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The lab was supposed to be abandoned.
He'd requested the assignment- an easy solo mission to get away from whatever the fuck was going on with Bucky. Yeah, John was stupidly in love with the other man- who wouldn't be? He was strong, brave, good- all things John wasn't.
But he didn't have to subject himself to the other man's teasing. He just needed a break, he told himself as he wound his way through the first floor. There was an elevator that only went down. Why was the bulk of these places always built underground?
Just before the elevator doors opened, he felt more than heard a soft snick and instinct had him grabbing his shield and dodging to the side. The sound of gunfire filled the small space, then it stopped.
Silently, John cursed. He'd only brought his shield, his favorite gun, and a couple extra magazines.
The lab was supposed to be empty.
He gave himself a moment, listening intently to shuffling footsteps. He counted backwards from ten, and then he charged.
Uppercut with the shield, heel to knee, spin, shoot, block, block, jab, roundhouse. He fell into the rhythm of the fight, letting his body do what it had been trained for. As much as he could, he tried not to use his gun- he only had so many bullets after all.
Somehow, he made his way through the first wave. By the end, he was on the other end of a hallway littered with bodies. Most were unconscious. Some were not.
There was a sharp pain in his side, and another on his upper thigh. He ripped strips of cloth from a body and tied off the leg. His torso was a little harder, so he just stuffed the remains of someone's shirt in the hole and called it good enough.
In the distance, he heard crying.
John followed the sound around a corner and down another hallway. At the far end were three rooms. Two held small bodies. The third was empty.
“Oh, fuck,” he muttered silently. The rooms were locked with some sort of keypad. John thought about destroying the mechanism, but sometimes that locked the room down, making it more difficult. He went looking for someone alive to open the rooms.
John found the labs instead. Rage boiled up inside him. A third child was strapped down, some sort of machine hooked up to him. He looked scared.
The rage boiled over.
By the time it receded, there was more blood on the walls, and only one scientist left alive. He gave the man a choice between letting the kids go, or his life.
He chose the kids. John chose his life anyway.
In the back of his mind, a voice yelled at him about mission objectives, but John told that voice to shut the fuck up. This was a rescue mission now.
He guided the kids out. There were more men in the hallways. He shielded the kids, and got a graze along his temple for his trouble. Small price.
John tried to protect them from the worst of the violence, but he needed it to get them all out alive. He carried one when she stumbled, leaving him with only his one offhand wielding his shield. They made it back to the elevators, and John ushered them on. He set the girl down, then crouched down to their level.
“You all are doing so well,” he said, unaware of the blood trickling down his face, the extra holes at his shoulder and hip.
The hallway outside the elevator was quiet. John didn't trust it. Still, he guided them out, taking the fastest route. They made it to the jet he'd taken to get there.
“Do you know who did this to you?” he asked as he set the course.
The three children shook their heads.
“Great,” he muttered and tried not to pass out on the flight home.