Chapter 6: The Howling Commandos
He walked out of the bar, with his head hung low, everything seemed to go wrong for him. He never got a chance to meet his father, for his mother to see the man he had become, to get a dance with a woman who wasn't related to Bucky or his mother.
He let out all of his feelings off of his chest by sobbing on Liberty's head. The dragon purred, and curled her tail around him. She understands his loneliness. She was like a mother or an older sister to him. He walked back to his hotel room and slept, but not before sobbing his heart out on his pillow.
He turned his slightly tear stained face to the sky and found the north star. He whispered a prayer to his father and all of the Saints in Heaven. To his mother, who he knew in his heart was looking out for him, for her only son.
Dawn had risen the next day, and Dugan, Mortia, Monty, Jones, and Denirir were nursing the mother of all hangovers. They were all worn out from a night of drinking and dancing. Victor was up at dawn, like normal for him. Jimmy was nowhere to be seen. He must've ran off with frail from last night.
He had seen the look of jealousy on Rodgers' face. That man did not wear it well. Yawning, he grabbed his things, and ran off. He had to find Jimmy and get his little brother's ass out of trouble. James had a penchant for trouble. Growling, he caught his brother's scent, and ran with it.
Jimmy was sitting next to Steve, twirling a wicked looking knife around. Steve was looking downcast, his eyes turned downwards to the floor, not making eye contact with Jimmy. His brother was being, well himself, which drove him nuts. Howard was looking like he had gotten something for his birthday.
Victor didn't care much for the genius inventor, who was rolling in way too much money. He did not care if Howard had worked to get where he was, but he was now part of the upper class that looked down on people like him, those who were unafraid of getting dirt on their clothes. Jimmy looked at Victor, then at Steve.
"Hey, Vic, what's the matter?" Jimmy asked, still relatively naive about his brother's animalistic instincts and his growing lust for blood.
"Nothin' runt, and besides, didn't you run off with that frail the other night?" he growled out, his hand twitching.
Jimmy gave Victor a look. The younger man's brows furrowed together. Victor watched in a strange sort of fashionation and pleasure as Jimmy's fuse was being blown. Victor soon realised he had Jimmy's hand around his throat, his bone claws threatening to unsheath themselves. Steve's blue eyes shot upwards, his jaw set. Victor saw the man run towards him, gripping his shoulder, pulling him away from Jimmy.
"At ease!" Steve yelled, his voice commanding everyone's attention in the room.
The two men relaxed their arms. Victor growled, scaring everyone in the room, save for Jimmy, who just looked worried at his brother. Victor's temper got the better of him. It always had, it normally ended up with him saying things he rather not say to his brother. To the only person he really ever cared about. This time he ended up punching Steve Rodgers in the face. The man stumbled back, his hand over his nose. Red blood dribbled out and graced his lips. Tiny, scarlet droplets hit the cold, concrete floor of the base.
"Victor! What the actual hell is wrong with you? You just punched Captain Rodgers in the face!" James yelled, his face in a permanent expression of shock, surprise, and horror.
Victor just shrugged, his claws twitching. He felt his inner animal scream for blood, demanding it. He looked back, and saw Steve Rodgers look at him with fear in his eyes. He was used to that fear by now. He didn't care, he just didn't care if Rodgers genuinely cared about him. He was a survivor, and that's what he and his brother do best, survive the impossible. He stormed off, growling under his breath. Steve was helped to his feet by Jimmy, and Howard Stark.
Steve Rodgers was reeling from the force of the blow to his face. Yes, he had been punched before, but not like this. He saw a manic-like gleam in Victor's eyes, and a crazed expression. Logan was blind to these minute changes in his brother's demeanor.
He was not going to put Victor Creed on the Howling Commandos, he's way too unpredictable, but he would rather have Victor on his leash than on the government's leash. Victor was one thread snap away from being labeled as a maniac, to being put in an insane asylum. To be labeled as a murderer. He was that close. It worried Steve that the man he saw being tortured, just in the name of science, was also close to being labeled as a threat to civilians.
So he ran to the stables, to see Liberty, he needed to clear his head. He needed that rush of excitement in his veins. He soon found Liberty asleep, her massive tail curled over her snout; her twin tail fins shielding her eyes, around her horse-like muzzle. Her top and bottom fangs poked out, gleaming an ivory, pearly white color. She yawned, her curved fangs glinting in the pale, orangey light. She turned her delicate head, and purred.
Hello, Little one, what's wrong? She asked, her voice calm and passive, like a mother's voice.
Victor. There's something off about that man, he's not quite right in the head, Steve pleaded, his blue eyes sad and earnest.
Liberty got up and pulled Steve to her chest, letting out a low, rumbling purr. Steve fell asleep, to the slow, steady rhythm of Liberty's massive heart. Liberty's scales were not rough, jagged, and cold, but smooth and warm instead. Like a well-kitted wool blanket, laying right next to a fire.
He placed his massive hand around one of her talons, as she let out a low, cooing purr. They have each other, two hearts beat as one. Steve would always have Liberty, and Liberty would always have him. It was the unspoken rule with dragon Riders. A rider and his Dragon would always have each other.
Dugan and the newly dubbed Howling Commandos walked down to Stark's workshop. It's one of the places that they avoided like the plague. They found Steve and Liberty in the workshop, Steve was adjusting a saddle on her. A freshly polished shield laid beside a table leg. Liberty was yawning, showing off her curved fangs. Steve was trying to get the saddle girth around her powerful chest. He looked around and only saw Logan, but not Creed. Where had that man gone?
Victor was outside of the base, rubbing his hands together, his claws picking at the calleuses at the ends of his fingers and on his palms. The chilly december wind blew through his army regulated uniform, but it did not chill him. He was used to the cold, too used to it.
He was not an emotive man, he just wasn't. His eyes were drawn to the pale, gray sky. He sniffed the air, he could smell the snow in the air. He knew that winter was coming. He was unaware of a woman approaching him, smiling at him. The woman was Peggy Carter, but she was looking for someone.
"Creed, have you seen Rodgers? I've been looking for him," she asked. Victor still didn't look at her in the eyes.
"No, Ma'am, I think he might be with the rest of the Commandos, or with my little brother," he growled out, still not looking her in the eyes.
He got up and walked away, leaving Peggy alone and bewildered by the strange man from Alberta. Victor walked alone in the muddy paths, his mind wandering. He let it wander and take him to where he needed to go. He was a hopeless wanderer and he was fine with it. He would go where the wind took him. It was who he was as a person.
Shmicht was hiding in his base, trying to figure out his next plan of attack, it was hard to focus with Heckate's roaring and threatening to eat Dr. Zola alive. He looked over the test results from the two prisoners from Azzano. Sgt. Barnes was tough as nails, but he was only human. A pity, that their best subject was taken right under his nose. Creed, on the other hand, survived whatever they threw at him.
The man that they had was their best shot at creating the perfect weapon. He was violent and bloodthirsty. His need for blood would never be satisfied. Sighing, he sat down at his desk, not knowing how deadly the Howling Commandos would become and the sheer wrath of Creed's vengeance. He sat down, his hand holding a glass of wine. He was overly confident in his technological power he had possessed. Shmicht was not paying attention to his own ego.
Steve was adjusting the saddle that was on Liberty's back. He soon found out that some of the leather straps were coming loose. Taking it off, Steve soon found out the problem, the whole saddle was worn and frayed at the edges. That won't hold up in a battle. He was about to chuck it, when Monty walked by.
"Rodgers, where are you just about to throw that saddle in the trash?" he asked, his red cap off and resting in his hand.
"Yeah, it's worn out. I'm amazed that it lasted this long," Steve chuckled to himself. Monty looked at the sad piece of leather and then at Liberty.
"Follow me, both of you," Monty barked in a harsh whisper.
Steve walked out of camp following Monty, with Liberty trailing behind him. No one noticed a dragon and two humans walked out of camp and down a dark alleyway. A few turns around a couple of streets, a jump down a stairwell, they found the alleyway.
The sign on the alleyway's entrance was made of wood, with two dragons carved on it. It read Dragonfang, telling them that they found the right place. It seemed untouched by the war, children running about, some of them holding hatchlings the size of a fully grown house cat in their arms.
A few towering dragons, mirroring sleek thoroughbreds, and large massively built dragons like heavy draft horses wandered through the alleyway. The dragons turned their triangle-shaped heads at the newcomers, purring loudly at Liberty.
Some of the dragons were burned and were missing legs or had huge tears in their wings. Their riders bore similar injuries. One of them gave him a curt nod, while others marveled at Liberty. One of the children reached up and stroked Liberty's smooth scales.
Steve looked around and saw that Monty had disappeared into a shop.The shop's sign was worn and battered with the lettering that read; DUBLIN DRAGON SADDLERY. Swallowing a lump down his throat, he followed his friend's path. He swung the worn mahogany door open and a rusted bronze bell rung. The shop smelled of soap and leather. Dragon saddles of all sizes where on pine stands. Steve looked around, his blue eyes big in earnest. How on earth he was going to pay for a new saddle, with what little money he had?
"Hello?" he called out.
Almost on cue, a short, balding man with a moustache came running out. His once vibrant red hair was now a pale chestnut color with age. He wore a pair of glasses on his long nose. He was well dressed, a young man who was much taller than him followed him. Monty was behind the young man, the two talking lively at each other.
"Hello, young sir, how can I help you?" he asked in a very thick Irish accent.
"I'm looking for a new dragon saddle, the old one's worn out," he responded.
"Your name?" the portly store keeper asked.
"Steve Rodgers, sir,"
"Sweet Mary and Joseph! You must be Captain Johnathan's son! Ha! You are a mirror image of your father, save for your eyes, Laddie!" he cried out, as if he saw an old friend walk in.
"No one had made the connection before,"
"Aye, where are you from, lad? It can't be around here among the damn british, the accent's off,"
"Brooklyn,"
"Come, bring your dragon. I need her to get the girth right and to fix the saddle, even if it's fixable,"
Steve followed the strange old man out into the courtyard and he whistled for Liberty to land. The man hummed and muttered to himself, his eyes down cast as he studied the worn leather saddle.
"How is this thing still in one piece? I can make better quality saddles than this and it's not even fitted right for your dragon, it's too broad in the width. God, she must have sore spots by now," the store keeper ranted, shaking the saddle in the air.