but there. She wasn’t alone. But thanks to the chaos, she could be alone. No one would notice a single blond woman on the phone. No one would think that she was talking to one of the woman who knew exactly how things had ended up this way.
“Give me a second.” Sharon moved carefully, following a stretcher and slipping behind a car, finding a miraculously untouched bench. She was almost glad to be alone other than Natasha in her ear. “I’m good. What’s going on?”
“I need you to come to the hospital. Rogers is alive.”
The news at the same time surprised and didn't surprise Sharon. The last she’d heard of Steve Rogers, he’d been giving an admittedly inspirational speech to everyone in the Triskelion. If he hadn't spoken up, Insight would be up and thousands would be dead. It was difficult to comprehend that it’d only been a few hours ago. It was even more difficult to believe that he’d managed to survive this mess.
Then again, the man once survived seventy plus years in ice. He could probably survive a nuclear apocalypse.
“How bad is he?” Sharon asked.
“Bad. As in he was half dead when we found him bad. He’s in surgery now.” Her voice went lower as she said, “I need you to get to GW University Hospital. HYDRA isn’t going to let this chance go, and I’m not in the mood to fight off a whole kill squad at once in a hospital. Backup would be nice. We’ve got people coming but they won’t get here for hours at least.”
And so, the last few weeks had come full circle, with her potentially playing bodyguard to Rogers yet again. Full circle was turning into a terrifyingly common theme in her recent life.
“You’re sure me being there is a good idea?” Sharon asked. “He was pissed when he found out about my real job.”
A snort of dark laughter slipped through the phone. “Well, he’s got a few gunshot wounds in his stomach and a knife wound to the shoulder, so he’s gonna get over it.” The tone in her voice very much suggested that Natasha would make damned sure Steve got over the whole neighbor situation.
Sharon only nodded. “I’ll be there. Soon. Are you okay?”
She had to ask again. She'd lost enough friends today, and Sharon wanted to make sure the ones she had left were okay.
Natasha’s reply was quick and firm. “I’m fine. See you soon. Don’t call this phone again, I’m smashing it.” There was a pause before saying, “I’m glad you’re alive. And not HYDRA.”
She hung up without a goodbye, and Sharon slipped her phone into her purse. She had a hospital to get to, a super soldier to guard, and a few dozen Army men standing between her and freedom.
Sharon smiled at the challenge.
April 2014 - Bedford-Stuyvesant, New York
A few states north in a Bed-Stuy loft, nineteen-year-old Kate Bishop was trying very hard not to completely freak out.
The morning started out great. Clint and Natasha were both still gone on their respective missions, so she had the loft to herself - and full permission to stay there and not stay at the penthouse she shared with her father and stepmother. She took a nice run that morning on the waterfront. She grabbed breakfast and coffee to go at her favorite brunch place, and she’d had plans to binge watch something on Netflix and order pizza for lunch, and grab dinner while taking Lucky for a long walk that night.
And then she'd glanced at the TV in the coffee shop, saw the live coverage of the Triskelion's fall, and realized that it was not going to be a good day.
Kate’s first reaction was disbelief. There was no way this was real. It had to be a few-days-late April Fool’s Day joke. A glance at a news app on her phone proved it was coming from multiple sources. WHiH was reporting on it. A Google proved no, this was actually happening. The Triskelion had fallen. HYDRA was alive.
The second reaction, the one she still felt with every bone in her body, was acute horror for the people she knew involved. Clint and Natasha were SHIELD. Natasha was in DC. Clint was undercover with an arms dealer, god knew where. She didn’t know where they were, if they were safe.
And now their organization was burning to the ground, and Kate was just trying to pick up the pieces.
She couldn't remember leaving the coffee shop and getting back to the loft. Awareness came back when Lucky nudged at her hand, and the wet coldness managed to snap her back to reality. She had to find Clint, and she had to find Nat. Considering, however, the only contact she had was their phone numbers, Kate realized very quickly that she was in trouble. Especially when Nat's phone went straight to voicemail, and Clint's just kept ringing.
“Answer the fucking phone, Barton,” the brunette muttered, already pacing around the floor. One-eyed Lucky, lounging on a pizza-shaped dog bed, watched her every movement, tail wagging when she passed.
Kate’s dark eyes turned back to the television, to the coverage of the fall of SHIELD. “You are so not allowed to drop off the face of the Earth, Barton!” she repeated to herself, glancing towards Lucky when the dog whined and plopped down on the sofa to keep closer to her.
“The death toll has yet to be determined, though some are reporting up to a hundred fatalities and untold number of casualties. These reports are unconfirmed as of yet, as is the fate of Captain Steven Rogers, better known as Captain America…” The reporter on television was almost too calm, but Kate didn’t want to turn off the TV. Not if Natasha or Clint’s faces showed up.
Clint was SHIELD. Natasha was SHIELD. She couldn’t get a hold of either of them, and she was about to freak the hell out. Because they might be HYDRA, and Kate had no idea how to take that. There was no way that they could be HYDRA. Right?
“They’re not HYDRA,” Kate muttered, shaking her head before redialing Clint’s number when it went to voicemail yet again. “If they were HYDRA, I would technically be HYDRA, and I’m totally not HYDRA.”
Even if she’d never officially joined SHIELD. That wasn’t the point.
When that call went to voicemail yet again, Kate groaned in frustration, slamming a fist into the couch, half startling Lucky. Kate tossed the phone on the coffee table, rubbing her temples before continuing to pace. She couldn't just sit there. She had to do something. the question was what.
When Clint found her, he’d offered to train her. SHIELD never came up, only her potentially becoming an Avenger someday. She was just SHIELD by association at the moment, put on their payroll as a consultant more than anything else. She wasn’t an official part of it. All she got was a stipend that once upon a time would have been her clothing budget for a week. The offer had been there, but that would have involved at least a year of the Academy, and Kate hadn't been interested just yet.
But now, Kate was beyond glad that she hadn’t officially signed that paperwork, even if she didn’t know where they were. Not being completely SHIELD meant she was safe, and being safe meant she could try and find them, and trying to find them meant that she wasn't sitting around doing nothing. They had to be somewhere. Clint and Natasha had to be safe. They were strong and they were the best people Kate knew, and if anyone could survive this, they could.
“There’s always a way out. There’s always something you can do, you just have to figure it out…” Kate muttered, taking another deep breath before reaching out for her phone. Maybe it was time to call Stark or even her sister, figure out the next move.
Kate nearly screamed when her phone vibrated on the coffee table, her hand only inches from it.
She nearly tripped over a dog bone as she lunged for it, staring at the unknown number. An unknown number calling on the day that her mentor’s organization fell? Yeah. Not a coincidence. She didn’t believe in coincidences on a normal day, let alone like this.
Kate didn’t take the chance, answering the phone and putting it to her ear.
“Clint!?” she demanded, managing to keep the crack out of her voice. “Clint, are you okay?!”
To her absolute relief, it was indeed Clint’s voice on the end. What he said was anything but reassuring. “Kate, I don’t have much time, I’ve been made, and I’m not gonna make it long-“
His voice was shaky, harsh, and quick. There was something wrong. There was something so wrong, and Kate knew that he was in trouble. Clint was in trouble. And if she wasn’t wrong, there was a hitch to his voice that suggested he was in serious pain.
“What are you talking about!?” the brunette interrupted, sinking to the couch, taking a deep breath to try and calm herself down. She dimly noticed her hand shaking, and made a conscious effort to stop it. She could not freak out right now. Not when Clint was in trouble.
“SHIELD’s gone. SHIELD is gone and I’m in a lot of trouble, and you’re gonna be if you don’t listen to me now, Kate.” Clint’s voice was sharper than she’d ever heard before. “Kate, tell me you’re listening.”
Kate tugged a hand through her hair before replying, “I’m listening.”
The words were rushed, marked with a determination to warn her as much as possible. “There’s a bag under my bed. You get that bag, you get Lucky in the black car in the alley behind the building, and you run. The keys are in the bag. Get to DC. Nat will call you soon, on the burner phone in the bag. Smash your phone, do not bring it. Get out of New York, Kate, HYDRA is gonna show up any-“
The phone went dead, and Kate’s stomach dropped.
“Clint?” she demanded, her voice somehow steady. Horror turned to a forced calm as she repeated, her tone sharp, “Clint!? Clint!”
There was no answer.
Kate dropped the phone, staring at it as if it’d bit her. Her head was spinning. Clint was in trouble. Natasha was in DC. HYDRA was coming, possibly for her. She had to get out of there.
Kate moved quickly, heading into the bedroom that was usually Clint’s. The bag in question was under the bed, and she pulled it out quickly, pulling the zipper open within a second to take a look at what was inside. Her jaw dropped as she pulled it out – passports, one for her, Natasha, and Clint, each with different names. Noelle Rodney, Chase Brenner, Kira Bowen. Several bound rolls of cash. A gun. A compact bow. Clint had a bag ready to go on the run.
Of course he fucking did, he was Clint. She was also quietly glad she was over twenty-one on the fake passport and ID.
Kate pulled the bag over her shoulder, hurrying back to the living room and grabbing what she could, including Lucky’s leash. She remembered what he said, that HYDRA would be there soon. She didn’t have time to pack up the apartment completely. She paused when she saw her phone, setting her bag down and finding a hammer in the toolbox underneath the sink.
She didn’t hesitate to break it into pieces. Sure, she’d loved that phone, but she loved living more. And they would be able to track her through that phone. The burner phone was a heavy weight in her pocket, and she used that weight as a balance.
She had a way forward. She could figure out the rest as she drove down to DC.
“C’mon, Lucky,” Kate said, hooking the leash to the mutt’s collar. “We need to get to DC.”
April 2014 - Outside Washington DC
In the woods outside DC, the door of a small cabin was pulled off its hinges. A man stumbled in, soaked from river water and dirt and mud, his right arm hanging uselessly at his side. His mind was far more of a mess than his body at that point anyway.
Physical injuries could be ignored. The pounding in his head, the voices of long-dead ghosts, could not be. Everything was falling apart. The Winter Soldier didn’t know which was up was, and he didn’t know where to start figuring it out.
Mission protocols dictated that after a failure on this level, he was to report to the nearest safe house, find the highest ranking of HYDRA he could. This was the nearest safe house, but from the cobwebs in the corners, there was a chance it’d been long forgotten. HYDRA was strong, but not nearly as strong as it’d been decades ago. And so much of their strength would have been wasted on this failure of a day.
I'm not gonna fight you.
There was every chance that any immediate superior he had was dead by now. Dead or imprisoned or in hiding. They may have forgotten him in the chaos. There were so many questions and no answers, but this was the first time in decades that he cared about answers.
Maybe they’d forget about him. Maybe they would assume their soldier dead at the bottom of Potomac. He doubted he would be that lucky, but the chaos would be a cover. To make an escape, you create a distraction. This was a distraction. He could escape. He could find the truth.
He could find out if the man on the bridge was telling the truth.
You're my friend.
He braced himself against the counter, finding a rag and pushing it between his teeth. He took a deep breath, counted silently in his head, and moved his arm sharply, pressing it hard and forcing it to relax until his shoulder popped back into place. The pain of it made him cry out, and he shuddered, breathing heavily as he pushed the pain away, ignoring every bit of it.
Pain was nothing. A motivator, a tool. And he would not be held back by it.
Order only comes through pain.
A familiar voice echoing through his head, one that always preceded pain and suffering and even the Chair.
His metal fish lashed out, slamming into the wooden cabinet under the sink. Splinters flew everywhere, and he flinched as one caught his face. He sat on the ground before spitting out the rug, shuddering slightly before forcing himself to his feet.
He didn’t want to forget. He could remember for the first time in a while. HYDRA might forget about him, but he would not forget. He would remember. And he could remember what the man on the bridge said.
Your name is James Buchanan Barnes.
Bucky?
Who the hell is Bucky?
He had to figure out who he was. If he was Bucky Barnes. The Winter Soldier. The Fist of HYDRA. A weapon. A man. He didn’t know. He didn’t know if it mattered, in the grand scheme of life and HYDRA.
But for the first time in decades, something mattered to him. And that was enough.
April 2014 - George Washington Memorial Hospital, Washington DC
It was almost pathetically easy for Sharon to escape the containment area. Chaos was a wonderful distraction, and an incident on this level was a perfect cover for Sharon to disappear from a crowd and get to where she needed to go.
She did take a few minutes to stop at a shopping complex nearby. She had her debit card, and enough in her accounts to buy a pair of leggings, sneakers, a t-shirt, and a simple jacket. Being in clean clothes, the ability to pull her hair into a ponytail, gave her at least some feeling of cleanliness. The clothes she’d been wearing at the Triskelion were left in the trashcan outside of a bistro she made a second pit stop at. Everyone would be starving. God knew that Sharon could do with a meal, let alone anyone else who might be sitting vigil over Rogers' bedside.
A bag of sandwiches and soups from the bistro nearby in hand, Sharon walked to the waiting room she’d been directed to by a receptionist, pausing when she saw that it wasn’t empty. Granted, she knew that Rogers was a popular man, but for there to be people waiting already was impressive.
The first person in it was someone she didn’t recognize, a black man dressed in a t-shirt and jeans who looked like he’d been awake for days. There was a bone-deep tiredness on his face, his palm against his chin as he rested his eyes, though his breathing suggested that he was very much awake. When Sharon pushed the door open, his eyes opened, a wary look crossing his face as he saw her.
The second man she did recognize, though Sharon was supposed to be attending his funeral in two days. Nick Fury himself sat in the chair, sunglasses covering his eyes and a baseball cap on his head, and he looked up as if he was annoyed at her for being late for a meeting.
“About time you showed up,” Fury complained, standing up and looking her over. “Get caught in traffic?”
Nick Fury was alive. She fucking knew it.
“Surprised?” Fury asked her, one brow raising behind his sunglasses. An amused smirk crossed the corner of his face, underlining the exhausted circles under his visible eye. “Everyone else was.”
“At this point, the Red Skull could walk through the doors and I wouldn’t be surprised,” Sharon admitted, closing the door to the waiting room behind her. “And honestly, I thought you died way too easily.”
Fury's smirk only widened, raising an eyebrow at the food. “You always were a competent agent.” He gestured towards the first man, whose face lit up upon noticing bag. “Wilson, this is Sharon Carter, one of SHIELD's best. Carter, this is Sam Wilson. He was the one in the skies.”
“I was wondering who that was.” Sharon set the bags on the table before offering her hand. Wilson didn’t hesitate before reaching out and shaking her hand firmly. "It's a pleasure."
“Nice to meet you. Wish it wasn’t in a hospital waiting room,” Sam said simply. “You’re the backup? And just as importantly, is that food for us?”
Sharon managed a weak smile. “Help yourself. Thought we might all be a bit hungry after today.”
“You’re my new favorite person, Carter,” Sam replied, pulling out a sandwich. He gave a content sigh at the scent of melted cheese, sitting carefully on a chair facing the coffee table. Sharon joined in the chair across from him, Fury sitting in the almost middle of them.
“So was it Hill getting intel from me, or you?” Sharon asked, glancing over towards Fury.
“You were helping on the inside?” Sam demanded, looking surprised. "Didn't know that we had an inside man."
Sharon glanced back, one brow raised. “Who do you think told Nat that Steve was declared a fugitive?” It’d been her way of fighting back when that feeling in her gut screamed that something was wrong. It'd started the second Sitwell put her on the manhunt for Captain America, and Sharon trusted her instincts too much to ignore it.
It was simple from there to be Maria Hill’s eyes and ears. No one expected a Carter to do anything but her duty. They really should have expected a Carter to do the right thing instead. And that a Carter would have faith in Captain America.
“And who found the path that the vans would take to an isolated location to make sure you three disappeared,” Fury pointed out simply, gesturing back over at the former SHIELD agent before taking a sandwich for himself. Sharon took the salad she’d sprinkled liberally with feta cheese for herself.
“Thanks for that then.” Sam nodded back at her. “We would’ve been dead in a ditch without Hill saving us there.”
“No need to thank me. Just did what I had to do.” Even if Sharon didn’t feel like it’d been enough. “Hill’s good?”
“Dealing with the US government. Doctor Stiles has some friends here at the hospital so the heads here are trying to keep them off us until they’re out of surgery,” Fury mentioned, shaking his head. “It’s a shit show, so I’m calling in every favor that I’ve got left.”
They were silent for a few minutes, the only sounds the occasional cough from someone eating, the sounds of bites of food. Sharon realized halfway through the salad that she would kill for a burger from the place near her house. If she survived the next few days, she promised that she would get at least three and bring them back. She deserved a week to try and process before trying to figure out what to do from here.
Sharon lost track of time, but was broken out of her thoughts by the man across from her. Fury gestured at her arm. “That your only injury?”
He might deny it under torture, under pain of death, but a very deep part of Nick Fury cared about his agents. Peggy recruited him years ago, and he’d kept an eye on her since Sharon had gone into the Academy a bright-eyed twenty-one year old. A part of Sharon buckled at the fact that someone was pointing out that scar, but she knew that it wasn’t a slight against her. She was just sensitive.
Sharon only nodded. “Rumlow was HYDRA. Didn’t like it when I stood up for a tech who refused to set up the launch.” She grit her teeth and stabbed at her salad a bit more aggressively than necessary. “Didn’t look close enough, he had a knife.”
“Rumlow?” Sam looked back at her, a surprisingly dark look on his face. “If it helps, he’s currently under a lot of rubble at the Triskelion. Fought him while the place was coming down, he wasn’t fast enough.”
Sharon paused, trying to ignore the surge of satisfaction she felt. She failed, and a little smile crossed her face. “The idea of him rotting underneath a lot of rubble does make getting this scar a lot more satisfying. No kill like overkill, after all.”
One more HYDRA agent dead made things easier for them all. Especially when it was Rumlow.
Thinking of the traitorous bastard did make her wonder about just how prepared they should be here in the hospital. “Do you really think HYDRA is going to come for Rogers?” Sharon asked Fury, her voice lowering slightly. Sam glanced towards the former SHIELD director, setting the sandwich wrapper down on the coffee table. “This took a lot out of them, Nick, they can’t hide anymore-“
“Rogers saved today. Rogers has been the biggest pain in HYDRA’s ass since the day of the Red Skull,” Fury interrupted, raising an eyebrow back over at her. “He’s a threat to them. And he’s out for the count now. They want him dead, and in surgery is the best place to do that.”
Sam opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted as a scream came out from the hallway.
Sharon was standing in an instant, the gun from her purse in her hand, safety off, finger at the trigger. Fury was the same, his good eye narrowed dangerously. Sam moved to his feet as well, eyes wide when he realized exactly what was going on, who might have some back to this hospital – and who their target was.
“You’ve got to be shitting me,” Sam muttered.
The lights went off a second later.