Chapter Text
He wasn’t dead.
He wasn’t dead, and he should’ve been.
He’d thought that plenty of times before, but never more undeniably than right then, with his hospital gown shredded by bullets and a dozen machine guns pointed at him, muzzles still hot.
He’d fallen down because he thought he was meant to, but he was untouched. He looked down, and realized how broad he suddenly was, how his abdomen didn’t really look like his abdomen, the muscle definition that was definitely new and borne of strength, not deprivation, solid and unyielding, but that was not power.
Here was power: he had been shot perhaps a hundred times in a handful of seconds, and he was still standing. He looked back, daring them to shoot again, because he could withstand them, he could beat bullets, he could-
More than standing. Floating. Nothing supported him but himself, and he was a foot off the ground. He didn’t know how, but he’d been changed.
Nothing like the vision he’d shared with Yelena or seen with Walker. But real, tangible power. He could do something.
He could fly.
The moment he thought it, he shot up into the sky, higher and higher, faster than he would’ve fallen. He tumbled over himself, disoriented, the sky spinning around him, but he still knew he was going up, higher than he’d ever flown in some tin can of a budget airline, through space where no one had ever been, because he had power now. He was special. Only he had ever burst through this cloud and looked down at the desert below, seen the pinpricks of light down where the Vault was and all those tiny people gathered around watching him fly, tiny like he used to be-
Bob blinked against the warm light as he woke, the orange-gold of it saturating the room like an old photograph.
He looked up. There was someone watching him sleep.
“Hi,” the woman said in a soothing voice. She looked about fifty, a gray stripe through her hair framing her face, one leg tucked neatly over the other. Dark eyes watched him with something like expectation. “How- how are you feeling, Robert? Are you comfortable?”
He was on a bed in a hollow room. Despite the bed and the chair the woman sat in, it felt more like a wind tunnel than a bedroom. There wasn’t a blanket on the bed, or sheets either. Just the pillows he was propped up on. There was a mirror to his right, which reminded him of the room he’d done the first part of the medical trial in, the washout. He was in new pajamas. Same as the old ones, just not shredded by bullets.
But he wasn’t uncomfortable.
“Yeah,” he said, somewhat cautiously.
She looked at him indulgently.
“My name is-” she paused and adjusted her shawl, “Valentina Allegra de Fontaine, and-”
He scrambled back against the headboard, shaking a finger in her face, even as she smiled patiently, as if she’d expected this.
“Oh no no no- you tried to kill us, didn’t you?”
She hushed him, still with the chagrined smile, like this was all just a big misunderstanding. But he recognized the name. Yelena and the others, down in the Vault, they’d said they’d worked for her. And that she’d sent them all down there to kill each other. Maybe while she was talking he could get some answers and then figure out whether he should get out of here, find Yelena and Ava and even Walker and see whether they were okay.
She set something down on the table next to her with an audible clatter. A piece of polished black metal, with a golden symbol on it. She studiously paid it no mind, but it was clear she wanted him to see it. She looked at him, eyes crinkling at the corners as she smiled.
“Let me explain, would you like that?”
He had a lot of questions.
His breath came out as a “Yeah.”
“You signed up for a medical study, which was, as advertised, at the cutting edge of human improvement.”
This, he already knew. That wasn’t the question he really wanted answered. He looked around the hollow room, hoping to get some sort of hint as to where he was, regain his bearings.
“But not everybody could handle the amount of greatness we had in mind-”
“What happened to Yelena?” The question came to him in a single blink of clarity, amidst his disorientation.
He should’ve waited to ask that, he knew that the moment he’d asked it, but he couldn’t help it. He knew what he’d signed up for. What he didn’t know: had he saved her? He’d flown, and he’d taken all those bullets, and the medical trial had worked, but did that mean anything if he hadn’t saved anyone?
“Yelena? Oh.” She grimaced. So they didn’t like each other much. “Well, those people you were with, those are not honest people. They’re- they’re criminals. Villains, really.”
Criminals? Maybe. They’d talked about doing black-ops stuff, but they hadn’t seemed like villains. Villains? That was reserved for aliens or warlords or people in Iron Man suits charging through buildings. They didn’t listen when people like Bob suggested they shimmy up an elevator shaft.
“No, no- they helped me.”
She scoffed and got up from her chair. Maybe she thought he was a little naïve, but he was telling the truth. Of course it was partly self-preservation, and Walker had threatened to throw him back in the incinerator, but they’d worked together, and Yelena hadn’t let him fall, even though his stupid sneeze had almost killed them all. She’d said he probably shouldn’t trust her, but then she’d saved his life, fighting their way out of the Vault. And he’d tried to return the favor, but he didn’t even know if it’d worked-
Valentina settled onto the bed at his feet, smiling gently.
“Robert.”
He didn’t mind that, strangely. Usually it felt like pretending, to be called that, but wasn’t he worth a little flattery now? A little respect?
“Let’s just forget about them and focus on you. And how perfect you are.”
He had to laugh at that. He didn’t think he’d ever been called that in his life. Not even close to it. Even when he’d signed up for the study he’d never thought he’d approach perfect.
“Perfect, huh.”
She rushed to correct him.
“You always thought of yourself as a victim, but you overcame.” She said it earnestly, like a blurb from a documentary, or a self-help book. “You went to Malaysia, you were lost, right? You were searching.”
She gave him a conspiratorial smile.
“And you found me.”
“How do you know all that?” He asked in wonder and slight embarrassment.
Maybe he’d told her something about himself. Maybe they’d met while he was in Malaysia. He forgot about people, sometimes. He’d have to hedge his bets to avoid tripping up- first strategy for dealing with memory loss.
“I know about all of it,” she said, not answering him. “I know about your mom’s mental illness, I know about your addiction, and about your juvenile record.”
She said it like she was a fan, like she was listing off fun facts, like she didn’t care about those ugly things, but she should. This was too much, how would she know, if he hadn’t told her, how would she-
“I mean, I even know about the times your father-”
“Stop!” He didn’t want to think about that right now, not when she was telling him he was perfect. Something rang in his ears.
“Nooooo…” He never would’ve told, he never- “Nah, no, I didn’t say you could know that.”
“Robert, I know everything about you,” she forged ahead, almost pleading, and why would she do that, if she knew that, if she truly knew everything? “And I still want you to be my guy."
The conspiratorial look was back on her face again, like they were a team, like they were keeping a secret.
“And isn’t that what you want? To be accepted, to be chosen?”
Of course. Of course. Of course.
“No one else sees that. But I do.”
Helplessly, his eyes went to the belt buckle- he knew what it was now- not simply a symbol, but an emblem. The emblem of a hero. And, well, it was really starting to look like that was him. Why not? Steve Rogers had been the unconventional choice too. They'd done reports on it in school, seen the little pictures of him in the textbooks side by side. Before and after.
“And I think maybe your past is what makes you so perfect.”
Before and after. Skinny asthmatic Steve Rogers became Captain America. Gangly meth-addicted Bob Reynolds became…what?
She set her hand on top of his, not comfort, but confidence. Confidence in him. Was it just the lighting of the room, or was it the warmth of pride, of belief, beginning to tingle at his fingertips?
Valentina’s face dropped. There was something like terror there, uncertainty. It didn’t belong there, on her face. It was like she was out of practice.
He fell into a familiar feeling. He was outside of his body; he couldn’t even see it. He was floating, and nothing in the room was real. Half of him was still on the bed, with Valentina’s hand over his. The other half…
The orange glow had faded into a dull gray, concrete walls replaced sleek panels.
“Devi stare in silenzio, Valentina/Stay quiet, Valentina,” A man’s hushed voice said urgently. It was the same strange knowledge as Yelena in the dark forest- he knew the man was speaking Italian. He knew that he, Bob Reynolds, did not know a lick of Italian. And yet still, he understood.
The man was crouched on a staircase landing, looking down at a little girl through the bars. There was a knock at the door, and Valentina- her adult self- took an aborted step forward.
The knocking got louder, more urgent. The girl cried softly in fear. So foreign a sound, to be coming from someone who grew up to be so cavalier.
“Completamente in silenzio.” Her father urged. “Qualsiasi cosa senti. Me lo prometti?/Completely quiet, no matter what you hear. You promise me?”
“Papa, ho fatto qualcosa di male?/Papa, did I do something wrong?” she cried out, with not nearly as much caution for volume. She wasn’t thinking of the danger. The only danger was in disappointing her father, the only fear of being in trouble. “Un signore in paese mi ha chiesto dove viviamo. Ha detto che e un tuo amico. Quindi io l’ho detto/The man in town asked where we live. He said he was your friend, so I told him.”
Despair and eagerness were at war on Valentina’s face. A childlike wonder, at seeing her father. But she knew what was coming. The knocking was getting louder.
“Si, si. Amore. Lo era/Yes, well he was”. He looked over to the door. “Non possiamo parlare con nessuno. Ricordi quell oche ti ho detto?/ Remember I told you not to talk to anyone?”
Her father was clinging to calm, and Valentina was beginning to see through it.
“Si papa. Mi dispiace tanto./Yes, daddy. I’m so sorry.” She sounded so small.
“Va tutto bene. Adesso mettiti nascosta./It’s okay. Just stay hidden for me.”
She nodded, and, assured, he got up to get the door. The door bounced back in his haste, leaving a crack for her to see through.
“Sai/You know,” the intruder says. Casually, like a mob movie. “Faccio questo mestiere da un sacco di tiempo. C’e sempre qualcuno come te bravo ma arrogante. Un cane affamato che ha gia l’osso in bocca/ I’ve been in this business a long time. There’s always someone like you, smart, but cocky. A hungry dog with a bone in its mouth.”
“Prendiamoci un drink. Che ne dici?/Let’s have a drink, shall we?” her father said, desperate, placating. Like a man delaying the inevitable. Valentina couldn’t stop watching.
“Pensi ancora di cavartela/You still think you’re getting away with this.” The intruder sounded amused. Almost impressed, by the audacity of it. Valentina had to get it from somewhere. “Non ti preoccupare, ci pensero io a Valentina./Don’t worry, I’ll look out for your sweet Valentina.”
When the gun came out, he reached for it vainly- the man couldn’t be blamed for trying.
The bullet rang out. He didn’t see the blood.
The darkness faded, and the orange glow was the first thing to return, the walls and the bed and the mirror and the floor reminding him of their existence. Valentina was looking at him, but it wasn’t eye contact. She was looking through him, uncomprehending for a heartbeat, before she jolted back into herself.
“Would you excuse me just for a moment?” she said, scrunching her nose like a housewife whose husband had just made a scene at a block party.
She nodded to herself and turned to go. Snatched the belt buckle off the bedside table, with it the emblem of the hero he could be, with it the chance to be that hero, the purpose she had just promised him, only to walk away with it now, after just that tiny slip-up? It was just a mistake, she couldn’t do that, he was perfect, she said, and the others hadn’t been fit for the greatness, but he was, he’d lived, more than lived, and he had to-
“No.”
She was halfway across the room already when the word dragged itself out of him.
“All right. Wait wait. Wait.”
She turned around to face him, puzzled.
He tried to smile confidently. This was his chance. He could not lose his chance.
“I can control it.”
She blinked, a beat of doubt, and he nodded, trying to reassure her. He was the one with the powers, and he knew his limits. He’d lived with so many before. Slowly, the confidence returned to her.
“Great.” She flashed a smile before she was back to business. She walked back and set the belt buckle back down on the table. He tried not to look at it too hungrily, but he couldn’t help it. It was so…perfect.
Valentina readjusted the shawl around her shoulders, and cleared her throat, and left the room.
An assistant came in, looking around nervously.
“Excuse me, sir?”
He found he liked being called sir.
“Valentina asked me to come in and ask what you wanted for lunch?” he asked.
Did he even need to eat? He wasn’t hungry, and the energy that coursed through him now- it seemed limitless. But did he want to eat? Sure, why not, when he could ask for anything?
“Okay,” he said, though he wasn’t feeling particularly hungry. How long had it been since he’d eaten? “Could I get a sandwich, please? Roast beef?”
The assistant blinked. Was that too much, or too little? Would the Avengers ask for a sandwich? Or something fancier?
“Sure. Any preferences as to where from?”
He shrugged.
“Never been to New York before. You’d know better than me.”
“Sure. Coffee okay?”
He nodded, trying to be polite. He wasn’t sure if it was too late in the day for coffee, if that was weird for the assistant. He didn’t even know the date, never mind the time. It might be summer already. Anyway, he was used to much more potent stimulants.
The assistant turned to go, and he piped up.
“Um, can I change?”
She waved dismissively.
“Eh, don’t bother. We’ll have something for you soon enough.” She looked him up and down, an inspection that made him want to get up on his feet. “The team’s working on it. Our brand-new hero won’t be saving people in a jean jacket, that’s for sure.”
A suit?
He couldn’t imagine himself in armor like Thor or a suit like Captain America’s. When he’d put on that tactical outside of the Vault, he’d thought that was probably the closest he was ever going to get. But then again, he hadn’t imagined himself flying either.
He waited for the assistant to leave before he walked over to the mirror to take a look.
He hadn’t had the chance to really examine himself now that the serum had taken effect.
He felt stronger, but he hadn’t expected to look it. He’d expected to look like- well, himself, even though he knew something had changed from when he’d looked down at himself when those soldiers had tried to pump him full of bullets.
For the first time in his life, he looked…healthy. He had muscles, now. Actual abs, pecs, a trim waist. Lean legs and broad shoulders. He thought he might’ve gotten taller, but that didn’t seem to be the case. He was lighter, though. The weight that had pushed down his shoulders all his life was gone. He stood taller. Like an actually imposing figure.
Somehow, the experiment had given him a clean shave. Hair still dusted his arms and legs, but it was even, not interrupted by mottled scars. There’d never be another bruise or burn or cut on his skin again. Could he shave? Would he still have to?
His hair was glossy, thick, soft. Nails clean, with a neat white half-moon at the cuticle. His teeth were white and straight.
It used to be, when he walked down the street, people would move out of the way, because, well, he cut an off-putting figure. Now, though, people would still get out of his way- but instead, because it looked like he’d plow you over otherwise.
And this was just in his pajamas. Soon, when Valentina clad him in a hero suit, and he had that buckle around his waist, he’d be a hero the world could- no, would- be proud of. A hero no alien or wayward government committee would dare to cross.
He flushed with excitement. When he’d signed up for the medical study, this was the type of thing he’d barely allowed himself to dream of. Just a vague sort of be better. But things had aligned for him. After so long feeling like the world’s punching bag, it was finally happening. What exactly, he wasn’t sure, but it. His life was changing. And the world was going to change with it.
It had been an accident, hadn’t it been, that he’d come across that recruiter for the study, in Kuala Lumpur? That he’d even been in Malaysia, of all places, carried there by a whim? Hadn’t it been a coincidence, that the box that had held him had opened at the right moment? Right when Yelena and Ava and Walker were there, ready to help him escape.
He wasn’t sure he trusted Valentina’s assessment of them. He couldn’t see Yelena as a villain, not with the way she’d talked to him, not with the way she’d seen him. Ava, either. Walker, maybe. But being a dick wasn’t a qualification for being a villain. They’d talked about being assassins and thieves, being black ops agents for Valentina. But if they worked for her, and he was going to be working with her, then wasn’t it all the same?
There was another question: he hadn’t thought of taking drugs at all. He felt no physical craving, which had sometimes felt more powerful than hunger or thirst- was that gone forever, erased by the serum? If he, a man who had always seemed to be defined by need, didn’t require anything, what did that open up for him? If he didn’t need to eat, didn’t need to drink, did he need to sleep? Did he even need to breathe?
He held his breath, and waited for the pain to follow, the demand for air, his body begging to escape death.