Chapter Text
He was soaked. His long dark hair clung to his forehead and his gear hung heavy on his body. He ached. He ached everywhere. He clutched his injured arm with his metal hand and grimaced. He paused to look back at the man who lay on the shore a few feet away. There was something about him. Not a memory. A feeling. This man stirred a feeling in him that he had not felt in a lifetime. It was so alien he could not put a word to it. Whatever it was it made him stop. Stop fighting. Stop hurting the broken man. It made him jump after him when he fell into the river and drag him to shore and to safety.
He tried not to think about what the man had been saying to him on the helicarrier. I’m not going to fight you… you’re my friend… then finish it ‘cuz I’m with you ‘til the end of the line… He shook his head to try to force the feeling… the words… out of his thoughts.
He didn’t have time to waste. The authorities would be coming soon. He could already hear the sirens in the distance. The man on the shore was important. He would be missed. They would search for him and eventually find him here.
He had to leave. Disappear. Where could he go? For once there was no strike force team there to bring him back to base. The dark-haired man… Rumlow… something Rumlow… he was not there to issue the order to stand down. There was no one to tell him what to do. Where to go. How to get back to what was familiar. Known.
He was completely alone and that thought terrified him.
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He walked for several kilometres along the shore until he saw what appeared to be an abandoned building. Perfect, he thought. He slipped in through a broken doorframe at the back entrance and walked carefully along the wall and up the stairwell. He made his way up to the top floor where he found himself in an open-air loft space. It looked like it had been someone’s home at one time but whoever that person was they had left long ago. Layers of dust indicated no one had been on the premises for weeks maybe even months.
He found the bathroom and studied his reflection. The abrasions on his face were minor. The bruising would fade in a matter of hours. The damage to his right arm was a whole other problem. He’d never been injured on a mission like this before. Anyone he ever fought against had never been able to engage him in hand-to-hand combat much less do any actual damage in a fight. Yet that man… that man was different. He was a fighter. A warrior. A very capable opponent.
He took a deep breath and removed his gear and jacket. He winced when he had to lift his right arm to get the sleeve off. Once it was gone he looked at the arm with more attention to detail. His shoulder was dislocated and not as bad as he’d previously thought. He just needed to reset it into the socket.
He looked around to see what supplies might be lying around. Whoever had lived there before didn’t seem to care about leaving some of their things behind. He managed to find the items he needed to create a makeshift sling as well as an old wood-handled hairbrush that was perfect to bite down on. He placed it in his mouth and steeled himself for what would come next.
With his left hand… the metal hand… he grasped the doorjamb. His right shoulder was ablaze with pain making his flesh arm completely useless. Clearly he couldn’t leave it like that. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes and then slammed his right shoulder into the doorjamb. The hardwood frame shook from the impact but did not shatter. Tears sprung into his eyes and he grunted as he bit down hard on the handle of the wooden hairbrush as his right shoulder was forced back into its socket.
He threw the brush aside and used an old bath towel to create the sling. Once it was done he allowed himself a moment to rest against the counter and once again look at his reflection in the cracked mirror.
He looked so tired. His bruises were darkening but the bleeding from the cuts on his forehead and jaw line had stopped and had already started to scab over. Yet that wasn’t the part of his reflection that bothered him. It was his eyes. He hated his eyes. He shut them tight and rubbed his face with his metal hand.
In that moment he had a fleeting memory of being strapped to a chair. There were men with guns. The guns were pointed at him. He could hear two technicians speaking in hushed voices a few feet away from him. “I hate doing this,” the tall blonde-haired woman whispered to the short bald man standing next to her. “We don’t have a choice!” he hissed, “If we don’t they’ll terminate us. And I’m not talking about our jobs Miranda!”
She risked taking a peek over at the Chair. “I don’t know how much more of this he can take,” she continued, “look at him Danny. Look at the pain in his eyes. We have to do something…”
“That’s enough Miranda! I’m serious! Shut up and just finish your task. If they hear you…” his stern voice trailed off.
They quickly turned their backs as Rumlow approached. “Is there a problem here?” he growled. The technicians shook their heads in unison. “N-no sir, no problem…” Danny stammered as Miranda stared down at the hypodermic needle in her trembling hands.
“Just do your jobs!” the senior Hydra agent barked at them. They scurried back to their work station and finished the preparations for the Asset’s reintroduction to cryo-stasis. Miranda risked one last look over at the Chair and was startled to make eye contact with the man strapped down to into it. His eyes… they were sad. Almost pleading. She gulped back the emotion that threatened to overwhelm her and forced herself to return to Danny’s side.
Then they disappeared and all that was left was darkness.
Back in the bathroom he reopened his eyes and once again looked into the mirror. The sadness was gone. All that was left was pain and rage.
He was used to pain. His team of handlers never thought to provide pain relief when he’d return to base after completing a mission. There were whispers about some kind of super soldier serum that he’d been given years ago that was rumored to prevent him from feeling pain and helped him heal faster than normal people. As a result, the idea of the need to administer any medication for pain relief was dismissed as unnecessary and irrelevant as they believed that the Asset didn’t feel pain.
It was a lie. He did feel pain. Quite often actually. He just never let it show.
Now, in that abandoned loft, he was alone with his pain. All he wanted to do was sleep yet there was no furniture. That was okay though. He preferred to sleep on the floor. If he sat or lay on anything soft he was immediately uncomfortable. Not that he’d ever had any real chance to rest on something so plush as a couch or a bed with a thick fluffy mattress anyway. No. The floor was his preferred place to rest. It beat being frozen standing up in the cryo tube that was for sure.
He went to the corner furthest from any windows, but that also faced the doorway to the outside so he could see if anyone approached, and slumped down into it. He sat cross-legged and let his injured arm rest against his bare chest. He breathed deeply, tilted his head back and allowed himself to close his eyes and drift off for a little while.
He awoke not long afterward. Sirens blared in the distance. He jumped up and peered out one of the windows. The sky over the Potomac was still filled with remnants of the dark smoke that emanated from the three crashed helicarriers. Did all that really happen only a few short hours ago? He quickly headed back over to the bathroom to collect what few possessions he could still call his own. His jacket was still soaked through but he had nothing else to wear so he shrugged it back on. The pain in his shoulder blazed but he ignored it. He cleared away any evidence of his presence and headed back outside. He had to keep moving.
He looked up at the sky and based on the position of the sun he estimated the time to be about three o’clock give or take a few minutes. He needed better shelter and better clothes. The perfect plan occurred to him in that moment and he knew exactly where to go.
Forty-five minutes later he stood on the bleached sidewalk in front of a modest-looking house in the DC suburbs. From the outside it looked like your average home of a happily married couple with two point five kids and a dog named Rufus. In reality it was a Hydra safe house and everything he needed was located inside.
He scanned the area to make sure no one was watching and then made his way to the rear. He moved in complete silence as he picked the back door lock with precise ease and slipped inside and into the kitchen. He stopped to listen for any indication of the presence of Hydra personnel and moved again only when he was satisfied in his certainty that he was alone in the house.
Upstairs in the bedroom he dug through the chest of drawers and soon found some black canvas gloves, a dark blue baseball cap, a pair of long black cargo pants and a dark grey hooded sweatshirt that seemed like they would be a good fit on his large, muscular body. He kicked off his soaked boots and traded them for the only decent pair he could find that were the closest to his size. He quickly dressed in his new clothes and bundled the old ones in a heap that he’d drop off in the first dumpster he could find once he was back on the move.
He made his way through each room to check for anything else that might be useful. He’d ditched his old jacket and replaced it with a green army one that he found in the hall closet. He then grabbed a duffel bag that hung from a hook on the inside of the closet door and began to fill it with supplies. Extra clothes, socks, toiletries; small firearms, ammo, a collection of knives; a med kit with bandages, gauze, plasters, threads, needles and a bottle of antiseptic solution. He broke into the safe and removed the stacks of cash that had been wedged in there.
After packing the bag he returned to the kitchen and rummaged through the cupboards and the refrigerator in search of any provisions that he could take with him. There wasn’t much. He grabbed half a loaf of bread from the counter, a small bag of apples from the bottom shelf and the bottle of orange juice from the top shelf of the fridge and shoved them into the duffel. He then took another tour of the house to make sure he hadn’t missed anything as well as wipe away any right hand fingerprints he might have left behind.
It was then that he finally saw it. The television set in the corner of the living room. He took a quick peek out the window and saw that the thick black smoke in the cloudless blue sky was now only traces of grey. The local news must have been insane with the coverage of what they think happened with the helicarriers. Curious, he flicked the TV on and surfed over several news channels before settling on CNN.
He was right. The news crews were all over the scene and the reporters were practically salivating. The footage onscreen was of the wreckage of the helicarrier he’d been on. The one where he’d been fighting that man whom he’d left on the shoreline…
He shut his eyes and shook his head violently. No. He would not allow himself to think about the man. If he did he would start to feel something that he didn’t want to feel. Could not afford to feel. Not now. Not ever. Just then he saw him! The man from the battle. There was a picture of him plastered across the television screen. It was clearly a file photo. He stared open-mouthed at the man’s kind face. He had sad blue eyes and dark blond hair.
He turned the volume up and watched in awe. The anchor was a grave-faced older man with grey hair and wire-rimmed glasses. He spoke with an odd pitch to his voice. “…we’re just getting word now that the body of Captain America Steve Rogers has been located. We repeat: the body of Captain America Steve Rogers has been found. We don’t know what condition he is in… if he’s even alive… at this point all we know is that he was found on the shores of the Potomac and was found to be seriously injured. Reports are sketchy at this time as to how Captain Rogers had been injured and what his role was during this attack on Washington, DC but as soon as we know more we will update you.
Once again the body of Captain America Steve Rogers has been found. This just in: sources say he was alive when he was located but his current condition is not known. Officials have not released any further details. We’re going live now to CNN reporter Elizabeth Gellar who is at the scene where the Captain was recovered. Elizabeth what can you tell us?”
The screen changed from a studio backdrop to a shot of an expanse of trees. A young raven-haired woman stood holding a CNN microphone in her right hand and appeared to be pressing an earbud into her ear with her left.
“Hello John, yes I’m here at the shoreline where the body of Captain America Steve Rogers was spotted by passersby just a few short hours ago. Sources say he was unconscious but breathing when they checked his vitals and called 9-1-1. He’d clearly been in the water but how he got there, and who pulled him out, remains a mystery.
Behind me you can see the burned and broken remnants of the Triskelion building. Today’s events have many people in the private and public sectors questioning what exactly happened at SHIELD headquarters and who is responsible for its destruction. With the release of thousands of apparent top secret SHIELD documents onto the internet earlier today it would be a safe assumption that these events are connected.
As it stands right now SHIELD has a lot of explaining to do but no one is stepping forward to even begin to repair the damage we’ve seen inflicted on this once seemingly indestructible organization. We’ve reached out to SHIELD for an official statement but none has been released as of yet. Reporting live from the shore of the Potomac I’m Elizabeth Gellar. Back to you in the studio.”
He clicked the television off using the remote control and threw it down to the floor in exasperation. His thoughts whirled in chaos. SHIELD. What was SHIELD? Why didn’t they talk about Hydra? The man from the helicarrier. What had they called him? Captain America. Steve Rogers. The kindness and sadness in his eyes in his picture was seared into his mind.
He called me a name… he thought. What was it? What is my name?
He stood almost in a panic. I have to get out of here. I have to get away. Hydra is coming. If they find me they’ll make me go back. I don’t want to go back! I can’t!
He raced back to the kitchen, grabbed the duffel bag and flew out the door. He was several blocks away before he was able to breathe again. Night was going to fall soon and he needed shelter.