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1.
Charles purged the years spread from the age of eight to twelve from his mind. He’d spent three years living in Ohio with his makeshift family, then spent another year travelling in storage containers before getting kidnapped (likely for the second time) by Fred Vasseur.
He’d gotten rid of those memories on purpose because, truth be told, those years had been some of the best years of his life. He had a family. Even though it was fake, he’d felt loved and comfortable. He had parents and a brother.
But all good things had to come to an end and Charles had silently grieved the day it all fell apart.
Romain had returned after work and urged them all to leave. Charles had known why. He’d always known. He’d just hoped it would never happen. He’d just hoped that their mission would fail so he could stay living in Ohio with his fake family forever.
Dreams rarely come true.
They’d left in the night. No bags, no reason left behind, nothing. Charles had watched as the world sped by. Dino had asked where they were going.
“Home.” Romain had replied.
“You’re silly, Daddy. We just left home.” Dino had said.
The airport runway they arrived at was nothing special. Melina had flown the plane. The police hadn’t taken long to show up.
Romain had run along the side of the plane as they headed down the runway. He’d shot back at the police but it didn’t stop them from aiming at them.
Melina had been shot, Dino was in tears and Charles was forced to fly the plane all the way to Cuba.
That was when Charles started to lose everything. Melina was taken away. Romain barely fought to stay with them. Charles fought hard to protect Dino. He even pulled a gun on a bunch of military guys.
It had ended up just being the two of them stuck in a Russian sleeper cell with a bunch of other refugees.
But even that hadn’t lasted long.
Over time, he has come to realise that Fred Vasseur is the ruiner of Charles’ happiness. He had broken up their fake family and then proceeded to take Charles away from his brother, just to add the cherry on the top.
Dino was ripped from Charles’ grasp and, along with him, the last bit of Charles’ childhood went too.
2.
Charles had lost a lot of people in his life. You can’t be in the line of service he was without experiencing loss and grief. I mean, he killed for a living—it’s in the subtext. But, over the years, Charles had grown immune to it. Killing—frustratingly, so—was in his blood. It’s ingrained in his bones. He was born and raised and trained to be an assassin.
But killing cannot be compared to the loss of a friend. To the loss of family.
The second time Charles seriously felt loss was after the death of his first mentor. Jules had been like a brother, uncle and father all rolled into one. He was the only person that Charles really considered as family after being locked in the Red Room.
Vasseur was unrelenting, ruling over all his widows with an iron fist. It had been suffocating, locked in there, but Charles had spent years being used to it. Jules had certainly helped with that.
As far as he’d known, he had no family. He thought he might have had a brother at some point. A real brother. Maybe two, he couldn’t be sure. And, of course, he definitely had parents. But his parents had abandoned him. That’s how he’d ended up in the Red Room in the first place.
Anyway, the point is, Jules had been family. Losing Jules had broken Charles in a way that he’d not been able to fix since.
He’d been sixteen when Jules died. Charles remembered that day all too well.
It had been a long day of brutal training. Charles and the other widows had spent the majority running mock fitness tests under Bozzi’s watchful eye—it hadn’t been nice. Jules had been on a mission in Japan. Charles hadn’t known much about the mission, just its location.
Charles had been heading back to his shared room when he ran into Jules. He was roughed up, bruises marred the side of his face, he had a split lip and a cut went from his left brow down towards his left ear lobe. It was a shocking sight.
Charles had grabbed Jules by the arm and dragged him towards the barracks. He needed to help Jules clean up before he was spotted and reprimanded for not doing so before.
Jules hadn’t let him though. He’d resisted, firmly removing his arm from Charles’ grasp. Charles had stared at him then, confused.
“Jules, what is it?” Charles had asked in rushed French, “You’re hurt. You need to be checked.”
“Charles.” Jules had smiled at him, warm and brotherly, like he always did, “It’s okay.”
Charles had frowned, “You can’t let them see you like this.”
Jules’ smile then turned ironic and a dry chuckle had escaped him.
“They did this to me, Charles.”
That had shocked him. Jules was the best of them. He was fast, quick, adaptable. He’d passed all the tests first try and was one of Vasseur’s favourites. But he was also warm and kind, looked out for the younger widows and helped treat their wounds after training. He’d never been punished for it before… at least, not as far as Charles knew.
“Jules, what are you talking about?” Charles had asked, still confused.
“They’re coming for me, Charlie.” Jules had explained, “This is it. I came to say goodbye.”
Charles had stared at him then, muttering something in shocked French.
It didn’t make any sense.
“Why?”
“I tried to escape.” Jules had shrugged, “I want out. They know that. And they’re fed up with me, I’m too soft.”
“No, no, you’re not soft.” Charles had begged, grabbing Jules’ arms, “You’re not. You’re the best of us. They can’t kill you, you can’t go.”
Jules had continued to smile, raising his own hands and taking Charles by the shoulders.
“Charles, it’s okay.” He had reassured, “You’ll be okay.”
Charles could only shake his head. He had let himself be pulled into Jules’ embrace, unable to stop the tears. That had been the first time Charles had cried since his very first beating. It was also the last time Charles cried until several years later.
Charles never saw Jules die. But he’d heard the shot go off. He saw Jules’ unmoving body. He had mourned quietly, his sobs disguised by the sound of the cold shower water that ran over his bareback.
Jules was family. Jules was dead.
3.
The third time Charles experienced real loss, he was twenty-seven. It had been eleven years since he’d lost Jules. Nine years since he’d escaped the Red Room. Eight years since he’d joined SHIELD.
He wasn’t there when Lewis was shot. Lewis had been at George’s Apartment—Charles didn’t know why. By the time Charles had got to the hospital, Lewis was already in surgery.
George and Seb were in the operating theater when Charles walked in, both were watching as the doctors operated on Lewis. Charles had come to an abrupt halt next to George. His whole body had been tense and he’d watched the operation through slightly misted eyes. Lewis had lain, cut open, on the operating table. It wasn't a nice sight. Even for a killer, there had been too much blood.
“Is he gonna make it?” Charles had asked. No one had answered. The doctors continued to move. Behind them, Seb had sat down on one of the tables.
“Tell me about the shooter.” Charles had said, choosing practicality over emotion.
“He’s fast. Strong.” George had confessed as he lent against the rim of the window, “Had a metal arm.”
Charles’ heart had stilled at that. In a brief window in his worry about Lewis, a different pain had hit him. A metal arm. No, it couldn’t be…
Seb had gotten up then and moved to stand beside Charles. Normally, Charles would have reached out to support him. But Charles didn’t want comfort. Not for himself. He didn’t know if Seb had wanted that either.
“Ballistics?” Charles had demanded, next.
“Three slugs.” Seb had informed, “No rifle length, completely untraceable.”
Metal arm…
“Soviet made.” Charles had said the realisation out loud. Seb had looked at him, surprised.
He had a metal arm…
A beeping from the operating room had drawn Seb’s attention away. They’d all strained and watched as a defibrillator was pulled forward. Charles’ heart rate had sped up at that. It was gonna be like Jules all over again. Only this time, he was going to watch the death happen before his eyes.
“Don’t do this to me, Lewis.” Charles had said, his voice shaking.
Two shocks they had administered. Nothing. No heartbeat. Just a flat line. Charles had blinked, looked up to hide his tears. At some point, George had stepped away. Then Seb.
Lewis was gone.
Killed by a man with a metal arm. A man who’d been lingering in Charles’ memory and dreams for years.
It hadn’t been until a few days later that Charles had learned that Lewis and Seb had faked Lewis’ death and, in reality, Lewis was actually alive.
Connards.
4.
The fourth time Charles experienced real loss, he wasn’t grieving someone’s death. Instead, he grieved the absence of love.
Charles had first met Max when he was sixteen. He was fresh off the loss of Jules, mourning his mentor and forced into a promotion because of it. Charles had risen in Jules’ place, moved up in the ranks of the widows. In doing so, it put him in league with hydra operatives. One hydra operative in particular.
The Winter Soldier.
Vasseur had brought in the Winter Soldier in order to have someone else for the widows to train again. Someone harder to defeat.
The first time they’d met, Charles had been training alone in one of the rooms. Most of his graduate class were away on different missions across the globe. Even Bozzi was gone. Charles hadn’t even noticed the Winter Soldier’s arrival—that had shocked him, severely; not a lot of things escaped his notice.
When Charles had finally registered his witness, he’d frozen. The Winter Soldier hadn’t been in uniform. He’d worn simple training attire: loose trousers and a t-shirt. Charles had let himself stare—his arms had looked good in that t-shirt. The Soldier had noticed and he’d straightened up from where he’d been leaning against the wall.
Charles had nodded once, stepping back. A silent invitation.
The Soldier had joined him on the training mat. They’d taken fighting stances. Then they fought. It was like dancing. Their fighting styles complimented each other, unknowingly. The Soldier had been brusque, abrupt. Charles was graceful, smooth. And yet, they worked well.
That day had been the first of many.
Eventually, Charles learnt that the Winter Soldier’s real name was Max. Charles never got to learn much more than that—though he always wondered if that was actually all Max knew.
They’d train together daily. Occasionally, Charles would be able to persuade Max into joining him in the mess hall for food. They’d gotten along well.
Charles will forever remember the day they had kissed. They’d been fighting training again. Charles had gotten Max on his back. He’d murmured something in French and giggled. Max had just grinned before flipping them over. He’d then declared his triumph in soft Russian. Charles had smiled, flustered. Max had hesitated. Charles’ smile had turned soft.
He’d moved first: leaning up and simply brushing his lips against Max’s. Max had stared, eyes wide. Charles wasn’t sure if it was fear or surprise. Then, Max had lent down and pressed a soft, tentative kiss to Charles’ lips.
A week later, Max had returned to hydra and Charles had escaped the Red Room.
Truth: Charles had never thought he’d ever see Max ever again.
Boy, was he wrong.
Charles didn’t directly encounter Max again until 2016. Max had been arrested by the CIA under the suspicion of the murder of the King of Wakanda and the bombing of the Vienna International Center. Charles had stood and watched on the screens as Zemo interrogated his former lover? friend.
It was painful to watch. The pain had continued after Max had escaped and Charles had followed. Fernando had attacked first. Carmen went for it too. Charles attacked next. At some point, he’d ended up on Max’s shoulders with Max’s head between his thighs. Max had brought him down and dropped him onto a table, metal hand gripping his throat.
“Max.” Charles had choked, “You know me.”
He’d stared into Max’s eyes then and seen no recognition. Just a wild bull, unable to be contained.
That had been heartbreaking. Charles had barely registered Valtteri hitting Max next. Or it could have been George. Or even Alex. Charles hadn’t known. Only one thing had lingered in his mind.
That hadn’t been Max. That had been the Winter Soldier. And the Winter Soldier had stolen the Max he knew.
5.
The Avengers lost in 2018. After two years of being on the run, Charles had finally been reunited with (most) of the Avengers. Himself, George and Alex had saved Nico and Gabriel from some alien creatures. They had then returned to the Avengers Compound, where they were reunited with Kevin and Daniel.
They had later ended up in Wakanda of all places, where more aliens rocked up. A massive battle had commenced—Yuki and some new friends of his had returned as well. It then led to them going against Thanos himself.
Charles was never told what would happen when Thanos got all the stones. To be honest, he had spent the first half of the battle trying to get his head around it all. They had fought aliens before, back in New York, but Thanos’ creatures were different. They were also gross.
But, at that time, it didn't matter. All they had to do was keep Thanos’ goons from getting to Nico. Gabi was supposed to protect him. Things clearly hadn’t gone as planned.
Charles wasn’t sure when it had all started to go wrong. It might have been when Gabi had appeared to protect them from some weird alien machine. It might even have been when the aliens had finally figured out a way to get through Wakanda’s security shield. All Charles remembered is that one minute, he’d been fighting side-by-side with some of Wakanda’s Dora Milaje, then the next, a yellow wave of weird, shock-inducing magic wiped across the battlefield.
It wasn’t until Charles had arrived in that clearing in the middle of the woods that he discovered what had happened. Thanos had snapped his fingers and, in doing so, half the population of the planet had vanished.
After they returned to the Compound, Charles was finally confronted with how many people they actually had lost.
That’s when the grief hit, ten times harder than it had when he had lost Jules. Because almost his entire family had gone. Even after Fernando returned (though it had only reduced the number by a couple). Charles had locked himself in his room that night. He’d flicked through the profiles on his tablet, his eyes watering with each new picture of someone they had lost.
Everyone had disappeared.
The final image had been Max, and Charles had stared at the barely smiling blonde for hours. He’d gone to sleep with that tablet in hand, the picture shining up at the ceiling as tears had stained his cheeks.
That’s how George had found him the following morning. Depressed, alone and grieving the family he may never get to see again.
+1.
Ever since he escaped hydra, many things had plagued Max’s mind. But there was always one person in particular.
Charles was like a spitfire. A firecracker. Quick, nimble and just as smart. Charles was like a breath of fresh air. They’d met years ago in the Red Room but had been separated for years. Seeing Charles again, after all those years, had only made Max fall in love with him even more.
Max had hoped that one day they’d be properly reunited. Hopefully when Max wasn’t being mind-controlled. The first time they properly saw each other, Max had shot him in order to kill the person Charles was protecting. Brainwashing and mind-control were a real pain in the ass.
Max hadn’t remembered doing that until years later.
The second time they were properly reunited, Max was, unfortunately, still mind-controlled. The ‘reunion’ had resulted in the pair of them fighting and Max choking him. In a different situation, it might not have ended as it did…
A couple days later, they fought again. The Avengers split and they’d ended up on opposite teams. At least this time he wasn’t brainwashed. But their reunion was only brief.
Charles had frozen when they’d seen each other. Max hadn’t wanted to fight him so he had stopped too. He didn’t know how long they had stared at each other before they both got distracted. After that, they hadn’t seen much of each other. Max had fought everyone else—even the teenager dressed in spandex, who was freakishly strong.
Then, Max and George were trying to flee on a jet and Charles had stood in their way. Charles had raised his arm, spider bites activated. For a second, Max had been waiting for the relief of Charles finally doing something to him. Even if it was shocking the life out of him (he remembered how those things felt very strongly).
Instead, Charles had hit Valterri, who was sneaking up behind them. Instead, he’d urged them to leave.
Max had paused beside him, meeting his eye and hoping his longing was showing on his face—he’d never been great at showing emotion. But Charles always knew. He had to know, right?
“Charlie…” Max had whispered.
“I love you, Max.” Charles had confessed, before turning his attention away.
Charles loved him. Charles loved him. That thought had kept him going in the two years that followed. In cryofreeze, Max had dreamed of the gorgeous boy with beautiful brown eyes.
Max never imagined losing the love of his life. He never imagined never being able to look into Charles’ eyes and silently beg to be kissed. He never imagined waking up one day and finding out that he can never tell Charles that he loved him too.
The Battle of Earth was tough. Max had just hoped that being reunited with Charles would have been at the finish line.