Chapter Text
John couldn’t sleep. He hadn’t slept in days (or done anything besides train and drink and whatever was necessary for a mission). This was vaguely familiar and almost normal to him- after all, he had barely ever slept in the three years since Lemar had died. It was episodic, usually triggered by something and encouraged by vivid nightmares. He knew he deserved it, but God he felt like a corpse.
But then the internal alarms went off, suggesting Valentina had a new and urgent mission for them. He let out a sigh of relief, relieved to have something to do, and he pulled on his suit before joining others in the kitchen (which had turned out to be their unofficial briefing room, at least until they became more popular and needed an actual one). The others looked tired, but way better than John felt. Thankfully, everyone was dressed (one time, during a drill, everyone had showed up in their pajamas- except for Alexei, who slept in the nude. It had been scarring for everyone involved).
‘Okay, people, I know it’s oh-two-hundred hours but we need to get moving,’ Bucky said. ‘Grab some food and your tools. I’ll brief you on the Van.’
The Van, as the group collectively called it (except for Ava, who insisted on referring to it as various different types of vehicles), was a modified SHIELD quinjet from years ago. With SHIELD defunct and SWORD (and the other Avengers) hoarding what remained of technology like that, John had no idea how Valentina had acquired it, but he had a feeling he didn’t want to know. The Van was old, but it was cozy, though it did have some problems. Returning his attention back to the present, John nodded alongside everyone else, and then the group scattered.
John grabbed his fucked up shield- Bob called it a ‘shield taco’ and the nickname had stuck, much to John’s annoyance- and looked at his phone for the first time in days. He saw something that hurt him. Something he had been avoiding for days. It was probably what had triggered his insomnia, as his nightmares had actually been decent lately.
April twenty-third, two thousand and twenty-eight. Fuck. It was four years to the day that Lemar Hoskins, Battlestar, John’s best friend and the man who had deserved to be Captain America much more than John had been, had been killed by the Flag Smashers. John felt his hands grow numb.
Crack, went Lemar’s neck against the pillar.
Crack, went the bones of the Flag Smasher’s chest as John murdered him.
Crack, went John’s arm as Bucky and Wilson pried the shield from his hands afterwards.
Crack, went John’s heart in his chest, leaving him a hollow shell.
‘John! Hurry your slow ass up! We’re leaving in five!’ Yelena yelled, snapping him out of his thoughts.
‘Coming!’ John called back.
His heart ached in his chest and all he wanted to do right then was to fly to Georgia and visit Lemar’s grave, apologize for everything, tell Lemar that he wished it had been him. But right now he had a mission, and he had a mask to keep on his face. Later, when no one else could see, when no one could judge, he could crumble into the broken man he truly was.
And so he joined the others.
‘Are you alright?’ Alexei asked.
John gave him a tight smile. ‘Of course. Just ready to kick some ass.’
This earned him a booming laugh from the Russian, but inside John’s chest his heart told the truth. Bam, bam, skipped a beat. Liar, liar, liar, pants on fire. But no one called him out on it. No one noticed the lie, and no one noticed that John had not grabbed any food.
*
This mission was supposed to be simple. But like all things, it quickly escalated. Originally, they were supposed to deal with some folks who had stolen some sort of alien tech and who had shot up at least four government buildings, but of course Val kept some specific details from them. Like for starters, the fact there was not ‘some’ of them. There were bloody many of them. They called themselves the Restarters- some shit about giving power to everybody- and by God were they stubborn. They also reminded John far too much of the Flag Smashers.
John grunted, barely dodging a blast of light from one of the maniacs’ gun-things. They didn’t exactly know what the blasters did, but after seeing the carnage left behind in the Restarters’ wake, it was to be assumed that it was Very Not Good (with emphasis on the capital letters).
‘You guys found Megamind yet?’ He called over the coms.
They had split up. John was supposed to be handling the Restarters’ while Ava destroyed what tech she could and Yelena (plus Alexei and Bucky) hunted down the boss. Valentina wanted him alive, probably as a publicity stunt. Bob was back in the Van, waiting to be called in if needed, but he was only for emergency use only, as they all remembered what had happened in New York a year ago when the Sentry had been unleashed upon the city.
Dead silence answered him. John frowned as he kicked one of the Restarters in the solar plexus so hard the guy’s ribs cracked and he slumped to the ground (still alive, but definitely out of the fight now). Usually, unless it was a so-called ‘veil’ mission (which were stealth missions where they were all on their own, no radio contact once they hit the ground), which this wasn’t, they stayed in contact at all times. Bucky and Yelena insisted on it, so no one could pull any sacrificing stunts without the team knowing (or, preferably, not at all).
John tried to reach Bob. Even if the others had their coms off for whatever reason, Bob would be accessible.
‘Sentry, come in,’ John whispered into his com, breaking one Restarter’s arm and crushing his gun in his other hand (the guy screamed in pain and tossed the gun aside).
No one’s real names could be used on missions, even though pretty much everyone knew who they were. It was a matter of protocol. John cursed when all he got was static.
‘Damn it,’ he muttered.
‘Aw, what’s the matter? Can’t find your little comrades?’ A voice asked, taunting and accented.
John whirled around so fast he almost passed out. His exhaustion was catching up with him, even with the adrenaline and the serum coursing through his veins.
‘Who are you?’ He demanded.
The man who greeted him was tall and bald, dressed in green and gold, with a black octopus on his shirt. He also wore a monocle. John swallowed nervously- he knew the symbol, knew what it meant.
‘I am the Baron,’ the man, evidently German, greeted. ‘And you are what we are looking for.’
John’s mind whirled. Barons…Hydras…wait a second, this man was supposed to be dead.
‘Baron von Strucker,’ John said coldly.
The Baron looked pleased. ‘Ah, you know of me? Fantastic. I expect we shall be friends soon…we will see much of each other in the coming days.’
John gasped as he felt someone inject a needle into his skin through his suit. Whatever was in it, combined with his own exhaustion, made darkness swallow John whole, without leaving any chance of a fight.
*
John woke up shirtless, tied to a table, and with several masked people gathered him.
‘You are the key,’ the Baron said, pushing his way through the group until he was standing by the table.
John sighed. ‘The key to what?’
‘Sending a message,’ the Baron’s eyes gleamed.
‘Uh, sorry. You’ve got the wrong guy. No one cares if I live or if I die,’ John insisted.
‘No?’ The Baron mused. ‘What about your son? Your ex-wife? The family of your dead friend? Your team?’
John felt a shiver run down his spine. ‘What-’
‘I know everything about you, John Walker. You poor, poor soul. Used and abused by society.’ The Baron leaned down. ‘You feel hated. But you get up. You fight again, you try for what is right, no matter your pain. You are a hero.’
John couldn’t believe the shit he was hearing. ‘Really?’ He laughed. ‘Me? I think you have the wrong guy, pal. I’m no one’s hero. You should have gotten someone else. I'm nobody.’
He was a monster.
‘Are you, though?’ The Baron asked. He looked around at the other people in the room. ‘Is he nobody?’
The masked people shook their heads. Goddamnit.
‘You are a hero, much as you don’t feel like one,’ the Baron smirked. ‘You were once Captain America. And besides, you were the easiest to get to. Haven’t been sleeping?’
John growled at him. ‘Fuck off.’
‘Nein. We have many things to do together, mein freund. You are perfect, John Walker, for what I have to do. And that is to send a message that no one should be comfortable. No one should feel safe. Because so long as one head remains, the rest can regrow. Hail Hydra!’
‘Hail Hydra!’ The other, masked, people shouted.
Fuck, fuck, fucking fuck. The ‘Restarters’ had been a front for neo-Hydraism. Great. As if this situation couldn’t be more difficult.
‘No one will come for me,’ John said.
‘Oh, I don’t need the world to care or the world to come,’ said the Baron. ‘I need the world watching. I need the world to lose faith. Because if a supersoldier can be broken, who can withstand?’
Suddenly there was a pinch in John’s neck and he grunted, tired of all these damn drugs.
‘You know, it has been a pain creating doses for a super soldier,’ the Baron said conversationally. ‘But I believe that this will do. Turn on the camera.’
John, as his mind grew blurry, finally noticed that he was positioned in front of a camera.
‘Show time,’ the Baron whispered in delight, and he and all of the masked people save a few left.
‘Starting recording,’ one of the masked people said calmly.
‘Recording has begun,’ another one said.
John at this point couldn’t tell them apart. They all seemed so blurry.
‘Welcome, America,’ the Baron’s voice boomed from nowhere. ‘Welcome, world. Who I am is of no importance. But I have a message for you. You cannot run from your past, because we are lurking. We are watching. We have restarted, rosen from the ashes of our own heads. You know our name. You have taken everything from us. Today we have taken one of your heroes and we will take your hope from you. But before that, I shall confirm his identity.’
John grimaced. He was dizzy and confused but that seemed like it wouldn’t be a good thing.
‘What is your name?’ the Baron asked.
He didn’t want to talk but the words slipped out anyways. ‘John Edward Walker.’
The Baron proceeded to quiz John on his birthdate, hometown, best friend’s name, and the name of his ex wife. Then he asked John what he regretted most.
‘Ever thinking I was a good man,’ John whispered, the truth falling through his lips. ‘For ever daring to think I could follow in the footsteps of a god. Because it led me down a path I am not proud of. And now I hate myself.’
He knew the world would know what he referred to without him actually mentioning it. But he cursed himself for letting the fact he hated himself out. Now the world had more ammunition to use against him. He groaned, wishing he was more out of it. But his vision was just blurry and his head just hurt.
‘It is him, without a doubt,’ the Baron told the viewers. ‘Now watch as he falls apart.’
One of the masked people leaned over with a scalpel. John tried to squirm away but his muscles didn’t comply. So he was frozen as the person cut into his stomach with him wide awake and with no local anesthesia. He forced down the tears as the person cut a line from his navel to his right hip. He was not giving them a show. He was not going to show weakness.
‘It is four years exactly since Lemar Hoskins died,’ the Baron told them all.
‘Get his name out of your mouth,’ John snarled, anger rising up.
‘Oh, sore spot?’ The Baron taunted.
John struggled against his restraints but his muscles barely so much as moved.
‘Oh, your superhero is helpless again. He is unable to fight against our strength.’ The Baron remarked.
John stared down at the camera. He didn’t flinch, even as the scalpel let up, even as someone shoved a cattle prod against his spine, sending electricity running up. He felt the pain increase greatly, yet he did not scream. Tears formed at the edges of his eyes as the electricity increased to a voltage that would kill an ordinary man. He embraced the pain because he deserved it, and also because he did not want to give a show.
He had enough to do with performances.
‘Take out the radium. Let the world see him be devoured.’
John’s blood turned cold. ‘What?’
It was then he realized the masked people were putting on lead coats. The lead one pulled out a massive rock that was faintly glowing in the darkness with a pair of tweezers. Then
‘Radium is stealthy. Persistent. Much like Hydra. This is the fate you choose if you defy us,’ the Baron said. ‘This is a new isotope of it we have discovered. The damage…is instant, once it hits the bloodstream…’
The masked person approached John and he stared in horror as they placed the rock in the open wound for a few minutes before removing it and putting it away. John howled, vomiting over the side of the table. His skin flared , burning, and it felt like his blood was on fire. He felt blood drip down from his nose. He saw as the wound bled more and the skin turned dark and necrotic.
‘Much like the radium, we are in your governments. We are in your blood. And we will bring you to your knees.’
The agony was horrific. He felt like he was being ripped apart- which he was, on a cellular level. John closed his eyes and a tear slipped down his face. The serum could do many things, but surviving this? That did not seem likely. He was doomed to die, like the radium watch-painters and Louis Slotin.
‘Not even your heroes can resist us,’ the Baron crowed.
John cried out in pain. His stomach was blistered, now, and it fucking hurt. He suspected the radiation was fucking with his organs as well, but he couldn’t be sure. He thought he was dying. But then, just as everything slipped into a deep confusion and he felt chills wrack his spine, he heard a loud crash. Then the wall fell down, revealing his team, and they looked pissed off. Of course, that was when he passed out, just as hope arrived.
*
John woke up only once afterwards before they got back to New York.
‘You came for me?’ He whispered.
‘Of course. You’re one of us. And we don’t leave people behind.’
John smiled as he slipped back under, feeling for the first time in years that he was not hated or scorned. It was pleasant, being liked. He didn’t feel so alone.