Chapter 2
"Time for your wake-up call, Stevie!"
Steve barely had a second to tense in anticipation before a bucket of ice-cold water was thrown onto his bed, soaking every inch of the low-thread count sheets and sending him upright, shivering.
His eyes snapped open to see his best friend and right-hand man hovering above him with a wide grin, an old bucket dangling off his fingers, and a towel slung around his neck. Steve wrenched himself out of bed and snatched the towel, scowling. "Revenge will be swift, Buck; I can promise you that."
Bucky laughed, his broad shoulders shaking with the movement as he tossed Steve some clothes from his chipped dresser and began stripping the sheets. "I knew it was laundry day and couldn't resist. Besides, your dad called a meeting, and you're a nightmare to get up in the mornings."
Steve rolled his eyes. It was true, as he didn't have much of a chance to sleep in the first place; he pretty much slept like the dead when he found the time. His father had been the leader of the Howling Commandos, the most notorious gang in Brooklyn, for the past twenty years. Steve's expected to put in the work if he ever wanted to take his place. Meaning Steve had long hours patrolling the streets with Bucky and one of his father's men (for protection, of course, because James Rogers didn't seem to trust his sixteen-year-old son not to get himself killed on a walk-about through their territory).
And Steve desperately wanted to take over the Commandos one day; it had been all the two of them could talk about when Steve was young and being small was expected. Now that he was older and still small, one hundred pounds soaking wet (which Bucky was not helping with, damn it), Steve hoped that he would hit another growth spurt soon. Most of his childhood illnesses had fizzled out with age, so at least he wasn't constantly confined to a sickbed anymore.
All in all, he wasn't the kind of guy that people would look at and say, "you'll be strong and powerful and ruthless one day, just like your father."
But that didn't matter because Steve had been breaking his back for the Commandos since he was ten years old, and Bucky was going to start him on a muscle-building routine now that he could run a few hundred yards without needing his inhaler.
Progress, people. Progress.
"You hear anything about what's going on?" He asked as he tied the laces of his worn-down shoes.
Bucky, leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed over his chest, shrugged and tossed his long hair out of his face. "A few things here and there."
Steve snorted. "You gonna make me ask nicely?"
"Please, the only people you're nice to are little old ladies and your mamma's nursing friends."
It was true. Steve might have a bit of an attitude problem. It came with the territory, literally and figuratively. People always seemed to underestimate him due to his size, and Steve had grown up understanding the power of respect. So why would he be kind to people who didn't respect him?
Little old ladies were the exception because they thought he was adorable and liked to pinch his cheeks and gave him money for food when they took in his too-thin frame, as were his mother's friends because even though she'd died two years ago, they still came by with casseroles and sweets every few days like clockwork. Of course, they most likely did that in hopes of getting in the good graces of Steve's father, but he wasn't above reaping the benefits of James' position in the community.
"I heard some talk of a Hydra mole in the Commandos," Bucky told him as they stepped out onto the front porch, Steve locking the door behind them.
Steve's eyebrows shot up in disbelief. "You're joking, right?"
Bucky's grim expression was enough to tell him that he wasn't. "Doesn't sound like your dad is too happy about it."
"Ma would tell us to start praying for their souls."
It was a well-known fact that James Rogers didn't get to where he was today by being merciful. He was brilliant, with a tactile mind and powerful connections that led to the hostile takeover of the burrows. But, he wouldn't have been able to hold his position for so long if he cringed at the idea of wiping out his enemies, wholly and completely.
The police had been trying to build a case against James and the Commandos for years. Though nothing ever stuck due to lack of evidence. At least fifty-seven murder charges, arson, breaking and entering, drug trafficking, and the like were all still open files sitting in some dusty file cabinet deep within the precinct.
It probably didn't hurt that half of the police force was on their payroll, but still, the Commandos were good enough on their own to keep themselves out of prison without help.
It was warm out as they hurried down the cracked sidewalk, ducking into a few dark back-alleyways to ensure they weren't being followed (one of the many rules Steve's father enforced for the Commandos' protection). Memorial Day was just around the corner, and the community was bustling, busy setting up booths and tables for a block party to celebrate the veterans.
It was one of those holidays that Steve always adored because it meant seeing his dad and his buddies in uniform and hearing his favorite stories from their time in the army. Another reason why Steve had practically begged Bucky to train him was that they both planned to enlist when they turned eighteen, following in their fathers' footsteps. Unfortunately, Bucky's dad had passed away from cancer when he was a kid, so James had always prioritized telling both of the boys about Mr. Barnes' pristine service record whenever they got curious.
James supported their decision, encouraged it even, and promised that the Commandos would be Steve's when they returned home.
Which meant Steve had a lot of work to do.
Once they were sure nobody was on their tail, Steve and Bucky took the familiar trail that led to the Commandos' headquarters, a white-stoned church, hidden by a few acres of woods within Marine Park. It seemed like it would be a pretty public place to host a small army of criminals, but one would be amazed at what a few carefully placed rumors hinting at the location of their headquarters across town could do.
Steve and Bucky received a few slaps on the back and offered handshakes from his father's men as they made their way through the crowd, nodding to people in return until they were near the front. Finally, Dum-Dum Dugan, Jim Morita, James Montgomery Falsworth, and Gabe Jones parted for them, their expressions bleak when they greeted the teenagers. Steve's stomach churned with nerves, settling into a frigid block of ice as he ran through the possibilities of the day's meeting.
His father finally made his appearance, the steady whispers and conversations dying down as he stepped up to the altar for his Commandos to see. His shoulders were broad, looking even more menacing whilst standing at attention with a ramrod-straight spine and bright, piercing blue eyes highlighted beneath a sharply-trimmed head of blonde hair. Steve pressed his shoulder against Bucky's for solidarity, and he felt his best friend lean into the touch.
"Commandos," James' voice boomed across the sanctuary, echoing off the walls. "Thank you all for coming at such short notice. I know you all have your own busy lives, and I appreciate your family's willingness to allow you this time for important business." He took a deep breath, his gaze falling on Steve for a moment before returning to the crowd.
"I have alarming news for you all today. A few weeks ago, I became suspicious of a mole within our ranks." A few murmurs broke out again until James' sharp look of disapproval shut them up quickly. "I spent most of my time gathering evidence to support my suspicion, and last night, I proved correct when a piece of false information leaked to our mortal enemy, Hydra." Steve's father seemed to straighten even further, power radiating from him in waves. "It is my greatest displeasure to reveal the betrayer's name to you all: Baron Zemo."
"What the fuck," Bucky breathed out in shock beside Steve, and he couldn't help but agree with the sentiment. Zemo had been working for his father for years, ever since Steve was a kid. The man's family had been killed overseas in his home country, and James had been gracious enough to sponsor his relocation to America. He'd given Zemo shelter, an opportunity to feel powerful again, to take back control when his own life had fallen to pieces. So his betrayal didn't make any sense.
A loud scuffle brought his attention to the rapidly parting crowd, and his eyes widened to see Dernier and Pinkerton holding a struggling Zemo between them, their faces hardened with fury and disgust. They led him up the short set of stairs and forced him to his knees before the Commandos leader. James scowled down at the man in question, his eyes sharp and calculating as he watched him jerk in their hold.
"Do you have anything to say for yourself, Zemo?"
Suddenly Zemo stopped fighting, his shoulder sagging as he seemed to accept his fate. He lifted his head to meet James' eye. "You were kind to me when no one else was, that is true." His accent danced off his tongue, no longer holding the same magic touch it did when Steve was a kid. "But there are things that I could not turn my back on."
"Like you turned your back on us? On me?" Steve's father shot back, his voice devoid of any emotion besides pure, unadulterated ferocity.
Zemo flinched at the tone, and he cast his gaze down.
When it was clear he would say no more, offer no explanations for his actions, James straightened and closed his eyes, taking a few breaths. When he opened them again, they were filled with quiet resolve. "Fine," he ground out. "Then, for your crimes against the Howling Commandos, I sentence you to death."
Barely a heartbeat passed before James had his Glock out of its holster and the barrel pressed against Zemo's temple. Time seemed to slow, warping as he pulled the trigger, the silencer muffling the impact as the bullet lodged in Zemo's brain and his blood splattered fucking everywhere, including James', Dernier's, and Pinkerton's faces due to their close proximity.
Dum Dum was there in an instant with a handful of damp towels for them all, and soon it was as if nothing had happened at all, save for the body splayed out before them.
Steve had no idea what to think, and the resulting round of commotion did nothing to help the ringing in his ears as the rest of the world sped back up.
"As for the rest of you," James thundered. "Be aware that I grant no leniency to those who betray the Howling Commandos. I will be continuing my investigation to ensure that Zemo was working alone. Hydra has gone too far this time, and I will not be hesitant to seek my revenge. May God have mercy on your souls."
Once James dismissed them, most of the men filed out of the church, whispering amongst themselves until only James, his inner circle, Steve, and Bucky were left.
"Dum Dum, Falsworth, clean up the body. The rest of you, let me have a moment with my son."
Steve swallowed thickly, shuffling his feet from side to side as the others gave them some space.
His father placed a hand on Steve's shoulder with a frown, squeezing once. "I'm sorry you had to see that, Son, but I believe you're old enough now to be involved in the darker side of the business. Am I wrong?"
"No!" Steve shook his head, pride and sheer belonging squeezing within his chest. "You're not wrong. I can handle this."
"Good," James' lips twitched upwards. "Over the next few years, you'll have to learn what it means to lead the Commandos. The importance of respect, honor, and loyalty. The men and women who surround you will be your family, and it will be your job to protect your family."
Steve searched his father's stony expression, gaze roaming over eyes so much like his own; he desperately wanted to make his father proud, wanted to live up to every one of his expectations. "I understand," Steve whispered.
"That's my boy." James cleared his throat, patting him once and addressing the others. "I want reports on every single one of my men. Their friends, family, associates - I don't want a single stone left unturned. I will not stand for dissension amongst the ranks." James pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head once before turning his attention to Steve and Bucky. "I need you two to continue the patrols tonight. Everyone else that I trust implicitly will be busy, so if you can't handle it then -"
"We can," Steve was quick to reassure him, sharing a look with Bucky to confirm their agreement on the matter. This would be the first step in proving his dedication and usefulness to the Commandos. "You don't need to worry about us."
James stared at them for a few more moments before giving a sharp nod. "If anything, and I mean anything, happens, call me. I'll send someone immediately."
"Don't worry, Dad; we won't let you down."
"I know you won't."
XX
That evening, Steve and Bucky sat on opposite ends of the ripped leather couch, dismantling, cleaning, and reassembling their weapons. Another one of James' rules within the Commandos was that no one could fire a gun if they didn't know it inside and out. As a result, both boys had been experts in their chosen weapons by twelve years old.
Now that the sun had sunk below the horizon, they had about half an hour before they would begin their patrol. The Commandos' territory, spread out over a ten-mile radius, would take them a few hours to entirely cover and check in on the businesses and apartment complexes under the Commandos' protection.
As they set off down the street, their loaded guns tucked into the back of their waistbands, Steve let out a sigh. "I still can't believe Zemo was dirty."
Bucky's lips downturned as he slid his hands into his pockets. "I gotta admit, I didn't see that one coming."
"I wonder what could have made him turn his back on my dad. He must have known what would happen if he got caught."
The two were quiet as they contemplated the possibilities.
"Maybe someone was threatening him?" Bucky suggested.
Steve shrugged. "It's hard to believe that Zemo wouldn't have just told my dad what was going on if that was the case. The Commandos could have protected him if he thought he was in danger."
"Well, the only other thing he cared about besides the gang was his own family," Bucky surmised. "Maybe someone found a way to use that against him. Or maybe he just decided to up and side with Hydra, who knows?"
"I don't like it," Steve grumbled, ducking into Mr. Barsee's diner to confirm they weren't having any trouble before stepping back onto the sidewalk. "Whatever the reason, it couldn't have been good."
They chatted lightly over the next few miles, making their rounds until they turned the corner near the high school designated for those who were technologically inclined. It was at the tail end of their route before they needed to turn back around, but once he saw the parking lot filled to the brim, he paused, remembering that there was some kind of competition going on inside that evening.
Before he could open his mouth to comment on it, a muffled shout caught his attention. He slapped Bucky, who had been staring at a group of girls near the front gates with a dumbstruck expression, on the chest to get his attention and started off towards the direction of the noise at a run.
It didn't take long to find the source of the problem. Two older boys were roughly shoving a boy between them, throwing their heads back in laughter when he cried out in pain.
The kid looked slightly younger than Steve, maybe fourteen or fifteen, with dark hair and wide, frightened, beautiful brown eyes. His face was pale in the light of the moon, and Steve could hear his ragged breath from the mouth of the alley. The most surprising thing about him was that he was wielding something that looked like a giant stick, waving it around in front of him in an attempt to hold off his attackers.
Unfortunately, it wasn't doing much to deter them.
They sneered, looking down on him with cruel grins. "Haven't seen you around these parts, kid. How about you give us everything in that backpack, and we won't hurt you too badly."
"Yeah, listen to Brock," the other jumped in, edging closer. "I think that's a pretty fair deal."
The kid backed up quickly but didn't seem to notice they were herding him towards the brick wall of the closed-off, darkened alley. "Stay back! I-I don't want any trouble!"
"Hmmm, not an option," Brock goaded. "Put that stick down. You're going to poke your eye out!"
The kid responded by slamming the butt of the stick against Brock's forehead and swinging it around to jab his other attacker in the stomach. Both boys grunted in pain, then roared, throwing themselves into his chest and pinning him against the wall.
The sound of something shattering had Steve halting in his steps forward with a sharp intake of breath. Everyone else froze, too, the obvious worry that they had somehow broken the kid without meaning to. But then the kid let out a cry of "no!" and continued struggling roughly against their hold.
Something of importance in his backpack, then.
It didn't matter what the possible score was, Steve hated bullies, and he hated them more when they were in his territory.
Steve ground his teeth and pulled the gun out of his waistband, feeling Bucky following his lead near his shoulder. "Get the hell away from him!"
The two bullies stiffened in surprise, looking over their shoulders with wide eyes.
The leader, Brock, almost smirked in amusement when he noticed Steve's small stature, but his lips downturned with a flinch when he saw the gun in his hand and Bucky with his own.
"Hey fellas," he greeted shakily, taking his hands off the kid and holding his palms up, his buddy doing the same. "We're all friends here, aren't we?"
"No," Steve snarled, taking a step towards them. "You're in Commandos territory, and we don't take kindly to bullies."
If possible, their eyes widened even further as they faltered at the mention of the gang. "We didn't realize," Brock told him quickly, stumbling over his own feet in his haste to back up away.
Steve's eyes flickered down to the kid, who was huddled against the dirty brick wall, clutching his backpack in front of him with a sheen of sweat at his forehead.
He was sick. Shit.
"Well, now you do," Bucky drawled, motioning the barrel of his gun towards the mouth of the alley. "How about you two scram before we have to bring in one of Rogers' men?"
"No!" The other bully spluttered. "No, we're sorry! Don't - don't call anyone."
Steve moved to the side; his gun still pointed between Brock's eyes. "Then leave, and don't let me catch you hurting anyone else."
The two boys took the opportunity to sprint out of the alley like their heels were on fire, avoiding Steve and Bucky the best they could.
Steve immediately flicked on the safety and tucked the weapon back into his waistband, dropping to his knees beside the frightened kid. "Hey, are you okay?"
The boy was practically trembling; his honey-brown eyes glazed over as he panted, his chest rising and falling like he was working himself up into a panic attack. Up close, Steve noticed that his collared blue shirt and slacks were much nicer than anything he owned, so the kid must come from money. Steve frowned and tried to think. A scared rich kid in the wrong place at the wrong time, obviously freaking the fuck out.
"You're safe now," he softened his tone and shuffled closer without actually touching him. "I promise, nobody is going to hurt you. Can you just breathe for me?"
The kid's gaze flickered up to his own, but the panic didn't recede.
"Come on," Steve encouraged, taking long, exaggerated breaths until the kid began following his lead. "That's it, in and out. You're doing great. Everything's okay."
It took a few minutes, but with the slim light of the full moon and Bucky keeping watch over his shoulder, Steve wasn't in any hurry. Instead, he continued coaching the kid through his breathing until it finally stuttered, and he let out a shaky breath.
Steve nodded, giving him a small smile and sharing a relieved look with Bucky. "That's better. Now, what's your name?"
The kid swallowed heavily, looking down at his backpack and keeping his voice low. "Tony. My name is Tony."
XX
Note: Thanks for reading!