Chapter One | O Lord
"Good job, Agent."
"Thank you, sir." The Agent gave a firm nod, standing with her back straight and hands clasped behind her back. She looked towards the other end of the room where a man lay with a pool of blood steadily expanding around his head. He wasn't dead; she could see his chest rising and falling. "Will he be punished?" she asked.
The man observing the fight stared at her for a long moment and chewed the corner of his lip gently, hiding the smirk that was forming. He stepped closer to her, leering over her shoulder. She could feel his warm breath fan over her neck. "Tell you what, I'll let you take his punishment for him. I'll get him nice and fixed him because, well, that's a lot of blood." The Agent looked away from the body. She tilted her head as affirmation. He didn't bother hiding his smirk turned as he turned towards the two burly men that flanked the large metal door behind her. "Take her to punishment."
Later on, she was shoved back into her cell, raw hands barely lessening the impact when she hit the cold ground. The door screeched shut behind her.
It took her hours - or maybe minutes? - to stand up on shaky legs. Ignoring her body's protest against any kind of movement, she stumbled over to the corner of the room where a mirror was lazily hung up. It had grime staining the edges, the effects of not being washed obvious as the dirt climbed steadily to the centre as each day passed by. Shoulders slumped yet still somehow tensed, the Agent leaned forward and clenched her fingers around the once white sink underneath the mirror. Her knuckles turned white and then red as cuts on her knuckles reopened. She bowed her head and rolled her shoulders, relishing in the sickening feeling of the lashes across her back splitting back open, too. More blood ran down her skin.
The soft sound of the cell door creaking open made the Agent's eyes snap open, her breath hitching as a wash of fear ran through her tired body. She immediately went into defensive mode but didn't tell herself to start a fight. They'd only make it worse.
Instead of one the guards, however, a pale-haired woman stepped into the cell without glancing in her direction and carefully shut the door behind her.
"Ray?" she whispered softly, looking at the woman with a glint of anxiety in her baby blue eyes. "Do you remember who I am?"
"They don't wipe me, Larissa," The Agent whispered, her voice hoarse. Fists clenched and unclenched rhythmically, "You know they don't."
Larissa nodded with a relieved smile, but that smile dropped like a rock when she saw the blood. "Ray," she murmured, reaching a hand out to brush her face.
She grabbed her wrist, looking her in the eye with a set gaze. "Is the plan still in order?"
"We're getting out of here, Ray. Tonight."
The church Ray was stood inside smelled different than she initially anticipated. Instead of the scent of candles she assumed there would be, it was like she stepped into a room full of ash and dry wood. The bitter taste lingered unpleasantly on her tongue.
A man was stood at the other end of the church in front of a closed wicker casket, his hands folded in front of him as he spoke a quiet prayer. His expression was concealed, facing the floor but she could tell he had a sorrowful look on his worn face.
"Eternal rest grant unto them," he said, voice raspy with age, "O Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon them. May the souls of the faithful departed through the mercy of God rest in peace." A murmur of rest in peace fluttered through the small group of people sat in the pews on the left. Only two rows were filled, something that confused Ray because she assumed many more people would make an appearance, but she didn't dwell. "Larissa Dalier, more commonly known as Lara by her close friends and family, was an extraordinary woman. She worked hard for her family, provided them with everything they needed while still being a stay-at-home mother and wife."
Ray's throat dried up and her breathing hitched, her feet itching for her to get the hell out of there. She tried listening to the man as he spoke about her earlier life, her wife, and her children but she couldn't bear it. It felt like she was going to throw up.
She spun on her heel and walked out of the old building, keeping her footing light against the stone floor. Her feet took her to the squat brick wall surrounding the graveyard and she leaned against it, ignoring the rough texture against her clothing as she heaved, her chest rising and falling drastically. Her heart was constricting against her chest like a hammer was trying to pound itself out of her body.
Ray already knew she was dead. Death wasn't a thing that bothered her; after all, everything would die eventually, but seeing the people who cared for Larissa… The people that she loved and loved her, holding each other as they cried disturbed her greatly.
"Hello?" the quiet whisper startled her. Ray quickly turned, her hand resting automatically on the pistol strapped to her thigh, as an unfamiliar woman approached her. "Sorry, I, uh, didn't mean to startle you. I saw you at the back of the church but you left pretty quickly." She removed her hand from the weapon, thankful for the long coat she was wearing. The woman shifted on her feet at the lack of response. "Did you know Lara?"
Ray only stared, scrutinising her with a subtle flicker of the eyes. She was a beautiful woman, with flawless, dark skin and delicate features, but her eyes were weary – she could see the purple under them, highlighting the fact that she obviously wasn't sleeping.
She's so beautiful, Ray thought. Just like Larissa.
"I'm… I'm sorry for your loss," Ray breathed. Her coat gracefully flung outwards as she swiftly turned, walking away from the woman whom she didn't even know the name of. She could hear the steps of the other woman trying to catch up to her but Ray was much quicker, and easily slipped away into the forest.
She made her way deftly to the abandoned apartment block she had lived in for a little over a month, avoiding the main streets by sticking to the back alleys. It had been empty for years judging by the shabby condition and how it was completely scarce of people, including the entire area around the block. It was rickety and looked like it would collapse at any given moment but at the same time, there were no working cameras – she removed them all and burned them, anyway – or any kind of technology to be hacked into, so she would not be suspected, at least not for a little while.
Ray let out a quiet breath as she stepped into her settlement on the top floor. It was small, like the rest of the empty complex, with only a bathroom, a bedroom, and a kitchen which was connected to what used to be the living room. Now, it was her base. Where she stared through the gap between the window and the heavy curtain with a rifle in her hands, waiting for any potential threats to pass by.
She untucked the pistol from her thigh holster and set it on the crooked table, where the rest of her weapons were laid neatly. She took off her coat and tossed it on the leather sofa pushed against the wall, before making her way to the cramped bathroom.
Before she opened the door, however, something caught her eye. A piece of paper laying on the floor by her feet was definitely not there before. Ray always double checked the apartment before going out and she was certain that she didn't see it before.
Glancing around the empty room briefly as if expecting an intruder to pop out at any moment, Ray reached down and grabbed the paper, reading the printed ink on the front.
In memory of Larissa Dalier. 1987-2016.
Ray's throat closed up, but she couldn't feel panicked for some reason even though someone had clearly broken into her safe place. A picture of the woman was underneath the text. She was showcasing her white teeth, blue eyes gleaming as she laughed at something happening off-camera, hair blowing in the wind.
Ray ignored the feeling settled in her stomach and continued reading.
When you walk through the storm
Hold your head up high,
And don't be afraid of the dark.
At the end of the storm is a golden sky
And the sweet silver song of a lark.
Walk on through the wind,
Walk on through the rain,
Though your dreams be tossed and blown.
Walk on with hope in your heart
And you'll never walk alone.
- Oscar Hammerstein II
Steve
Steve was going to kill Tony Stark, it was official. God forgive his language, but Jesus, that man was insufferable. He always pondered just how Pepper had stayed with him for so long, and he couldn't say he really blamed her for leaving him despite the hard-hitting depression Tony went through after it. He locked himself in his lab for weeks on end, barely eating and nearly drinking himself to death before Bruce somehow got through to the stubborn man.
Tony had called him on his Stark Phone, which was 'way better than those useless iPhones they keep making' apparently – Steve still didn't know how to use the strange device, nor did he know what an iPhone was – and told him to get to the Tower immediately.
It's an emergency, he had said.
Steve asked Friday.
There was no emergency.
Tony was being an ass, again.
Steve had been waiting for a full hour, tapping his foot impatiently with his arms crossed over his broad chest before the billionaire finally made an appearance. His hair was disheveled and he had grease staining his face and tattered clothes as he walked into his penthouse, where Steve had been told to wait.
"Oh. Hey, Cap," Tony greeted, barely acknowledging him. Instead, he brushed past the tall blonde and grabbed himself a glass of Whiskey. He slowly sipped the alcohol as Steve tried to keep his anger at bay. "Didn't think you'd get here so soon."
Steve gaped at him. "You told me it was an emergency," he said, trying not to let the irritation seep through his voice. "And I've been waiting here for over an hour."
Tony tapped his chin with his finger, his lips curled down like he was thinking. "Yup, you got me there." He shrugged, lowering his hand. "But it is an emergency… kind of. If you count finding out super important stuff using your super smart brain without telling Patches, then yes, it is an emergency. However, if you—"
"Tony," Steve cut the man off sharply, stopping him from his rambling. He gave him a look as if saying get on with it.
"Jeez, impatient, are we?" he teased, earning an annoyed look from the super soldier. "Okay, okay. So, remember that really important thing you asked me, well, forced me, to do for the guy who killed my parents?" Steve ignored the jab and nodded, uncrossing his arms. "Well, I may have found where our warrior princess is being holed up."
"What?" Steve tensed, suddenly on alert. "Where?"
"CCTV picked her up going to a church in Philadelphia," Tony told him after downing the rest of his drink. "There's a funeral going on there so she might know the person who died." He put down his empty glass, looking at Steve who chewed his lip. "Might have even killed them herself, but it's not an issue to me. I got the information, brought it to you, so do with it what you must. I'm out."
The blonde man sighed but wasn't surprised. Hurt? Maybe, but not shocked. "Tony…"
"Nope." He shook his head, stubborn attitude shining through. "The fact that I even helped you with this is… just… ugh." A sigh. "Even after everything that happened… This could've gotten my ass in serious trouble, that's all I'm saying. Ross is canoodling me enough as it is, I don't need to help you rehabilitate another psychopath."
Steve knew what he was going to say.
Even after everything that happened with the Sokovia Accord and the trouble that brought.
The civil war as the media called it left a lasting scar on everyone involved, and not just physically. Friendships or any form of trust between certain members had been completely demolished after the messy ordeal. Sam was keeping his distance and continued spending most of his days helping people with PTSD like he was before Captain America came barging into his life. Scott Lang, the man who basically saved them, lost all custody of his child after a harsh ruling from the court and his ex-wife. When Steve tried to help, the father simply told him to fuck off and then left, never to be seen or heard again. Wanda was still locked in The Raft – 'for her own protection' they said, which made Steve react blindly and nearly fight with everyone in the room, though Natasha calmed him down – even though she had perfect control over her powers.
He could still see the electric collar wrapped around her pale throat.
Clint had officially retired and was living with his family in the farmhouse, still keeping contact with the group but it was obvious that he was one-hundred-percent finished with the superhero job now.
Nat… Nat was a different story. Steve had formed a friendship with her in Manhattan, and he felt comfortable around her. He had grown used to the platonic flirting and her teasing on his lack of knowledge about this century, and he felt comfortable around her. But now, they barely spoke. They exchanged pleasantries, sure, but the bond that tied them together was gone for good.
"I know." Steve swallowed some air, his Adam's apple bobbing. "You've done more for us than anyone ever would. I shouldn't be asking this of you, but—"
"For you," Tony cut him off coldly, staring out of the window ahead of him.
"Huh?" Steve asked, lost.
"I didn't do it for him," he explained, biting the inside of his cheek to stop his lip from quivering. "I did it for you. I guess I thought…" a bitter laugh escaped him. "I don't know what I thought. That we could still be friends? Even after the fucking government got involved and tore the Avengers apart, I thought – I guess I still think – that nothing changed. Only circumstances, not… what we had."
Steve didn't know what to say.
Tony had always been a closed book when it came to everything, especially about what the Sokovia accords did to everyone, using sarcasm and quick wit to deal with the situation. Until now, that is.
"We're still friends." He tried convincing himself as well as Tony.
"No," Tony snapped, his voice raising into a shout. "The day you chose him over me is the day you decided whose side you were on. The day you found out that he murdered my parents and then hid it from me is the day you decided who your friend was, and here's a clue: it wasn't me!"
Steve froze in an instance, the words hitting him harder than any man ever could.
In that moment, Captain America felt like the tiniest man in the world.
"I know." Steve couldn't help the small crack in his voice, and he was sure Tony could hear it too. "I know I've been the worst person to you, Tony. I did things that I regret, and I know you regretted some of the things that happened too." He paused, expecting Tony to interrupt with another outburst but surprisingly, he stayed quiet, so Steve continued. "I know you hate Bucky with all of your existence because of what happened, but you can't blame him. You know he was under Hydra's control and didn't have a choice, just like we know that woman in Philadelphia didn't have a choice but to kill the people she killed." He inhaled, closing his eyes. "I shouldn't ask this of you but I really need your help, Tony. I hate to say it but I can't do this without you."
A full minute passed before Steve deemed it safe to open his eyes again. Tony was now staring at him and didn't even bother to avert his eyes when he was caught, but instead, he pinched the bridge of his nose, let out a deep exhale and then muttered:
"Fine. What do you need?"
Author's Note: I always feel really giddy after posting the first story of a fanfic but idk I'm weird.
I hope you're a little intrigued with this at least? It's gonna follow the basic MCU timeline but I'm going to be switching up some things that happened (like what happened to Bucky after Civil War and Steve being a fugitive), and there will be a decent few OC's with a few of my own elements being mixed into the pot;)
Reviews always help, even if it's constructive criticism, so please tell me how I did. Was the chapter's flow too fast? Too slow? Too confusing? Please tell me.
