Chapter Text
It was supposed to be a straightforward mission: break in, extract and scrub any incriminating data, and then leave. John didn’t know why Valentina needed an operative to sneak into one of her own facilities, but those sorts of questions were above his pay grade. He wasn’t playing hero anymore, he was only doing his job.
The lab in Kuala Lumpur was heavily guarded, but there were weaknesses in the perimeter, and John exploited them easily. Valentina had provided key codes to access the local computer network, so John set up shop behind a humming row of servers and got to work. He purged the data without taking a good look at it — something about an experiment to improve human performance, and a long list of failed subjects. Blah blah, same old story. John could have told them not to bother, that enhanced abilities did not improve anything except one’s ability to fall from grace.
He was almost done when an alarm sounded somewhere in the building. John swore and cut short the data extraction — he’d gotten rid of the important stuff, at least — and began looking for an alternate route of escape.
That’s when he found the dead bodies.
An entire row of them, wrapped up as if they were in burial shrouds, just like in —
John grit his teeth and shook his head like a dog, fighting off a flashback. Not now, he needed to —
One of the bodies moved.
John pulled out his gun automatically, panic rising in his chest, but the body did not sit up suddenly or start twitching like a creature from a horror movie. Instead, he heard it groan softly, like someone waking up with a hangover.
John approached slowly. The person under the sheet had pulled the fabric away, revealing a man, maybe a few years younger than John, with a head full of messy brown hair. His eyes were a dark blue, and were staring at John in equal parts wonder and fear.
Not a zombie come to life, then. John lowered his gun, embarrassed by his earlier fright. “Hey. What’s your name? What are you doing out here?”
“Bob Reynolds,” the man answered. He sat up slowly and peered around him in confusion. John noted that he was wearing hospital scrubs. “I, um… I don’t know… I was supposed to be taking part in some study, but the last thing I remember was getting my blood drawn…” Catching sight of the wrapped bodies, he flinched and scrambled to his feet. “Oh my God, are they… are those…?”
“The ones who didn’t make it, yeah.” John looked Bob over; he seemed physically fine, despite having been laid out like another failed test subject. What made him the exception?
The alarms went off again, this time closer. John headed towards the exit, but Bob’s lost, helpless expression made him pause at the door. He knew that he was leaving that man to a terrible fate — more experiments, at best, and a one-way trip to the morgue, at worst.
John had compromised a lot of his morals over the past few years, but one bridge he wouldn’t cross was to turn his back on an innocent life. “Come on,” he said, extending a hand. “You aren’t safe here. Let’s go.”
This one more time, he could play hero.
Bob bounded to his side without hesitation. “Something bad happened, didn’t it? With the study?”
John hissed for silence and peered down the empty corridor. A clueless companion made escaping more difficult, but John had rescued multiple hostages during his time in the military, as well as escorting civilians across enemy lines. This was something he could handle.
“I feel like something bad happened,” Bob fretted, wringing his hands together. “Or maybe I —“
“Questions later,” John snapped. “We have to move fast, okay? Just be quiet and stay close to me.”
Bob nodded meekly, still pulling at his fingers. John took one of his hands and felt a brief, disorienting sensation, but it passed almost immediately. Those dead bodies had likely gotten to John more than he cared to admit.
“Hold on,” he said, then took off down the corridor, Bob in tow. The better to not lose him, he figured, and their linked hands seem to calm the younger man’s anxiety. He was downright cheerful by the time they made it out of the building and into John’s getaway vehicle.
“Wow… thanks for getting me out of there… um, whatever your name is.”
John pulled out of the alley and gave Bob a look out of the corner of his eye. Was this guy for real? “You don’t recognize the uniform?”
“No? Sorry… I don’t really watch the news…”
John didn’t say anything for a long moment. He knew, logically, that not everyone was intimately aware of his downfall as Captain America, but based on the internet hate that he got to this day, it was always a surprise to meet someone who hadn’t already formed an opinion about him.
“My code name is U.S. Agent,” he finally answered. He glanced Bob’s way. “But my real name is John Walker.”
“‘John Walker,’” Bob repeated softly to himself, before smiling at John. “Thanks, Walker.” His eyes widened suddenly. “Is that a good idea, giving out your secret identity like that?”
John rolled his eyes. “It’s not a secret.”
Bob exhaled in relief. “Good, because I’m terrible at keeping secrets.”
“Uh-huh.” John kept his attention on the road as he winded his way through the crowded streets.
“Where are we headed? Is it far? I don’t know what the scientists did with my stuff, and I was staying at a hostel, anyway, so I don’t have my —“
“Damn it,” John interrupted, looking at his side mirror. That same motorbike had been behind them the last three turns. “We’re being followed.”
As if sensing his acknowledgment, the driver sped up, getting dangerously close to John’s bumper. He couldn’t see the man’s face, protected by a dark-visored helmet, but the gun he was reaching for was very, very obvious.
“Hold onto something,” John suggested, and slammed on the gas.
He took a sharp turn down a narrow side street, the motorbike in hot pursuit. His first goal was to shake this guy loose, then he could loop back to his safe house and figure out what to do with Bob, who was gripping the “oh shit” handle above his window for dear life.
The passenger side mirror shattered from a gunshot. Bob yelped and ducked down instinctively.
Change of plans. First goal was to not get shot.
John cut the wheel sharply again, spinning around and forcing the motorbike to peel out of the way. By the time the rider had the gun aimed at him again, he was ready.
He floored it, swerving at the last second to catch only the front tire of the motorbike, sending the rider flying. Then he jammed the emergency brake and hopped out, shield already halfway off his back by the time the man had gotten to his feet. John threw it once, knocking him back down, then a second time, disarming him. He was on top of the rider before he could do anything else.
Holding his pursuer down with one hand, he flipped up the visor with the other. To his surprise, it wasn't a security guard, or a hired assassin. The face looking back at him was from his mission files, one of the lead researchers at the facility. "What the hell? They're arming the scientists now?”
The researcher snarled and clawed at John's iron grip, relentless. "Fuck you. You don't know what you've done, releasing that thing into the world."
John dug his fingers into the man's jacket and gave him a good shake before slamming him back into the ground. "Shut up. All I care about is how you knew to follow me. What set off the alarm?"
The sound of footsteps caught his attention. Bob had gotten out of the car and was watching the confrontation with wide eyes. It made John self-conscious, not particularly wanting an audience for his interrogation technique.
"Get back in the car," he said over his shoulder. He returned his attention to the scientist, but the man was not looking at John. His gaze was on Bob, and he was terrified.
"Monster!" he shrieked. "Stay away from me!"
Bob flinched, as if he'd been slapped, confusion plain in his eyes. John glared at the scientist and gave him another shake. "Don't look at him, look at me. Answer my —“
He didn't get a chance to finish. The scientist clenched his jaw, biting down on something. Only a moment layer, his eyes rolled to the back of his head and he went limp.
"Shit!" John felt for a pulse. Nothing. Already, the scientist's lips had gone pale, a trail of foam bubbling up from his throat and cascading down his chin. John let him go in disgust.
"Is he dead?" Bob's voice was muffled by a hand covering his mouth. He looked like he was about to be sick. "What happened to him?"
"Suicide pill." John stood up abruptly, feeling a little queasy himself. The street was quiet -- no other people, no cameras — but it didn't ease his anxiety of being watched. The last thing he needed was another video of him standing over a dead man to go viral. Turning away quickly from the body, he shooed Bob back into the car, then slipped behind the wheel and released the emergency brake.
"You're just going to leave his body there?" Bob asked softly as John drove away.
John cut him a sharp look. "Why, would you have preferred I wait around for the local police? You want to explain to them why he was so scared of you that he killed himself?"
Bob's gaze dropped, dark and unhappy. "No, you're right," he murmured. "I should have stayed in the car... I'm always making things worse..."
That last part was so quiet, John suspected that Bob was saying it to himself.
It was a tense few minutes while John took a circuitous route to his safe house, making sure that he wasn't being tailed by any more crazy scientists. When he was confident that he was no longer being followed, he took another quick glance at his companion. Bob looked so miserable that John started feeling a tiny bit guilty for his attitude.
"You're not a monster," he said gruffly, breaking the silence. "You were bamboozled by a shady organization, what happened back there wasn't your fault. That guy was delusional."
Bob didn't reply, but his expression lightened, just a little.
"I'm taking you back to my place," John added, vaguely remembering what Bob had asked before they were interrupted. "We'll figure out what to do next from there."
This time, he got a small nod of acknowledgement from the other man. John relaxed his shoulders and continued to drive.
~*~
John's safe house was on the outskirts of the city: a small, one-room apartment in an otherwise unoccupied building. It contained the basic necessities and not much else. Space was normally not an issue for John — in fact, considering some of the other places he'd slept over the years, it was damn near luxurious — but as he let Bob in and locked the door behind him, he realized that it was going to be a bit cramped for the both of them.
"I need to call my boss," he said as he looked the other man over. Bob's bangs were in his eyes, his hospital scrubs baggy and formless. And... he was barefoot? John hadn't noticed that before. Bob hadn't complained once about it. "Why don't you take a shower? You look like you could use it. I'll get you a change of clothes."
Bob bit his lip, as if he wasn't sure he should accept John's generosity. John sighed and walked past him to the tiny bathroom. "In here. There's a bottle of some 3-in-1 stuff on the ledge and a towel on the rack. I know it's not the Four Seasons, but it's clean. You have to be tired of smelling like a hospital."
The truth was, aside from a faint sting of antiseptic, Bob didn't smell bad at all, but John needed to call Valentina, and Bob looked like needed a little time to himself, too. He could see the adrenaline wearing off and a confused sort of exhaustion on the man's face. A shower would do him good.
Bob finally relented, entering the bathroom and shutting the door. John heard the click of the push lock on the knob and smiled faintly to himself. Bob had some self-preservation instincts, at least.
Stripping off his gear and the top half of his uniform, John pulled out his burner phone and placed a call to an unlisted number. Valentina answered on the first ring.
"Walker, hi. How's my favorite ex-superhero?"
John grit his teeth. Talking to Valentina was like being stabbed by a thousand tiny needles, but he knew better than to give her any attitude, not if he wanted that "clean slate" she kept dangling over his head. Just one more job, Walker. One more assignment. One more little piece of his soul sold to the devil, and he'd finally have his life back. "Mission's complete," he answered, forcing his jaw to relax.
"Great. No hiccups or complications to report?"
John glanced over at the closed bathroom door. He could hear the shower running on the other side. "There were some dead bodies," he said, rather than lie outright. "Failed test subjects, probably. They weren't disposed of properly."
Valentina sighed and clicked her tongue. "Very sloppy on their part," she agreed, as if John had told her that the scientists had left out some household trash instead of human beings who'd lost their lives pointlessly. "Alright, I'll go ahead and credit your account. Head back home, if you like. Or have some fun, I don't care. Thailand's not all that far from you."
John made a face at the phone. "What about —“
"Jonathan, I am a very busy woman right now. I will let you know when I've made progress on your public image. I can work miracles, but undoing the reputation of a man whose photo is under the Urban Dictionary's definition of 'crash out' is going to take some time."
She had a point, as much as he hated to admit it. "Fine."
"There's my good boy," Valentina said in a way that made John's skin crawl. "Ciao."
John heard the beep of an ended call. He jammed the phone into its charger and scowled at the glowing face. Fucking Val.
The shower was still running, but John stripped the rest of his suit off impatiently. He was sweaty and dirty and needed to get it off of his skin. Down to his black compression shirt and shorts, he dug around in his closet for something else to wear, then remembered Bob's predicament and grabbed a t-shirt and sweatpants for him, along with packaged underwear and socks. Shoes would be more of an issue, he had no idea if they wore the same size, but clothing was cheap here, he could always run out and buy Bob his own pair of sneakers.
He was about to check on what food he had stocked in the small cabinet above the kitchenette when the shower stopped. "Hey," he said, knocking on the door. "I have your clothes."
No response. John knocked again. "Bob. Bobby. You okay in there?"
"...I don't know..." Bob's voice trembled, like he had seen a ghost.
John frowned and twisted the knob, but it was still locked. Resisting the urge to break in, he leaned against the doorframe and asked calmly, "Are you feeling dizzy? Did you hurt yourself? Let me in so I can help."
The door unlocked and John gently shouldered his way in. Bob was standing in front of the sink, towel wrapped around his hips, staring at his reflection.
"I look different," he exhaled in fearful wonder.
John looked him over quickly. No cuts, no bruises, no signs of mutation. "Different how?"
Bob touched his chest, drawing a hand down his pecs and over his perfect six-pack abdomen. “This. I didn’t have muscles like this…”
John’s gaze followed Bob’s hand unconsciously, taking in his Adonis-like body. Something akin to envy curled up inside him, making his neck grow hot, and he was grateful for the compression shirt that hid the softness that had creeped around his abdomen over the past few years, despite being a super soldier. “It must have been whatever they gave you, some new variant of a super serum.”
“Super serum?” Bob turned to look at him in shock. “I didn’t sign up for that! They told me that it was a study to make me a better person…”
“That’s their definition of ‘better,’” John replied, unsuccessfully hiding his bitterness. “What were you expecting?”
Bob’s gaze returned to his reflection. “…that I’d stop feeling like a failure,” he admitted quietly. “No more bad days, no more gaps in my memory… no more drug addiction…”
John raised his eyebrows. “Drug addiction?” he repeated, keeping his voice neutral.
Bob met his eyes in the mirror. “Opioid,” he clarified. “I got into a bad car accident in middle school and they put me on morphine. I’ve been on a lot of other stuff, too — meth got me into the most trouble — but that’s the one I’ve never been able to shake.”
“Jesus,” John said softly, not out of condemnation, but pity. “You were just a kid when you got hooked.”
Bob shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. I’ve tried to get clean, over and over, but nothing’s worked. This study was my last shot to get better, and I… I don’t even know what it did to me…?”
“Hey.” John could hear the panic rising in Bob’s breath. “It’s all right. Whatever it did, it must have worked. You look great.” Shit. “Healthy, I mean. I don’t think you need to worry, not unless you start feeling withdrawal symptoms. You tell me if that happens, okay?”
Bob swallowed and nodded. The smile he gave John was tremulous, but real.
“I put some clothes out for you on the bed. I’m going to shower, too, then I’ll make us something to eat. Or you can grab a protein bar if you don’t want to wait. They’re in the cabinet above the stove.”
Bob nodded again. He kept a hand on the towel at his waist as he started to move around John, before John got a clue and hurriedly stepped out of the way. He caught himself looking over Bob’s body one last time, then shut the bathroom door.
That serum had done something, alright.
John stripped out of his clothes and stepped into the shower. An initial blast of cold water snapped him back to his senses, and he washed himself quickly. By the time he exited the bathroom — toweled off and dressed in a tank top and track pants — Bob was dressed and sitting at the little table that John used both to eat at and as a desk. His feet were tucked up on the chair, arms wrapped around his legs, chin resting on his knees. That pose, paired with his pensive, dark blue eyes, made John’s guard crumble. How could he judge a man who was taken advantage of while searching for that elusive clean slate? It’s not like he was in any position to throw stones, injecting himself with an experimental serum that should have been destroyed.
Crossing over to the kitchenette, John pulled out a few shelf stable items and put together something that could pass for dinner. The benefit of an assignment in Southeast Asia was that packaged noodles and spices were a cut above other locations. He placed the steaming hot bowl in front of Bob and watched with a small flicker of amusement as the man inhaled the meal as if he hadn’t eaten in days.
“I need to get you out of Malaysia,” John informed him, eating more sedately. “That’s going to be tricky without a passport. Where’s home for you? The United States?”
“Florida,” Bob replied, after slurping up the broth at the bottom of his bowl. “Well, not home, not really. It’s where I grew up.”
“Do you want to go back to the States?”
Bob looked away and shrugged apathetically.
John held back a sigh. “Normally I’d take a stranded citizen to the US Embassy, but considering your situation, it’s better if you stay off the government’s radar. I can get you a passport but it’s going to take some time. You can stay here in the meanwhile.”
“Here?” Bob bit his lip and fidgeted with his fork. “No, I — I can find my own place to stay. It’s okay.”
“How are you going to do that?” John held up a hand in annoyance when Bob started to answer. “It’s a rhetorical question, Bobby. I’m not dumping you off somewhere, you’re my responsibility now.”
Bob grimaced at the nickname. “I don’t have a way to pay you back.”
“You don’t have to pay me back,” John replied, less gruffly. “This is what I do.”
What the ideal version of himself did, at least. Bob hadn’t seen the reality yet, and John was hoping to keep it that way.
John stood up, clearing the table and rinsing out the bowls in the sink. “I’m going to get started on that passport for you. Here —“ he tossed Bob an mp3 player. “I’ve got some audiobooks saved on there. You can listen to one while I work.”
Bob held the old device like it was an ancient artifact and gave John a questioning look.
“No internet connection,” John explained. “Untraceable. Sometimes I can’t sleep. Listening to a book helps.”
The look Bob gave him was a lot more understanding than John expected. “Thanks, Walker.” He popped the wired earbuds in and scrolled through the selection on the tiny screen. John watched him for a moment before settling back down with his laptop and starting an encrypted search for the information he needed.
The next couple of hours passed quietly. John remembered to stretch, eventually, cracking his neck and rolling his shoulders a few times. He glanced over at Bob, who had obviously dozed off. The folding chair was not designed for comfort, but Bob somehow made it look cozy, the way he was half curled-up, head resting on his arm, still loosely holding onto the mp3 player with his other hand.
“Bob.” He leaned over and gently tapped the man’s shoulder, rousing him. “If you need to sleep, take the bed. I’ll be a while yet.”
Bob sat up, his eyes wide and disoriented. His gaze settled on John and for a moment, he looked anxious. “I’m not —“
“It’s fine,” John interrupted before Bob could lie about not being tired. “I have a spare cot folded up somewhere.”
Bob’s posture immediately relaxed. “Oh… okay.” He took out the earbuds and handed the mp3 player to John. “I’ll just go use the bathroom first.”
John nodded and returned to his laptop. “There’s an unopened package of toothbrushes under the sink, pick something other than blue so it doesn’t get mixed up with mine.”
Another couple of hours passed. John didn’t bother turning on any lights, absorbed in his work, but eventually his eyes grew tired, and he knew he needed to get some rest. He looked over at his bed, where Bob was fast asleep, chest rising and falling rhythmically. John made sure to be as quiet as possible using the bathroom and then retrieving his foldaway cot.
There was not a lot of floor space, so John set his cot up flush with the bed. It was either that or he’d have to rearrange the entire apartment, and it was late and not worth it for only a few more inches between them. Lying down with a sigh, he shut his eyes and tried not to think about how fucked he’d be if Valentina found out that he was harboring a witness to her unethical medical facility. Not only a witness, but the only successful test subject.
No. He had done the right thing. John would not question it further.