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“There is this, ah, fairly popular ‘manga’ -- ‘the Death Note’,” Alexander Pierce said. “It’s a fascinating little story. In it, a teenager receives a notebook from a bored god of death. By only writing the targets’ names in the notebook, that kid can kill anyone. Any time, by any means, completely anonymously. Naturally, the power goes instantly to his head. He decides it’s his chance to create a better world, by getting rid of all the ‘bad people’.”
“Sir, my apologies, but what does this have to do with--”
“He starts killing hundreds of people, and creates chaos, and of course, attracts the attention of each and every international investigative organization.”
“Well, that, uh, sounds like a bummer.”
“Indeed it does. Now tell me, why are you and your team still here, and not out there getting the Soldier back to us? Before some megalomaniac civilian finds him and figures out how to use him like a ‘Death Note’ handed over to them on silver plate?”
“But sir, we’re still waiting for the coordinates for the transport jet’s crash site--”
---
Meanwhile, in Brooklyn...
In the aftermath of the Chitauri attack, thousands of volunteers from all over the world came to New York’s help to rebuild the city. Whether they came out of compassion or for the thrilling chance to see a city destroyed by some real fucking aliens, well, did it matter in the end?
For Steve, participating was as easy as to make a call to his boss and ask for a leave for two weeks (granted easily, since his boss was apparently closing the gallery anyway for a month), and then to contact the rebuilding organizers.
Hauling stuff with a truck from place A to place B, then from C to D, from E to F, et cetera et cetera, wasn’t most interesting or impressive task ever, but granted, it gave him the opportunity to drive all through the city and see for himself exactly how much damage there had been.
How am I supposed to go back to work in few weeks knowing that there are aliens out there, Steve thought as he passed by a street that was closed because of the huge alien whale carcass still laying in the middle of it. How am I supposed to care one whit about putting some bloody paintings on the gallery walls when there are aliens and at any moment they could come and blast Brooklyn out of existence?
He pulled over to the parking lot of the collapsed warehouse and stepped out of the truck.
Usually, there were people waiting for him at the sites, already ready to help him get the chunks of broken cement and other trash out of the way, but this time the place was eerily empty and quiet.
“Hello?” Steve called, approaching the building cautiously.
He was just about to pull out the address list of today’s stops to check that he was in the right place when he saw the remains of the small jet and the strange tank halfway out of it.
---
“What is my mission?” Soldier asked desperately for the tenth time, this time in French.
“If you’re still asking about ‘a mission’, please stop, because I still don’t have any for you,” ‘Steve’ said.
Soldier’s head hurt. “Then why did you wake me up?”
“Because I wasn’t going to leave you in that, that-- whatever it was!”
“Cryo?”
“I guess. Are you an alien too? You don’t look like an alien.”
Not all aliens looked like aliens. Soldier wasn’t sure how he knew that. “I don’t think so.”
“Great. Alright, listen, 'maybe-alien'. I’m going to get you somewhere safe, and we’ll figure it out, okay?”
“Okay,” Soldier agreed. “Will you then give me a mission?”
Steve sighed and then offered Soldier a Snickers bar. “What about this: your mission is to shut up about the missions for now and eat this, you look like you need it more than I do. You don’t have any allergies, do you?”
“I don’t think so,” Soldier said dubiously, and then quickly rushed to take a huge bite of the candy bar when Steve frowned and looked like he was going to ask him to give it back.
---
Hydra was patient.
They understood humankind; they understood how even beneath the shiniest surface lay a corruptible soul who couldn't resist power when it was handed to them.
One mistake, that was all it would take to get on the tracks. They kept their eyes out for unexplained deaths and mapped the possible connections.
Sooner or later, they would find out who helped Soldier out of the tank at the crashing site.
---
On the anniversary of the Chitauri attack, Steve invited his friend Sam and his new girlfriend over from DC.
"Cookies?" Bucky asked as he stepped out of the kitchen.
There were few knives thrown, but in the end everyone calmed down to eat the cookies before they cooled too much, and Natalia apologized for her behavior.
In the evening, when Steve was drawing on the couch, Bucky, who was lying half on top him and more than half-asleep, twitched and muttered anxiously, mostly out of the weird habit that refused to disappear, no matter how much time passed by, "Mission?"
Steve petted his hair gently until Bucky calmed down, but otherwise ignored the question.
---
"Still nothing on Soldier?"
"Sorry, Sir. But we do have a few new leads. An old history teacher was found dead last week, and we've infiltrated the investigating team. We're working with them on uncovering any possible old grudges or enemies."
"Good. Keep going. We'll find him eventually."