Chapter Text
One year after the events of Thunderbolts.
Valentina is out of the picture.
The Avengers are only one big team split between New York, Washington DC and San Francisco, with Sam Wilson, Bruce Banner and Carol Danvers at the front.
Joaquin and Bob met during a mandatory two weeks of training Sam and Bucky put together right after the official announcement about the team, for all Avengers to properly meet and learn to know each other and how to work efficiently together.
That day, Joaquin, the Thunderbolts and Bob met with Bruce Banner, Captain Marvel, Wong, Shang-Chi, Kamala Kahn, Kate Bishop and Scott and Cassie Lang.
When Joaquin, Shang Chi, Kamala, Cassie, Yelena and Kate all easily bonded (through training and karaoke mostly), Bob had a hard time fitting in. It’s Joaquin who takes the first step and goes to him, wanting to team up when he learns that Bob has the power to fly.
But Bob refused to use his powers at first, too scared to trigger the void again.
That didn’t stop Joaquin and Shang-Chi from including him in their activities. The three of them quickly became friends. Joaquin declared that Bob was to be his new gym buddy since he was staying in DC, and Shang-Chi taught Bob meditation exercises to help him be more in tune within his body, before having to go back to San Francisco at the end of the two weeks.
Bob and Joaquin grew closer through the following months, until Bob kissed Joaquin after a particular mental break down on his behalf. They’ve been together ever since.
Now, Yelena and Bob are roommates, living in a condo at the edges of DC, near the water, that Yelena owns. Joaquin’s apartment is barely 20 mins away. And they spend most of their time together, when Joaquin’s not on missions with Sam, or Bob isn’t training with the Thunderbolts.
Bob is enough in control of his powers now to have been able to help in two rescue missions. He’s not been publicly introduced as an Avenger yet, but people are starting to be aware of him, and it’s making him nervous.
- - - - - -
Joaquin Torres loves to fly.
Ever since he joined the Air Force and flew his first jet, he's got an insatiable thirst for it. It got even worse when he first tried on the Falcon wings. Ever since that day, the skies became his comfort zone.
Of course, flying came with danger, and work, and missions, but he wouldn't give it up for anything. Him getting blasted and falling headfirst into the Indian Ocean at Celestial Island almost two years ago had put a temporary stop to his flying activities, but the optics of flying again had carried him through his long, frustrating and painful recovery.
But all is well now.
He even has a boyfriend to fly with nowadays. When he feels like it. Unlike Joaquin, Bob hates flying. But he does it when he has to. Because he does love being of service, and feeling like he's helping people. Funnily enough, him being able to fly without any wings or jetpack, and also being quite indestructible on most levels, didn't change the fact that he's still not at ease with heights.
That's what Joaquin loves about Bob. Despite his ridiculous powers and abilities, he doesn't change. Even now that he's way more in control of them, and of the side effects his mental struggles can bring, he's still the awkward, sincere and funny guy Joaquin fell in love with in the first place.
Speaking of the angel, Joaquin's phone comes alive in his pocket as he's waiting on Sam and the FBI to load up the bad guys they just arrested and wrap up the evidences before he can go back home and crash in his bed next to Bob.
Bob texted him. //Are you okay?? Is it done?//
Joaquin smirks with a little sigh, puts his helmet on the side and lays against the wall behind him to answer him he's fine. Exhausted and starving, but fine. No, just fine is good. Bob is already anxious enough about him and his safety. They did have a tiny argument before Joaquin left yesterday, Joaquin recalls, his fingers unmoving above the screen of his phone.
Bob thinks Joaquin is working too much lately. Joaquin keeps telling him that he's fine, but to be fair, he might be right. Joaquin is indeed stretching it a bit thin this week. The four different missions of the past ten days really took a toll on his body. But he can't help wanting to be here for Sam and not be a liability, like he has been for an entire year after his accident.
“Tell Loverboy he can stop worrying, you're done,” claims Sam, showing up next to Joaquin.
Joaquin shoves his phone back in his pocket without answering Bob. “What? What about you?”
“They still need me for a bunch of paper pushing stuff. I'll spare you the details, but you can go if you want.”
“Are you sure? I can wait-”
“Go! And I don't want to see you again at least before noon tomorrow, is that clear? You look like my nephews after a sugar rush.”
Joaquin bows his head in a chuckle. “Copy that.”
“Good job today, Falcon,” adds Sam, responding to Joaquin's high five.
“Thanks, Cap.”
“Get out of here,” gesture Sam with a smile, pointing at the sunsetting sky.
Joaquin laughs, puts his helmet back on and jogs a little further before taking off. Once in the skies, Joaquin let out a breath. His head always a bit clearer when up there, he connects his phone to his helmet and calls Bob, who answers immediately.
“Hello??”
“Hey, Handsome.”
“Joaquin, are you alright? Did you- are you flying right now?”
Joaquin chuckles again. “Yes, Amor, I'm alright. Everything went fine. I'm on my way back.”
Joaquin can hear Bob breath out at the other end of the line.
“Oh, okay, good, good, ...”
“Are you alright?”
“Yeah, yeah, I'm sorry, I know, I worry too much. I know. I didn't mean to-”
“No, I'm sorry. You were right, I am tired. I really felt it today. Even Sam saw it ...”
There's a bit of silence before Bob asks.
“What did he say?”
“That I looked like his nephews after a sugar rush.”
At least it has the effect of making Bob softly laugh through the phone.
“That's a very good comparison.”
“Hey!” protests Joaquin, falsely upset.
“Do you have to stop by the compound or are you coming here directly?” Bob asks so gently Joaquin can picture him smiling through the phone.
“Depends, does Yelena mind having my wings-”
Joaquin doesn't finish his sentence as he's hit by a blast of energy, a high pitch noise pierces through his ears and his wings die instantly.
Not again, he thinks as he's falling to the ground.
He wasn't flying high, but still high enough for the hard ground to permanently maim him, this time. Watching said ground rapidly come closer and closer, he reaches for the tiny handle on top of the wings' engine and pulls sharply onto it, praying for the emergency parachute to be enough to smooth over his fall.
It spreads, putting his fall to a fair halt. Still, Joaquin wraps his dead wings around his arms and torso and gather his legs closer, bracing for the impact, knowing it's gonna hurt.
And it does hurt. He can feel one of his ankles snap the moment it touches the ground, before he tumbles across multiple feet, to finally stops. His breath short, he moans out of pain, his vision spotty despite his intact helmet, a huge tinnitus in both his ears, and his entire body hurting.
He's barely registering that the wings and the ropes of the chute got entangled together during the tumble and are now pining him down that dark, blurry silhouettes show up above him. He hears muffled shouts and feels a needle planting in his neck before passing out.
- - - - - -
A bag being pulled off his head is what wakes him up. A bright spotlight right in his face and the tinnitus still ringing in his ears make him dizzy and blink hard as he slowly realizes his situation.
His cuffed wrists are held high above his head by a construction hook on a chain bolted to the ceiling of the dark room he's kept into. They stripped him of the top of his uniform, leaving him bare chest in this cold. His ankle screams at him as he's pushing on his feet to straight up and relieve the pressure on his shoulders a little.
His breath short, he tries not to panic as he looks up. His vision still a bit fuzzy from the drugs, he counts three people in the room.
“Who the fuck are you guys?” he asks in a hoarse voice, the ringing in his ears making his own voice resonate in his brain.
If someone answers him, he doesn't hear them. One of them does approach him with something in hand. It takes Joaquin a few seconds to realizes it's a phone. They're filming him, or taking pictures. Either way, it answers a couple of his questions.
The blast that destroyed his wings wasn't an accident.
This is a kidnapping, and that phone means he's the bargaining chip.
But for who? Sam? Bucky? The Avengers? Bob?
The phone gets out of his face and then his kidnappers turn off the light, exit the room and leave him hanging, literally.
Not blinded by the light anymore, he looks around the room, but there isn't much to work with. It's just a regular cellar, with a tiny window behind him that's barely letting any moonlight in. He looks up at his hands and tries to find a way to unhook them, but he's too tired and dizzy to make any progress, and only manages to make his muscles and wrists hurt more.
He breathes out, closes his eyes, and forces himself to think while opening and closing his hands to keep the circulation going through his arms and fingers.
Those guys definitely aren't amateurs. The technology they used to kill his wings is tech of the highest quality, and not of the legal kind. Russians? Syrians? Chinese? Or maybe they're more local, like the Kingpin org., SERPENT, or maybe even HYDRA, who knows?
Speaking of the wings, how damaged are they? Are they completely dead? Will he be able to fix them? Maybe he can use this as an excuse to ask for a Wakandan upgrade again. Maybe it'll work, this time.
Joaquin sighs, his mind drifting to Bob, as always.
It's clearly dark outside, so it's already must've been a couple hours since their phone call got cut short. Knowing him like Joaquin does, he must be out of his mind running circles, right now. And Bob being out of his mind isn't good for anyone.
Joaquin had witnessed closely what it was like, and he never wanted to see Bob like that ever again.
A part of him does hope to see his boyfriend come through that door to rescue him, but another, more protective, part of him doesn't want Bob involved in this. Joaquin is used to the darkness of the world by now. It comes with the job. He signed up for this. But Bob didn't. He's too pure and already went through enough for the stain of that life to continue to reach him.
Even if, this time, Joaquin is afraid that he won't be able to protect him from it.
Time stretches slowly for the next hour or so. Exhausted, cold and starving, he nods off a couple of times, but always startles awake again, reminded every time of the pain in his shoulders and ankle.
His ears aren't ringing anymore, his hands have gone numb, and he's properly shivering by the time the door opens again.
A tall man with scary big arms comes in and turns the spotlight on again. Joaquin blinks a couple of times, properly awake now. The man positions himself between the light and Joaquin.
“Ready to talk, little birdie?”
Joaquin swallows hardly. “Wouldn't mind some water first.”
The man stares at him for a beat, and then grabs a bottle of water from behind the light. He comes closer, opens the bottle and raises it to Joaquin's lips. Joaquin drinks as much as he can, feeling the cold liquid go through his body to his empty stomach before the bottle is taken away from him.
He coughs a couple of times before looking up. “Alright. What do you want to chat about, big guy?”
“Sam Wilson.”
“Is he the one you're using me to bargain with?” asks Joaquin, forcing a chuckle, “well, good luck, with that!”
“What can you tell me about him?”
“What do you want from him? Who are you guys?”
A fist ends up in his stomach. He coughs up again, his breath labored.
“I'm the one asking the questions here. Got it?” says the man, eyes on Joaquin.
Joaquin nods his head yes, catching his breath. “Yeah, got it.”
“So, Wilson?”
Joaquin looks down for a second, gathering his strength. They want him to talk, sure, he'll talk.
“Oh, you know,” he starts, straightening up, “Sam is … well Sam. He's Cap! Captain America! Former Falcon. I'm Falcon, now. I know, cool, right? Except you guys just fried my wings ... Not cool! But, yeah, me and Cap. Met him four- no five years ago. Damn, time flies, right?”
The guys frowns, already getting irritated by Joaquin's ongoing flow of words.
“He really is a great guy. Amazing poker player, but don't let him cook if you still want to have tasting buds by the end of dinner. Cause that guy sure loves his spicy--”
The guy slaps Joaquin in the face with the back of his hand. Joaquin winces, already feeling the metallic taste of blood in his mouth.
“Shut the hell up.”
“I thought you wanted me to talk,”
“Short and useful answers only.”
“Yeah, not my forte, sorry.”
The guy frowns.
“His home address, now.”
“Sorry, pal. That's classified.”
The man smirks. “We'll see about that”
Then his fist lands in Joaquin's guts again. Wobbling on his weakening ankle, Joaquin coughs up a few times, his breath short, the cuffs digging into the skin of his wrists, and his shoulders burning from the tension.
“What about Barnes?”
Joaquin chuckles. “Oh, trust me you don't want to come after Bucky if you care about-”
Another slap in the jaw.
“Is he running for congress again?”
“How the fuck should I know?” answers Joaquin, spitting blood and stretching his painful jaw.
“Fine, let's talk about your Avengers buddies, then.”
“If you want to know who the best karaoke singer is, sure.”
The guys gives him a deadpan look, warning him about his answer.
Joaquin forces a smile. “Shang-Chi. By far. Please-not-the-face ...”
Another punch, in his ribs this time.
Joaquin starts laughing to cover up his pain. The adrenaline kicking in numbing and warming up his body more and more after each punch, he's ready for a few more rounds, now. That guy can beat him up as much as he wants, Joaquin would rather die than give him anything on his team, or Sam, or anyone he loves. He stares at him with a provoking smile.
The man turns around to go fetch something else behind the spotlight.
Joaquin quickly swallows and perches on the tip of his boots for a second to ease the pressure on his wrists. But it does more harm than good, as the pain is even worse when the guy comes back and Joaquin falls back on his heels. He winces, clenching his jaw not to let out any moan of pain.
The man turns on a digital screen, tap in a few keys and flashes it into Joaquin's face. “What about this guy, then?”
There, on the screen, is a video of Bob, in his new suit, two months ago, on the first mission he went on. Here he his, shot from a hidden spot on the street, hauling a SUV above his head like it's nothing to help civilians get out of their car. From the outside, he looks like a regular super soldier, until he looks around, then up, and flies away, out of the video's range.
That was actually the moment he joined Sam and Joaquin in the sky on their way back to the compound. Joaquin had loved to fly alongside him that day. But he's not about to share that detail right now.
“What about him?” he asks, looking up from the screen.
“Who is he?”
“Sorry man, that's classified and way above my pay grade.”
Joaquin expects to be punched again, but the man only smirks.
“Above your pay grade, uh?”
“Way above!”
“So, you don't know who he is?”
“Nope,” answers Joaquin, eyes on the guy, a bad feeling lurching in his guts.
“Hum, that's curious, cause he really looks a lot like that guy,” the man insists, before showing him a series of pictures that makes Joaquin's smile fade away.
They're paparazzi type of photographs showing Joaquin and Bob holding hands in the street down Joaquin's apartment from the night Yelena and Kate dragged them to a party last month, and they ended up walking back to his place at 2am.
The last picture is when Bob held his face in his hands and kissed him, right after Joaquin told him he loved him. That night had been magical. But, now, it's stained by the knowledge that they were being followed, with the intent to use their love against them.
He clenches his jaw, a new fire lighting up in him, and gives the guy a murderous glare when looking up from the screen. There's no way in hell he's giving anything on Bob. The fact that they're together is the only thing they'll know about him. And it's already too much.
“What?” smirks the man again. “Cat got your tong?”
“Screw you.”
“Well, apparently I'm not the one getting screwed here.”
“Shame, could do you some good, honey,” provokes Joaquin.
That grants him another punch in the face. He laughs again. “You homophobes pieces of shit are so easy to trigger, Jesus. It's like child's play.”
Another angry punch opens his brow bone and blood starts running down the side of his face.
“Hit me all you want, asshole, I'm not giving you shit!”
He winces when another fists threatens his face, but the door opens again.
“That'll be all,” says a stern, more feminine voice.
Catching his breath, Joaquin watches his interrogator nod, hand over the tablet, and get out.
In his place steps a beautiful woman in her late thirties, dressed in dark green tactical gear, long hair with green highlights braided on the side. Joaquin frowns, he knows that face. The logo of a gold skull surrounded by a gold snake on her shoulder confirms his doubts and fears.
“I know you. You're Viper, the new head or SERPENT.”
“I am, indeed. I see you're well informed, Captain Torres.”
“Yeah, it's kinda my job to know about bad guys, so ...”
She hums, gets closer, grabs his jaw to turn his face on the side and pushes a clean cloth over his bleeding brow. She stays still for a minute, observing him in silence.
“You are a pretty man. Great bone structure. That Miami glow is indeed efficient,” she says, tapping his brow a couple of times until it stops bleeding. Then she grabs the bottle of water from earlier and offers it to him.
But he doesn't drink, staring at the bottle, and at her. “What are you doing?”
“Well, beating you up isn't leading us anywhere, is it?” she answers with a smirk.
Fair enough. Joaquin nods and accepts the water. She tilts her head on the side, looking at the scars on his torso, neck and right shoulder from his accident.
“Yikes, what was it? Chemicals? Bomb?”
“Air strike missile.”
“Oh, right, the Celestial Island incident, right?”
He frowns, not liking how much she seems to know about him already. “Why am I here?” he asks instead of answering her question.
“Well, first of all, because you're Captain America's little bird. You two and my organization have unfinished business I was dying to conclude. So we started following you, and then, this happened,” she smiles, showing him the pictures of Bob kissing him again.
Joaquin's guts lurch again, fear creeping in on him.
“See, that boyfriend of yours, he's cute. But, whoever he is, he's also a mystery. And I don't like mysteries. Especially when they are as powerful as he seems to be. So, me and my people, we did a little digging. Valentina de Fontaine did a good job covering up her ass last year, but we did find out two things. First, the official name is Sentry. Cool, a bit generic if you ask me. But most importantly, there is a kill switch with his name on it,” she says with a smile, pulling a small black handle with a red button on it from her pocket.
Joaquin turns pale again, and for the first time since he woke up here, he actively fights his restrains. “You leave him alone, you bitch!”
She chuckles. “So, not that much above your pay grade, uh?”
Joaquin pulls at his restrains again, furious.
“So, this is actually dangerous for him. Thanks for confirming my doubts.”
Joaquin freezes. “What?”
“The file wasn't quite specific about the kind of damages that thing could do to him, but according to your reaction, I'd say quite significant. So, I think I'll take my shot. Thanks.”
Losing his grip a bit, Joaquin struggles against his restrains. “No, no, wait, what about me? I thought we had unfinished business. Come on, he's not a threat to you. Your beef is with us, not him!”
“Now, now, Loverboy, I understand why you want to keep him all to yourself, but we both know that, in our line of work, him and I will definitely cross path one day. I'd rather save myself the trouble in advance. Besides, he'll definitely become a threat once you're dead, so, might as well save both of us the heartache.”
Joaquin frowns. “What?”
She smiles, puts the kill switch back in her pocket and snaps her fingers. The door opens again and two people come in, dragging something inside.
“See, you, Joaquin Torres, are the solution to all my problems. Because, in exchange of your life, I can get my ex-partner back, kill the Sentry, and scar Captain America for the rest of his life. It's a win win win situation really. Except for you, of course.”
Joaquin is both scared and confused. “All of this is about Sidewinder, really? I'd thought you'd be happy to be rid of him.”
“Oh, no, I am. But like I said, lot of unfinished business. Him included.”
Joaquin stares at her, his tired brain not following everything.
“It's a lot, I know. But here me out: In a few hours, in exchange of your life and location, Sam Wilson and the Sentry will deliver Sidewinder to me. The Sentry will be shut down, and only then, we'll tell Wilson where you are.”
Joaquin swallows, truly horrified by her plan. Because it could actually work.
“So, what … you lie, kill me now, and give Sam the address to my dead body later?”
“I thought of that, yes, that would save me many troubles. But, you see, I don't want him to just find you dead and blame me for it. That would be boring. No, I want him to be the one to do it,” she adds, pointing at the thing the other people have been setting up behind her back while she explained her plan.
It's a rifle, set up on a tripod, aiming directly at Joaquin's torso. A small motion sensing captor is connected to it's trigger, and another one is placed above the door. Making anyone stepping through that door trigger the riffle and kill Joaquin in seconds. A cold chill shakes him to his core. This is so twisted, even for them.
“And that's what we call killing two birds with one stone. Well, one little bird and one big bird, with two stones? Four birds? Anyway, you get my point.”
“You really are a psychopath ...”
“Yeah!” she beams like he had just paid her a compliment.
She checks her smartwatch and claps her hands. “Alright people, we need to get going!”
Panic takes over Joaquin. “No, no, no, please, wait, I'm begging you, don't do that! Don't hurt him! Come on, let's talk about this, please! There has to to be something else you want! Please!”
Viper purses her lips, faking being touched by his plea. Someone hands her a roll of duck tape and a piece of clothing. “Aw, you're cute. I'll make sure to tell him you begged for his life,” she says, stuffing his mouth with the cloth and taping his face to hold it in place.
Joaquin fights against his restrains again, the cuffs properly cutting through the skin of his wrists this time. She sighs, glaring at his hands, and then gives him a stern look. Joaquin's breath speeds up as she gets another syringe from her pocket, holds it in front of her eyes and flicks it.
“Now, the exchange isn't for a few hours, so I'm gonna need you to behave. We don't want you to bleed out before the grande finale, do we?”
He struggles, begging her through the tape, when she comes closer and plants the syringe in his neck. “Captain Torres, it's been a pleasure,” she adds before the drugs put Joaquin under again.
- - - - - -
The first thing Joaquin notices when he wakes up again is how dry his mouth is from the drugs, and from the cloth. He tenses and loudly moans out of pain when pushing on his feet again. The open skin of his wrists is burning, but he doesn't even feel his arms and shoulders anymore at this point. Everything is numb. Except his mind.
A bit of sunrise is filtering through the window. Which means the exchange must be happening soon, or it did already.
Joaquin's heart skips a beat. Bob.
Is he already living in a world without the love of his life in it? Was the kill switch Viper showed him the same that Mel already used once on the Sentry, the one that set the Void free? Or is Viper's another, more powerful one? One actually capable of killing Bob?
Joaquin can't even start to fathom that possibility. His eyes fill with tears the second he does.
Bob Reynolds. His sweet Amor. The holder of his heart, hopes and dreams.
If Viper did kill him, then Joaquin is glad to be collateral damage soon. Because he doesn't want to imagine a future without Bob in it. Joaquin sobs for a minute thinking about it, his eyes closed.
No. Even if Bob dies, Joaquin can't quit. He can't stop fighting. He won't do it, not to Sam. He owes him too much for that. He has to keep going.
He looks up and his eyes land on the rifle pointing at him, then at his hands. If only he could manage to unhook himself, broken ankle or not, at least he would be out of range from the bullets. He could even slowly but safely get out. The chain between the two cuffs is long though, and therefore, goes way higher than his hands. But still, he has to try.
He takes a few labored breaths through his nose to focus, looks up again, and gets on the very tip of his boots, stretching his arms and legs as much as he can to grab the hook with his hands and maybe have a chance to pull himself up high enough to unhook the chain and fall back down.
His whole body screaming at him, he barely touches the bottom of the hook before his still viable ankle tires out and gives in, making him fall back on the ground, his whole body following, the shock yanking at his shoulders, arms and wrists again. He screams out of pain and anger, tears running from his eyes.
Damn it! He doesn't want to die! Not today, not like that. And certainly not by traumatizing Sam in the process.
But he's so tired … If only he had been resting like Bob said he should. He would've had more energy, he could've get out of that death trap. What a stupid idiot! He rests his head against his arm, catching his breath, feeling more and more defeated, when a loud noise resonates far away in the building.
Joaquin looks up, his tension climbing. Already? No, no, no, he didn't even have time to try the hook again.
Doors are crashing open closer and closer to him. He hears Sam's voice calling his name. Joaquin can't help but scream and try to warn him, but Viper silenced him for a reason.
Eyes full of tears and bouncing between the rifle and the doorknob, he pulls on the cuffs with all the energy he has left. Thick blood runs down his arms from his open wrists, but he keeps going. He fights and he screams, until the doorknob turns and the door opens.