Rated M
(I claim to own nothing that Disney and J.K. Rowling already own)
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Chapter 9: Fury
The Asset awoke, squinting against harsh yellow light. It was cold and he shivered until his teeth chattered together. He flinched as warm, rough hands dragged him out of the cold. Dry clothes were shoved in his arms and he automatically dressed himself. He felt strange. Groggy. He tried to remember something, but everything in his head seemed to slip away. It was blurry and everything in his body hurt. He stumbled forward almost without prompting and stumbled against a warm, solid something that cursed and slapped him hard. He reeled back, instinctively cupping his stinging cheek and blinking stupidly as he struggled to keep his eyes open and figure out what was going on. His body was operating automatically, but his brain was spinning in confusion.
"Asset," a familiar voice, one that demanded obedience, addressed him. "Behave yourself."
The Asset straightened instinctively and blinked hard to bring the shadows and lights into focus. "Yes sir," he replied expressionlessly.
"Put him in the Chair," the voice of his handler ordered.
The Asset blinked and dragged the shadowy shapes around him into focus. Handler Pierce stood in front of him, a few feet away. He didn't look happy at all. The other man at his side was Handler Rumlow. He didn't know the other men in the green clothes with masks. The Chair stood behind Pierce and the sight of it caused the Asset's stomach to cramp and his head to start throbbing. He cringed away from it on instinct, but managed to remember the purpose of the contraption before too long. He needed it to operate correctly. Without it, he was prone to malfunction.
The ones in green clothes pulled him to the Chair and strapped him in, Handler Pierce sitting down nearby. The old man smiled kindly, his eyes sharp and cold as always.
"Wipe and prep for a new mission," Handler Pierce ordered the green ones. The Asset accepted the mouth guard between his teeth and closed his eyes as he was forced to lean back in the Chair's embrace. He tried to breathe, tried to remember, but it was never any good. He had no idea how he knew that, but he knew it did no good to hold onto anything.
He screamed as electricity burned his brain clean and purified his thoughts. He knew nothing and was nothing … and then the Words came, bombarding his ears and ringing in his head. The doors opened and he cried out in agony, struggling fruitlessly against the programming that was being awakened in his mind.
"Soldier?" Handler Pierce said at last.
"Ready to comply," the Asset responded. His mind was empty and full at the same time. He was empty of emotion and distractions, but he was full of programming. He could recall his duties, and the consequences of disobedience. That was all he needed to know right now, even though his head throbbed from over-stimulation.
He was released from the Chair and given his ration: a plastic cup filled with a red-colored liquid. The Asset drank it obediently and the tremors in his body slowly ceased. His senses were sharp once again and his stomach no longer twisted with nausea. He was given a folder.
"Hydra has a new mission for you, Soldier," his Handler said calmly.
The Asset opened the folder obediently and studied the photographs. A dark-skinned man glared out at him with one brown eye. The other was behind an eyepatch. Rapidly, the Asset read through the mission parameters. The man was a threat and was to be eliminated. Assassination was meant to look like a disgruntled mercenary job. His task was to guard the escape route and finish the mission if it failed. He had a day to wait and practice with the tools he would use.
"Elimination will be attempted by other agents," Handler Pierce said briskly. "If you're called in, your job will be to finish it off as quickly as possible. If by some chance he escapes, you track him down and eliminate him. Understood?"
"Understood, sir," the Asset replied, handing the folder back and standing at attention. "Ready for orders."
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Monday was busy for Harry, mostly because he was running errands. Hermione had some projects she wanted to tackle, so Harry started the day by dropping off James at school, and then he got called into St. Winifred's for an emergency. It was afternoon when he was finally finished. Before leaving the post office porting booth, he borrowed the wizard version of a payphone and called Hermione to let her know that he was headed to the magical district for shopping. He stopped at the house for lunch, per her insistence, (and to pick up the cookies he'd forgotten that morning) and helped get the girls down for their naps.
"When do you think you'll be back?" Hermione asked.
Harry picked up her plate of chocolate biscuits and balanced it in his palm. "I'm not sure," he grimaced. "Maybe I should just apparate around and shrink the purchases so you can have the car. I might not be back in time to pick up James fro school."
Hermione nodded. "Alright then. You be careful."
"I'm always careful," Harry grinned and pecked her on the cheek.
She suddenly grabbed him and shoved some small bundle of cloth in his coat pocket. "Just be extra careful," she warned him sternly. "I … I just have this feeling …"
Harry regarded her seriously before he tenderly tucked her hair behind her ear and kissed her quickly one more time. "Alright," he replied just as quietly. "Don't worry about me, okay? I'm a big boy now, and you know how to reach me if there's an emergency."
Hermione nodded and bit her bottom lip. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I don't mean to be paranoid … but I guess it's all that talk we had with Draco last night. I mean, it was good to be able to talk about all of it, mostly. Just …"
"Everything he said made way too much sense?" Harry finished, feeling a bit paranoid himself. He glanced around to check the open windows and innocently empty yard outside.
"I don't want to think about what these people might want with squib children," Hermione said softly, on the verge of tears. "Why squibs?"
"Maybe …" Harry said uncomfortably. "Maybe they want squibs because it is so hard to find them magically, and as not true muggles, they would be more receptive to magical things like potions. Plus, most wizards don't really care about squibs, so there's less effort overall to find them. But 'Mione, we don't even know that's really what's going on."
"Sev was targeted," Hermione said fiercely. "We knew that already. He was deliberately targeted. Now we have proof that he was targeted because of what he is."
"Not because of who I am, or was?" Harry pointed out.
Hermione blinked and shook her head. "Perhaps that's part of it too. We don't know. I just … I hope Draco gets to the bottom of this. And I hope Snape comes back soon."
"Steve said it could be years, or at the very least, months," Harry pointed out with a weary smile. "We have to give up on that idea, I think. Snape's gone, and there's no way we can send him a letter or something, so we're back to square one."
"You should have sent him a note straight away once it happened!" Hermione muttered.
"From the timeline, 'Mione, I think he was kidnapped and Snape escaped in roughly the same time period, maybe even the same night. There's no way that wasn't a coincidence. These people were trying to kidnap him too for whatever plan they're concocting."
Hermione sighed and raised a hand to her face to stave off the tears that were coming. Harry pulled her in for a tight hug and planted a kiss in her hair.
"I'll be home soon," he murmured. "We can talk more tonight."
Hermione nodded and gave him an extra squeeze before letting him go. Harry cheerfully bade her good-bye and stepped out into the backyard. The shed in the back was mostly empty, and Harry had arranged the house's wards so that apparition was possible from inside the little structure. Once he stepped inside and shut the door, Harry concentrated on Cham Avenue and turned on his heel.
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The afternoon was pleasantly warm. Having never been downtown to Sam's workplace, he took a city bus to the area once he finished the shopping. His pockets were full of shrunken items no bigger than doll toys, and a plate of cookies he was glad he'd put protective charms on. Thanks to those, the cookies were not crushed or melted or overly warm. But this would be his second to last stop before home, since he still had to go by a certain shop for something Hermione had been looking for.
Holding Sam's little business card in hand, Harry stepped out of the noisy, crowded bus onto the sidewalk. The VA center was literally a block away. A sign for it directed him to take the next right, and he walked at a steady stride toward the large white building. There was a generous parking lot and some beautiful landscaping, and Harry followed the signs toward the counseling section of the large complex. He actually hadn't expected the Veteran's Assistance to be quite so large or expansive, and he was a little impressed.
It would be nice to see Sam again, even though the last time they'd talked had only been Saturday afternoon at the café. Harry slipped in through the double glass doors and was greeted by a cheerful young lady at the directional desk.
"Welcome! Can I help you with something?"
"Um …" Harry stuttered helplessly. He floundered for an excuse to slip back out and un-shrink the plate of cookies without the muggle noticing, but he was coming up empty. "Bathroom?" he finally blurted out.
"Down the hall, first door on the left," the girl replied with the same friendly smile. He followed her pointing hand and ducked into the men's bathroom, which was, thankfully, quite empty. When he pulled out his wand and the tiny plate of cookies, he didn't even have to say the spell to get the plate to return to its normal size. He sighed in relief and slipped back out of the bathroom, holding the full-sized plate in his hand. He hoped the desk-girl wouldn't ask him where he'd been hiding them. When he looked back up the hall, he saw the girl at the desk talking on the phone in that professionally courteous tone used by good secretaries everywhere. Harry glanced around, wondering if Sam had his own office, but he didn't really think so. This part of the building seemed smaller. There was a conference room with double doors across from the bathrooms, and further down the hall he saw signs for doctor's offices … likely mind healing doctors. The medical area was in a different part of the VA buildings. Hearing some muffled voices, Harry went back up the hall and peeked into a door that was propped open. The voices came from there. A man was talking and trying not to cry at the same time. The obvious grief in his voice was enough to make Harry hesitate, but he was curious all the same.
He glanced up at the door and noticed the hand-decorated sign declaring a counseling group meeting, every Monday afternoon from four to six p.m.
"And I want to stop thinking about it," the man was sobbing now. "But the dreams just won't leave me alone. I wake up and I think I'm still there, and it's getting to be so I'm terrified to lie down and close my eyes. I just don't know what to do."
Harry swallowed hard, feeling suddenly both awkward and yearning. He longed to tell the distressed man that he experienced the same thing, and that he knew exactly how he felt.
"My wife … she's so good, but I almost hurt her the other night when I woke up, and I don't want to keep putting her in danger. I just don't know how to make it stop!"
"I know you've been trying the four steps," a familiar, mellow voice responded gently. "Be aware of your surroundings, ask yourself what you see, name four things you can identify through your senses, and know the truth of what is real and what isn't."
"I do that!" the man agreed. "My wife helps me too … but I'm just scared of hurting her."
"Fear is one of those funny things," Sam's voice replied. "Often times, our fears become real, or at least in our own heads. Sometimes, just talking about it helps."
"When I was struggling with the nightmares," a different man spoke up. "Getting up and writing down what I dreamt helped me a lot. I would talk about it with my therapist, and talking about it helped make it less awful. Sometimes, it would help banish the dreams altogether."
"Dreams are one of the ways our brains process things," Sam added, and Harry smiled a little, recalling the same advice given to him in the dead of night over a telephone. "Fighting the process sometimes just makes things worse. Taking steps to process it while you're awake, through talking, or writing, really helps. Don't fight alone. We're all here for you, and your wife is there for you too."
"She's been really supportive," the man admitted. "But … I just have no idea how to talk to her about this stuff. She wouldn't understand."
"Maybe not, but she loves you," a different voice pointed out. He sounded like an older man. "My own wife was really good at helping me heal and sort through all the crap in my head, even though she wasn't ever a soldier, or a therapist. She was just a stay-at-home mom who loved me enough to stick with me through my darkest times."
"Talk to your wife about what you can," Sam suggested. "You could also try listening to soothing music at night, or leave a night-light on. Have you thought about getting a therapy dog?"
"Y'know, Hannah suggested that," the man answered thoughtfully, sounding a good deal calmer. "I … I might look into that. Thanks, Sam. Guys."
"That's what this group is for, Joe," Sam replied. "Anybody else want to share something?"
Harry plucked up the courage to poke his head around the door. Sitting on several chairs were men and a few women who looked like normal civilians. There were younger people, older ones, black, white, and in between. At a modest podium at the front of the room stood Sam Wilson, who looked up at him and suddenly broke into a smile.
"Have a seat," Sam invited, gesturing at all the empty chairs. "Everybody's welcome here."
"Even if you're late," an older man joked, and set everyone laughing.
"I'm afraid I am very late indeed," Harry admitted. "But … I brought cookies." He held up the plate sheepishly, and grins broke out on every face.
"Well, if you've got cookies!" Sam laughed. He pointed at a table with a coffee maker and some other snacks on the other wall. "Go ahead and put it there, Harry. And thanks for coming."
Harry nodded and put the plate on the table. For a few moments, the veterans came and grabbed some cookies, got refills on their coffee, and chatted quietly. Harry left the snack table, fielded several expressions of thanks and introductions, and found Sam.
"I really can't stay," he said apologetically.
"That's okay," Sam shrugged cheerfully. "Want to come back next week? We talk, have snacks, laugh about dumb things. It's pretty good, actually."
Harry tilted his head. "Maybe I will," he said slowly. "But don't … don't count me in for sure. There's a lot of stuff I'm dealing with that I really can't talk about, no matter how much it might help."
"Classified stuff, got it," Sam nodded solemnly. "But hey, even if you leave out the details, I think you'd still find plenty of support. Everyone's lost someone, even if it wasn't on a top secret mission behind the Iron Curtain. Everybody's dealing with the same stuff: guilt, regret, grief …"
Harry sighed and nodded. He knew Sam was right, but the thought of talking to all these strangers about his nightmares and problems wasn't a pleasant one. Talking to Hermione was hard enough. The veterans were trickling back to their chairs with cookies, thanking and complimenting him for the cookies.
"My wife," Harry explained, feeling a bit embarrassed at the undeserved attention. "She thought Sam would be able to find some people to eat our extra cookies before the kids got ahold of them." The appreciative chuckles at Harry's joke helped him feel a little better.
"Thanks for the treat, Harry," Sam grinned, and shook his hand. "I get you can't stay today, but come on back anytime. This group meets Mondays, but I have other groups on other days. Go ahead and ask Virginia at the desk for a brochure of our programs."
"Alright," Harry agreed reluctantly. "I'll just be going then. Got errands … and stuff." Awkwardly, he scooted out of the room as one of the veterans started talking about flashbacks. He approached the lady at the desk, and she looked up with a surprised smile.
"Oh, hi again!" she grinned. "Need something else?"
"Sam told me to ask you about a brochure?"
"Alrighty, hang on a sec," the girl replied, opening some drawers in her desk and rummaging around. She popped back up with three or four brochures in hand and passed them over to him. "There you go. And most of this stuff is totally free. Some of the other things are free with most insurances, but it'll tell you all about everything in those pages. Is there anything else I can help you with?"
"Thanks, no," Harry replied awkwardly. The brochure on top was titled PTSD: What is it and Can it be Managed? He seemed to recall Hermione lecturing him about Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder sometime before they'd gotten married. Maybe a refresher would be good, since now he wasn't just dealing with seven years of war as a kid; he was also dealing with the loss of his son and so many other things.
"Have a great day!" the girl called after him as Harry left. He threw a distracted wave over his shoulder as he went back out into the afternoon sunshine, and nearly crashed into someone coming up the walk.
"Oh, excuse me!" Harry gasped, jumping back a step and shoving the brochures in his coat pocket.
The very familiar blond young man just smiled. "No, excuse me; I wasn't watching where I was going either."
Harry blinked in surprise. "Hello, Steve," he said. "Fancy meeting you here?"
"Same here!" Steve Rogers chuckled. "Thanks again for dinner last night, by the way. I haven't had a family dinner in …"
"Seventy years?" Harry supplied with a smile.
"Something like that, yeah," Steve smiled back sheepishly. "It meant a lot to me, honest. Even though we ended up talking about depressing things and now I've got a reporter milking me for all the contacts I have."
"Oh my, is he really that bad?"
"It's fine," Steve waved dismissively. "At least he's not too interested in me personally. I finally lost him and now I'm trying to find Sam Wilson. He works here, right?"
"Yes, he's running a counseling group right now," Harry nodded back toward the building he'd just left. "But it ends at six, which is …" he checked his watch and almost swore. "Good Mer … I mean; good grief. I'd better run. It was nice to see you again, Steve."
"Likewise," Steve replied. "Bye now."
Harry waved and trotted off to a spot between two buildings where he could crouch behind the huge electrical box and apparate to the bus stop.
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Harry never did get to that last store. He was sitting in the half empty bus, impatiently waiting for the ride to be over, when he heard the wailing of police sirens and the humming of hot engines getting rapidly close behind them. When Harry turned, he saw a black car speed past the bus on the opposite side, being closely chased by two white police cars with their lights flashing. He stood up instinctively, even as the bus driver swerved to avoid getting hit by the speeding black car and the police chasers. Several curses and exclamations went up, and Harry watched as the black car lurched and narrowly avoided a collision with more vehicles up ahead. Suddenly, a strange crack-cracking noise caused the other muggles in the bus to shout more incoherently. Harry heard bits and pieces of it,
"…shooting?"
"Wonder what's …?"
"Gangsters?"
"…guns on a freeway?!"
"… the hell are they thinking?"
Harry's heart pounded, and the bus suddenly lurched. The driver shouted at them to hang on and skidded to a stop. Harry fell violently to the floor, amidst the chaos of panicking humanity. He got the wind knocked out of him and his head hit something hard. He blinked his vision back from the flashing stars, and straightened his glasses. He smelled burnt rubber, heard sirens and screams, and people were shouting for someone to call an ambulance and fire truck, and Harry decided he was done. He would go home and forget this whole crazy day. Crawling to the back of the bus, Harry reached into his breast pocket for the home portkey he kept for emergencies. With his spinning head, he doubted he could apparate very far. But his fingers brushed something silky and soft. When he pulled it out, he realized that Hermione had tucked his invisibility cloak in his coat before he left the house just a few hours ago. Blessing his wife to the highest heaven for her foresight, he pulled it out and threw it over his shoulders before letting himself out the emergency door in the back of the bus. Outside, it was a mess. There was a huge pile-up of cars, some smoking and some just dented; some lying on their sides and some upside down. Harry felt conflicted for a moment, feeling the tug of his healer's oath to help these people … but he had nothing to work with but his wand, and if that wasn't breaking the statute of secrecy, he had no idea what would. Regretfully, he stole away from the chaos in his invisibility cloak.
There was an explosion from a few streets over, and Harry broke into a jog, never mind how it jolted his aching head. Call him crazy, but he was curious. Had the police caught their quarry or had the black car escaped? When he turned the corner, he saw a smoking car lying upside down at the side of the wide and strangely empty street. There was no one else near. Still very much invisible, Harry darted toward the car, which he recognized as the black one the police had been chasing, and hesitated, glancing up and around.
A man was striding toward the crashed vehicle.
He was tall and muscular, dressed in black combat gear, with thick, shaggy brown hair, goggles and a mask covering his face, and a glint of silver where his left hand should have been. Harry's entire being froze. The man was holding a strange weapon like a gun, but different, and he was outfitted with other small arms on his person; knives, and a few small pistols. Harry didn't doubt that this man had caused the explosion and somehow toppled this black car over. When the man in black reached the car, Harry held his breath and tightened his grip on his wand. His eyes were fixed on the silvery fingertips peeking from the man's left-hand glove.
Metal arm, mask and goggles, thick hair, solidly built … Harry's vision blurred with rage and horror and confusion. Was it possible that he had actually come face to face with the Winter Soldier? His son's kidnapper?
The man reached over with his left hand and ripped the car open with a screeching and rending of metal. He poked his weapon into the car and stood still for a few moments before he raised his wrist and spoke softly in a language Harry had never heard before. Turning on his heel, the man marched off at a brisk pace and disappeared into an alley between two tall buildings. Harry let out a shaky breath and cursed himself for a frozen fool. He could have incapacitated the man and had the truth out of him one way or another, but he had just stood there, too stunned and shocked and indecisive to do anything!
He stepped forward and peered into the car, wondering what it was that the assassin had been looking for. He was startled to see a large hole in the car and street, the edges still glowing with heat. It was just big enough for a man to wriggle through. Shaking his head, Harry left the wreckage and hurried toward the alley where the man in black had disappeared. There was no sign of anyone here; only a dumpster and a scrawny cat that hissed at him. The shakes were starting to come on after the adrenaline rush of fear and fury, and Harry didn't dare try apparating. Another problem was that he was too worked up now to bother with a portkey since he would still be angry and terrified when he got home. He decided to walk it off.
What a day.
He still had no idea what he'd witnessed, but he was reasonably certain that the man in black was the Winter Soldier and that he had lost his quarry. Harry had very nearly witnessed another of this man's mysterious assassinations. Who had the assassin been after? Harry stayed to the back roads, and warily watched the police cars and ambulances and fire trucks that sped past him, screaming their sirens and flashing their lights and demanding to be let through without delay. Harry felt sick to his stomach. For all his experience as a healer, he still felt like throwing up when things like this happened. He didn't want to think about all the victims of that smash-up his bus had nearly gotten into, and he didn't want to think about an explosion that flipped a heavy car onto its back like a turtle. He just wanted to get home, hopefully after he'd stopped shaking with rage and stress.
He slipped through an alley and stepped over a puddle when he saw a manhole up ahead suddenly flip up. Grunting in pain, a large man heaved himself out of the hole and rolled onto his side. He was dressed in a long black coat and his dark head was bald and shiny with liquid. The man coughed wetly into his elbow and rasped painfully as he heaved himself to his knees and fumbled for the manhole cover. He swayed for a minute, and then fell on his side.
Harry was there beside him before he even had time to think, his wand out and dancing over the unconscious man in a ritual of diagnostic charms that were almost second nature to him now. The man smelled like a sewer and blood and smoke and burnt rubber all mixed together, and he had a patch over one eye. He was bleeding heavily from a head wound and Harry had a feeling that internal injuries would be bad, judging from the blood on his lips and chin and the rasping quality of his breaths. The runes hovering above the man's body after the quick emergency scans were finished told Harry that he did indeed have internal bleeding, his ribs had punctured his lungs, one of his arms was broken, and the head trauma alone would kill him in a matter of hours. Harry gently laid the man out and draped the invisibility cloak over the both of them. Before he started to work, he flicked his wand in a silent Wingardium Leviosa at the manhole cover, gently settling it back into place.
Placing one hand on the man's chest and raising his wand, Harry began to heal.
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Harry wiped his forehead. He usually had potions or extra help when dealing with such extensive damage, but having to do it all himself had been exhausting. The good news was that the man would probably be alright now. Now all he needed was a hospital. Harry had healed the worst damage that surgery might be too late to fix, and he drained the excess blood away from the man's lungs and brain. It was a very delicate spell that had taken all of his concentration and almost all his reserved strength. If he was trembling now it was from stress and exhaustion, not fear or rage any longer.
Harry made ready to get up, using his invisibility cloak, and go find the nearest telephone to get an ambulance down here. But suddenly, the man's eye opened and his hand shot up, clutching Harry's wrist painfully tight. The man's other hand came up just as quickly with a tiny little firearm aimed right at Harry's head. As for Harry, the wrist the man was holding was the hand that still gripped his holly and phoenix feather wand. For a few tense seconds, they simply stared at each other.
"Wizard?" the man rasped, his eye glittering suspiciously.
"Wizard healer," Harry replied in a whisper. "We're under an invisibility cloak, and I've saved your life. Could you put the gun down, please?"
Slowly, the man obeyed, stowing the tiny gun away somewhere in his pocket or something.
"What happened to you?" Harry whispered. "Are you the one who got away from the car? There was a hole in the street …"
"Why're you helpin' me?" the man demanded in a low growl. "Who the hell are you?"
"I'm just a healer," Harry assured him, wondering if it was worth the risk. "I was on my way home when a black car and some police sped past my bus and almost killed everyone on board with that pile-up they created. Then I found a smashed up car with a melted hole in the side. When I saw you crawl out of the manhole, I put two and two together." The man eyed him suspiciously, but he made no moves to shoot or bolt, so Harry relaxed a bit. "You know about wizards, then?" he asked carefully.
"SHIELD does," the man replied tersely and started to lever himself up on his elbows. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have somewhere to be."
"You're in no shape to run off," Harry warned him. "I was going to call an ambulance …"
"No!" the man snapped, and then lowered his voice. "No, you can't do that. We're compromised. SHIELD's compromised. Wizards, normals, my men, my boss … I don't know who to trust. I have to get to the one man I do know I can trust, and I have to do it now before they find me. Believe you me, they'll find me."
Harry nodded solemnly. Sorry Hermione, I'll we're having company for dinner, he thought apologetically. "If we hurry, we should be able to get out of here unnoticed."
"We?" the man demanded icily.
"Did you see who your assassin was?" Harry hissed. "If he catches you, you're dead; do you get that? If we can get out of here, that's best. If we're found here, I'm in better shape to fend him off." He paused. "Besides, me and the Winter Soldier have a score to settle."
The dark-skinned man glared at him appraisingly with his one good eye for several seconds before he stuck out his hand. "Fine," he said flatly. "But you do what I tell you, got that? If I tell you run …"
"I'll run, don't worry," Harry interrupted peevishly. Honestly, was this what Snape meant by 'insufferable Gryffindors'? "I have a wife and kids to think about, mister."
The man nodded and let Harry help him up. "The name's Fury."
"Mine's Potter," Harry replied shortly. He slipped his free hand into his coat and tightened his grip on Fury's arm. "Hold on," he warned the man before he slipped the large coin into Fury's hand and kept his fingers on it. "There's no place like home," he said clearly, and the portkey whisked them away.
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Fury fell down the instant they landed in the house's living room, letting out a growled curse as his various injuries likely protested the rough travel. Harry caught him, and then nearly got clocked by Fury's good arm, swinging around for a punch. The broken arm came around and punched him in the groin without much force, but it still hurt. With a yell, Harry shoved Fury into the sofa and backed off, his hands raised.
"What's the matter with you?" Harry shouted. The pain wasn't all that bad, but it was irritating all the same. "I was just getting you out of there!"
"What'd you do to me, you son of a –"
"Harry!" Hermione shouted from the hallway. Harry tackled Fury without thinking too much about it, and wrestled the little gun out of his hand before he could shoot 'Mione.
"Hey!" Harry shouted, wrestling with the much bigger, stronger man. "Fury, stop it! You're safe!"
The man stopped fighting, but his breathing didn't sound good at all. "What'd you do to me?" he growled, his air wheezing in and out of his lungs.
"It's called a Portkey," Harry explained, slowly getting off the injured man. "We traveled instantaneously to my house. That's my wife you almost shot. Say hi, Hermione."
Fury looked over at Hermione, though he was still glaring impressively. But sprawled on the sofa as he was, he didn't look ready to jump up and attack anyone right now. The head wound had started bleeding again and his clothes were still horribly filthy. Plus, Harry hadn't been able to do more than basic first aid and internal healing. Under his clothing, Fury was likely a mess of bruises and scrapes. If he would let Harry treat him, he could go to his friend's place much more comfortably, but Harry doubted the stubborn man would allow it. He had only been speaking to this Fury for ten minutes but he could already tell that he was a handful.
"You brought me to your own house?" Fury repeated incredulously, his good eye almost as suspicious as Mad-Eye Moody's.
"Believe me, if I'd had a portkey for anywhere else, I would have used it," Harry declared darkly. "Behave yourself, and maybe you'll get a lolly for being a good boy."
Fury scowled even more, but his eye glittered with what might have been humour. Hermione was still staring at the scene, dumbfounded.
"Harry …" she said hesitantly.
And then the hallway behind her grew three kids. James peeked over his mother's shoulder and the twins looked out from behind their mother's legs, all of them wide-eyed and shocked.
Harry gave them a wobbly smile, knowing that he looked terrible. His hair was a mess, his face streaked with sweat and pale with exhaustion. His clothes were rumpled and stained with dirt and blood, and he had only been out getting some shopping done.
"Fury, meet my kids," Harry said gesturing at the children behind his wife. "James, Lily, and Rose. Say hello."
"Hi," James said softly. The girls were too stunned (and intimidated) to say anything. Hermione put her hands in the twins' curls and gave him a Look. Harry winced. He was definitely going to be in trouble for this later.
"Mr. Fury is going to rest here for a little while," he hastily explained. "Can you guys go get the healing kit for me?"
"He needs a hospital," Hermione protested, glaring at the glaring man in her living room. "Harry, what's going on?"
"Long story short …" Harry hesitated and then met his wife's worried brown eyes. "I saw him, 'Mione. The Winter Soldier. He tried to kill this man here. I wasn't sure what else to do."
Hermione's face drained of blood and she darted a quick glance at Fury before she silently guided the girls back into the hallway to fetch the healing kit from the master bedroom.
"You know the Winter Soldier?" Fury rumbled, wincing as he eased himself into a more upright position.
"He kidnapped my son and tried to kill my wife a few months ago," Harry answered tersely. "I'm pretty sure it's him."
"That was the Winter Soldier alright," Fury grunted. Harry helped him sit up and then helped him peel off his coat. "Damn; thought he was a ghost story."
"So I've heard," Harry agreed. "And watch the language. My kids are impressionable, especially this one." He darted a smile up at his son, who had come closer and was watching them cautiously.
"Did you get shot, Mr. Fury?" James asked, his hazel eyes bright with concern.
"Nope," Fury replied without looking at the boy. "Got banged up in a car wreck. Your daddy a good doctor?"
"He's the best," James said solemnly. "Dad's been a trauma surgeon for years and years."
Fury glanced up at Harry and raised an eyebrow. Harry smirked a little.
"I should take off the shirt," Harry said. "I need to see what the damage is. All I did in that alley was emergency life-saving, and I was too on edge to do a good job after … well. I'm better now and I can do a more thorough job."
"Just the internal stuff," Fury warned him. "Leave the superficial cuts and scrapes. I can handle those, and the more beat up I look, the better. If my kidney's bleeding out or somethin' that you can take care of."
"I took an oath to heal," Harry protested sternly.
"Yes, and I took an oath to defend the world from its enemies," Fury snapped back. "Trust me on this. Besides, I thought you promised to do whatever I told you."
Harry huffed, almost a laugh and gently pushed Fury to the side. "Fine," he agreed. "Lie back and let me do my thing here."
Hermione and the girls came back with the healing kit, and Harry thanked her quietly. "Could you go get some water?" he asked her. She nodded silently and left, the girls still trailing her, though Lily made a break when her mother entered the kitchen and darted to her big brother's side. Harry found the few potions he could use, namely a blood replenisher and a pain potion, and had Fury drink them both.
"I hope they'll work," Harry muttered. "Some muggles can't take potions for some reason or another."
"That's nasty stuff," Fury commented, scowling at the bottle as Harry whisked it away and let James hold onto it. "But … hey, I think it's working." The man blinked his good eye and he looked like he had been hit hard on the head. Harry wondered if it had been a good idea to give that potion to him. He seemed to have been thrown for a loop, unlike a magical person who took those magical medicines. "Hoo-wee …" Fury murmured, blinking loopily. "That stuff works better than a morphine drip, I'll tell you that."
Harry managed a smile. "Good. Now relax and let me work."
For several minutes, Harry muttered and ran his wand over the man's body, fixing what he could and leaving what could easily heal on its own. Hermione returned with two glasses of water, and helped Fury drink his. The pain potion apparently made him very loopy. Harry gratefully drank the other glass before he went back to work. After about twenty minutes, he was as done as he could be. Other spells and potions could help the man heal all the way, but Fury wanted to still look beat up for some reason, so who was Harry to deny him the pleasure?
When he was finished, Fury was sound asleep on the sofa and Harry was tired out. After settling the man a little more comfortably, (wincing at the dirt and stains that Hermione would no doubt forced him to get out of the couch later) Harry turned to his family. They all looked apprehensive, and worried, and strangely interested. Even the girls.
"Harry," Hermione said carefully, sitting in the armchair.
"Right," he grimaced. "So I was on my way to that furniture shop you told me about, since I could apparate there, obviously. The bus I was on nearly got into an accident thanks to a car chase." Harry gestured at the man on the couch. "When the bus stopped because of a pile-up, I made my way to the next street over and found his car flipped on its side and a man in black clothing walking up to it." Harry swallowed hard. "He was just like you described," he said quietly. "I … I didn't move. I guess I panicked. Or froze. I don't know what happened. But Fury here said that the chap was definitely the Winter Soldier."
"He said he was a ghost story," James piped up. "But we saw him, right?"
"Usually people don't live to tell the story if the Winter Soldier attacks them," Harry explained to his oldest son. "So he sort of is a ghost. But only in the sense that few people see him and survive."
"Do you think he know where Sev went?" Hermione asked quietly, her eyes full of frightened hope. She feared the answer, but she wanted to know it anyway.
"I'll hunt him down and find out," Harry replied grimly.
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It was nearly suppertime before Fury woke up. Harry checked him over once more before declaring him well enough to get up if he wanted to, and the man immediately availed himself of the bathroom. The girls had overcome their shyness and descended on him like a plague the minute he was free, pestering him with innocent questions, (what happened to your other eye? Where did your hair go? Are you staying here forever?) which despite their innocence, seemed to be driving Fury up the wall.
James was content to watch, protectively guarding his sisters and observing Fury's rising annoyance. Harry and Hermione watched as well, but they had perfected that parenting trick of watching-without-looking-like-they-were-watching. Once the family settled down to supper, (Fury seemed anxious and had to practically be threatened into staying to eat something) the atmosphere eased a little bit. But it was nothing like when Steve and Draco had come over. The adults were very quiet, as was James, and Fury was not inclined to answer the girls' inquiries.
Once supper was over, Fury announced that he was leaving.
"Leaving where?" Harry asked, or almost snapped. "I told you I'd take you wherever you need to go. We just need to wait a bit more."
"No can do, Mr. Potter," Fury growled. "I've wasted too much time already. Now, thank you kindly for the meal and the medical attention, but I am leaving now. Don't try to stop me."
"You should let Harry go with you," Hermione protested, folding her arms. "Or let me come. I fought the Winter Soldier before and I'm still alive."
"I am not letting you fight him again," Harry interrupted. "Mr. Fury, you can't possibly think you can just leave alone."
"I very much think I can," the one-eyed man snapped at them, his glare reminded them both uncomfortably of Snape at his most belligerent. "Just try and stop me."
"You're a muggle," Harry retorted in exasperation. "A simple spell could knock you out, or bind you, or petrify you, and we could keep you here by force if we had to. But we won't, because we understand you have things to do. My only price is that you let me come and help."
"You only want to because you've got a grudge against the Soldier," Fury snorted. "There is more at stake here than just your own little grudge match."
Harry sucked in a sharp breath and fought to control his temper. "Grudge match?" he repeated, his voice trembling. "That's what you think this is? That man kidnapped my son. My son! I don't want to kill him; I need to know who he's working for so I can kill them."
"Harry," Hermione murmured warningly, grabbing his shoulder.
Harry shuddered at the touch and reigned in his emotion. "You can forbid me from going with you, but you can't stop me," he told Fury in a steadier voice. "Not when I'm so close to finding my son."
Fury glared at him for a few more seconds before he snorted. "Fine; but no more hocus-pocus traveling with me. Do you know how to drive in this country?"
Harry and Hermione exchanged a grimace.
"Let me go," Hermione demanded in a low voice.
"Out of the question," Harry responded almost before the words were out of her mouth.
"Harry!" his wife protested in exasperation. "Would it kill you to let someone else do the fighting for once?"
"I can't lose you," Harry whispered, reaching out the grip her hand. He bowed his head to hide the tears.
"It would be almost worse if I lost you," Hermione said soothingly. "But I'm not the cleverest witch of my age for nothing. I'll take the cloak with me."
Harry was silent, deliberating in his mind. "We could both go?" he suggested.
"And take the kids along too?" Hermione pointed out.
Harry's shoulders slumped. His heart was pounding and he just knew it was a bad idea … but did he have a choice? "Don't you dare get killed," Harry warned her in a low voice. "If you die, I'll get the resurrection stone and summon you a dozen times a day just to yell at you."
"The threats are completely unnecessary," Hermione smiled lovingly. She kissed him quickly. "But I love you too."
"Promise me you'll be safe?"
"I won't do anything you wouldn't do," Hermione replied slyly. She stopped teasing when she saw the anguish in his eyes. "Harry, I'll be fine. It is so unlikely that anything will happen anyway. And I'll be home before you know it."
"You'd better be," Harry muttered. "I'll be counting the minutes." He dragged her in for a desperate kiss and shoved the invisibility cloak in her hands. Hermione flashed him a smile, snatched the car keys from a row of hooks in the wall, and led Fury to the garage. Harry stood where she had left him, feeling like his heart was going to explode out of his chest. But much as he wanted to break down in one way or another, he had the kids to take care of. And they looked rather shaken by what they had just witnessed.
"James, why don't you help your sisters get ready for bed while I clean up?" Harry suggested as the sound of the garage door closing sounded like a knell of doom.
"Sure Dad," James said slowly. "But then what?"
"Then …" Harry hesitated, struggling to think of something to keep the children busy until their mother got back from dropping Fury off wherever he needed to be. "I suppose we can have story-time."
"An' popcorn?" Lily asked hopefully.
Harry managed a smile that hopefully didn't look as brittle as it felt. "I think I can manage to find some."
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Steve was tired. It had been another long day, and not exactly because he was working. SHIELD had not called him for a mission in a while, but he was still wrestling through so many things that it nearly drove him mad. Draco the reporter was more dogged than a police detective, and it was exhausting talking to him. This afternoon, after a full morning of answering Draco's questions about the war, of all things, he had gone down to the VA center to see Sam. Bumping into Harry had been unexpected, but his wife certainly made good cookies. Sam had insisted he have some with a cup of coffee, which had been pretty good, considering. Talking the mild Army veteran had been nice, but still tiring.
Steve trudged up the steps of his apartment building to his flat, and almost crashed into his neighbor, Kate. She was on the phone, carrying a basket of laundry for the machines downstairs. Steve stopped to let her past, and wrestled with himself. Natasha did keep getting on him to ask his pretty neighbor out for coffee or something …
"Hey …" Steve managed, once she hung up and explained that she'd been talking to her aunt, who was apparently an insomniac. "You're welcome to use my machine, if you want. So you don't have to keep going up and down."
"Oh yeah?" the pretty nurse grinned at him. "What'll it cost me?"
Steve cringed at the phrasing and wondered if she had been approached like this before by other less scrupulous guys. "A cup of coffee?" Steve suggested, trying to appear completely casual.
"Hmm," Kate nodded thoughtfully. "Well, I'll think about it. But I've just spent the last several hours in the infectious disease ward, so I guess you wouldn't want that cycling through your machine."
Steve nodded in reply, maybe with a little too much relief. "Right, right; just thought I'd offer."
"Sweet of you," Kate grinned and winked. "Oh, by the way I think you left your stereo on." With another grin in his direction, she hurried off down the stairs with her basket of dirty laundry. Steve watched her go and then eyed his apartment door with suspicion. He did have a stereo, but he had never used it. The closest thing he used was a newfangled record player, and those did not keep playing once the record finished. Something was wrong here. He could hear the music coming through the door, faint but unmistakable. It was actually one of his favorite songs.
Carefully, Steve slunk down the hall toward the window and opened it. Easing himself out was a little heart-stopping, but he'd done worse maneuvers during the war, and more recently with SHIELD. Inching along the narrow ledge of the apartment building, Steve made it to a window that looked into his bedroom. It was wide open, and the music drifted through it out into the night. Now even more suspicious, Steve silently climbed into the house and crept through the dark to his shield, which he'd left propped against the wall near the bed. Gripping it firmly in his hand, he inched his way into the dark hallway, and could have sworn he heard soft footsteps hurry across the carpeted living room under the sound of the music playing from his never-used stereo. But he couldn't see anyone. The moonlight cast shadows, but even with that, he should have been able to see something. The serum had enhanced all of his senses, not just his muscles.
But as his eyes roved over the living room, he saw someone sitting in the corner chair, the one he used for reading. Steve reached out and turned on the lamp by the chair.
It was Nick Fury.
His boss looked up at him with grim determination in his good eye. There was a nasty looking scrape on his bald head that looked like it had been cleaned up, but not treated. His clothes, while somewhat tidy, were torn and scuffed. He looked like he'd been the loser in a brawl. Or a car accident. His heart jumped slightly as he remembered the news story about the nasty pile-up and shootings that had happened earlier this afternoon. Had Fury been targeted by someone for something?
"I don't remember giving you a key," Steve said stiffly.
"You really think I'd need one?" Fury scoffed. He got up and turned off the lamp.
"What are you doing here?" Steve demanded a little more obviously.
Fury held up his phone where some glowing letters were typed out.
EARS EVERYWHERE.
"My wife kicked me out," Fury said casually. "Thought you'd let me crash here for the night."
"I didn't know you had a wife," Steve answered absently even as his brain spun wildly. Ears everywhere? Did that mean his apartment was bugged? He was fighting anger and disgust, as well as righteous indignation. Who would dare bug Captain America's apartment? Wasn't SHIELD supposed to be handling security around here?
"There's a lot about me you don't know," Fury replied darkly, tapping his phone again.
"I know, that's the problem," Steve responded, his brain still spinning.
"I'm sorry to have to do this, but I didn't really have anywhere else to crash," Fury explained without explaining, holding up his phone again.
SHIELD COMPROMISED, the screen read in green letters.
Steve's world came to a screeching halt. SHIELD had bugged his apartment? SHIELD? He trusted them! He thought they were on his side! He shook his head, fighting off the rage that bubbled up in his chest.
"Who else knows about your … wife?" Steve asked, his voice sounding rough.
Fury's thumbs tapped on the phone again before the man showed him the text.
YOU AND ME.
"Just … my friends," the Director of SHIELD replied out loud. He deleted all the text he had typed and slipped the phone into his pocket.
Steve fought the urge to scoff. "Is that what we are?"
"That's … up to you," Fury replied slowly, almost darkly.
Steve's head was spinning from the double talk, and he turned to examine the living room again to distract himself before he went a little crazy. There was definitely someone else in the room. He could hear their breathing.
"Would your wife follow you here?" Steve asked, forcing his voice to sound casual.
Fury arched an eyebrow, probably wondering what Steve was referring to. Out came the phone again. "She doesn't know where I am," Fury assured him as he typed, and then showed him the screen.
AGENT IN THE ROOM – INVISIBLE.
Ah. That explained it. But how exactly did one become invisible? Was it a superpower? Or technology? Or perhaps … magic? The thought of an invisible wizard in the room with him made Steve's skin break out in nervous sweat. Again, Fury deleted the text and dropped the phone in his pocket.
"I need to know I can trust you, Steve," the man said seriously.
"Your wife won't find out from me, I can assure you of that," Steve replied earnestly. "But what—?"
Two gunshots ripped through the thin wooden wall and there was a shimmer in the air of something that almost looked like glowing glass for a second before it shattered. He heard a woman yelp, and then Fury was on the floor, gasping and covered in debris from the wall. Steve dropped down beside the man, but suddenly a woman was standing next to him, dropping a floaty, silvery cloak on the floor beside her and leaning over Fury, a stick in her hand.
"Mrs. Potter?" Steve hissed in disbelief.
"Call an ambulance," the woman snapped at him, her brown hair starting to frizz out of its modest bun at the nape of her neck.
Fury stirred and grabbed Steve by the hand, shoving something small into his palm. "Don't … trust … anyone …" he rasped, before he fell still. Mrs. Potter let out a sound of frustration and applied herself more fully to magical emergency first aid. Steve was reeling too much to even think about asking her any questions. He shoved the little white stick Fury had given him in his pocket as his front door exploded inwards.
"Captain Rogers?" a familiar young woman's voice called out.
Steve almost jumped out of his skin. "Kate?" he spluttered. The pretty woman he'd thought was just a friendly neighbor and a nurse strode into the apartment with a semi-automatic pistol held in her hands. She looked cool and collected. She looked like a SHIELD agent. Steve was equal parts baffled and outraged. Had SHIELD been spying on him ever since he woke up from the ice?!
"Captain, I'm Agent 13 of SHIELD Special Service," Kate informed him, lowering her pistol and glancing briefly at Fury on the floor. Steve did a double take because Mrs. Potter was gone. She'd vanished. Again. What in the world was going on here? Mrs. Potter was an invisible magical agent? His pretty neighbor was a SHIELD spy?!
"What are you doing?" Steve demanded, tightening his grip on the shield.
"I'm assigned to protect you," Kate, or Agent 13, replied calmly.
Steve shut his eyes for a brief second, wondering how much more of the lies and spies he could take. So she wasn't spying on him; she was protecting him. Right. "On whose order?" he asked.
"His," Kate replied tersely, jerking her head in Fury's direction. She stooped down next to the unconscious man, pulling a radio out of her pocket and calling for help. "Foxtrot is down. He's unresponsive. I need EMT's." Her bright eyes darted up and focused on his bewildered ones. "Do you have a twenty on the shooter?"
Steve looked up at once, and spotted a dark figure jumping from this apartment building to the next one. "I'm in pursuit," he replied tersely, and took off through the window, using the shield to shatter the glass.
When he crashed through the gaping hole in the next building where the assassin had jumped through, he was startled by a cracking noise like the snap of a whip. Mrs. Potter had appeared right next to him, and she took off running almost before he'd rolled to his feet. He shook his head and ran after her, knowing that with her magic powers, she could probably take care of herself better than he could. Their opponent was fast, and he was smashing through doors and walls with his bare hands.
"Your husband knows you're here?" Steve demanded as she blasted the wall apart ahead of them so they didn't have to dart through one at a time. If Mrs. Potter got hurt here, Harry was going to kill him.
"Not that I'm doing this," she replied with a vicious grin. Her eyes were bright, her hair was wild, and the stick in her hand was glowing at the tip, providing enough light for them to navigate by. She shouted something, slashed her stick like a blade, and almost hit their fleeing quarry. He ducked and the red beam of light hit the opposite wall instead.
Steve stifled a curse as their quarry smashed through a window and leapt to the roof of the next building. He didn't hesitate to jump after him, tumbling when he hit the concrete behind the assassin. There was open space, a clear shot, and as he rose, he flung his shield like a discus, aiming to hit the fleeing man either in the upper back or the back of his head.
But the man spun impossibly fast and caught the shield in midair with a silver hand. The entire arm was metal, with a red star emblazoned on the upper bicep. The man fixed Steve with a pair of blank, bright eyes, possibly blue, in a black-streaked face. He wore a mask, and his hair was thick and long. There was a snap-crack beside Steve, and the wild-haired Mrs. Potter slashed her stick.
"Stupefy!" she shouted. A red light shot toward the assassin, but he simply tossed the shield up and caught it by its straps, and when the light hit the shield, it bounced back. Steve and Mrs. Potter had to jump aside to avoid getting hit. The assassin threw the shield to the side and jumped over the edge of the building. Mrs. Potter let out a sound that was halfway between a growl and a scream of frustration as she scrambled up and ran to the edge. Steve got up, fetched his shield, and joined her. The woman's hair was down around her shoulders and one hand was pressed against her mouth. Her shoulders were shaking as she silently cried.
Carefully, Steve put an arm around her and pulled her close. To his relief, she didn't push him away, but clutched at his shirt.
"I almost had him," she whispered brokenly. "I wish … I wish I'd let Harry come instead. I'm a terrible duelist."
"I thought you did great," Steve answered softly, and a bit awkwardly. He could hear sirens approaching. "Come on; you need to get home, and I need to get to the hospital."
"Hang on," Mrs. Potter demanded, quickly wiping her face. She reached into her pocket and drew out a pamphlet for the Smithsonian museum. She poked it with her stick and whispered under her breath, and the pamphlet shifted until it had a big blank spot in the middle of the front page and a phone number written in a lovely script on the white patch.
"Call us if you find out anything," Mrs. Potter said, handing him the pamphlet. "That … that man's the one who took our son."
Steve glanced sharply at her in concern, and nodded, almost tempted to salute her in response. "I'll do that," he replied quietly.
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