Lady Death by Lyudmila Pavlichenko, a non-fiction memoir of a female sniper; Fucking Epic, highly, highly, recommended. I would make this primary reading for all high schoolers, it blows my mind and I'm only chapter 5 :D

KEYnote: Harry/Harry's fighting ability spawns from the fact that in the fifth book Harry was not pulling his punches and the fact that Steve Rogers literally was a badass out of the box (tank?), and I'm totally going with comic-book/movie logic with badassery because it's fun.

Chapter 6 - No Shore in Sight

Steven Rogers woke underwater, and he was so cold.

So cold.

He was also drowned.

And yet, he was not dead.

Given his pain receptors were still working, this was not a great thing, and he could say, wholeheartedly, that he was not grateful to be alive.

In an effort to escape said pain, he swam to the surface. As he swam, he felt lighter, and he realized that his healing abilities must have been fighting against the crushing pressure of being so deep.

When he broke the surface, somehow, the air hurt worse than the water as his body tried to expel an impossible amount of water.

He was intimately reminded of having pneumonia.

But there was no Bucky to sit beside him, hell, there was nowhere to sit.

So for the better part of an hour, estimated, of course, he coughed and hacked the sea up into the freezing cold sea.

After which, he let himself float for a bit. The shield was uncomfortable but he didn't dare abandon it.

He still had Nazis to kill after all.

Steve stared up at the large dome of the sky, the sun was painting the darkening blue with fire. He didn't want to look, didn't want to think about how far he was likely to have to swim with his chest burning.

When he did look, twirling in a slow circle, he saw only endless blue; with no shore in sight.


Banner sat across from them, "We're close, but there is something we need to discuss with you."

"And what's that?" Natasha snapped, her worry was as clear as day to Soldat.

"Tony and I have a theory about how to track him," Banner explained. "Something like this… it leaves a mark on a person, we think, especially as intention, according to all of the notes the scientists took, intent matters."

"But?" Soldat asked, waiting for the other foot to drop.

"But safety is a real concern," Banner said. "Your son has one minute to decide to crossover, or you have one minute to join. Well, 62.3 seconds, precisely, but to our calculations, that's the most we can spare while holding a tracker on him."

Natasha nodded, "I understand."

Banner gave her a sad smile, "I'm sorry this was done to you."

"Where there is life, there is hope," Natasha said, gaze on her own hands.

Soldat put his right hand over hers and she laced their fingers together; whatever their past, whatever their future, they were in this together.


Steve had time to let his beard grow out and in a matter of months, he was more settled into the future than he would have believed possible.

But people were still people, and he had grown up poor enough that becoming homeless was one bad week away from reality.

Even so, being homeless was easier than facing the hysteria of a super soldier war hero coming back to life.

And after a few weeks of being on the streets of the country's capital, he managed to get back on his feet. Though he wished he had enough to give back to the thousands of people who filtered in and out of shelters, the ones who were lucky to have a tent as opposed to a tarp or a box to sit on.

It disgusted him that with how wealthy the country was, how bad things still were.

And yet, life goes on and he found a cash job working in Chinatown. He was a dishwasher and handyman to a nice Chinese couple with three girls all attending college.

He had a small apartment and an old computer that he learned martial arts from. It wasn't as if he could work out in public and getting weights heavy enough to be worth his time wouldn't have been possible in his tiny apartment with questionable architecture.

"You're too quiet," a familiar customer said from where she sat at the bar.

Steve looked up at her, the store was empty save for the manager who was the bartender who was also the head cook and the owner was doing paperwork in the side office.

From the bar, the customers could see him. He turned off the tap and came out to be polite, a towel in his hand. They were already closed but this woman, Ms. Lian May, was the type of customer who was only ever survived spirits from the top shelf.

"Not much to say, ma'am," he said with a smile.

"You should shave," Lian said.

Steve's lips quirked, he rubbed his chin, "I didn't think it looked that bad."

Lian turned her nose up at him, "At least trim it."

"I'll consider it."

Lian hmphed, she was a tough lady, and being Chinese, Steve was completely incapable of guessing how old she was. But old enough for him to regard her as his elder, and he was pretty sure she had been a soldier of some sort.

She had the same sort of air as Peggy, only more brutal.

"The VA centre, you know, has its door open from dawn to dusk."

Steve blinked at her.

"You are a vet, you think no one would notice the signs?"

"What signs?" he asked.

"Men like you," she motioned to him, probably indicating his good health and looks if he tried a little more. "They end up homeless by choice."

He nodded to her, "Thanks for the tip, but I'm not homeless. Now if you will excuse me, I have a job to keep." He turned before she gave an answer.

"A Captain shouldn't be paid in cash."

He spun, "Did you tell—"

She held up a hand in peace and to silence him, "I'm retired. I have no one to report you to. In fact, I came with a gift." She placed an envelope on the bar.

He hesitated, before putting down the towel on the bar. He opened the envelope and shook out the paperwork.

Where he found a birth certificate, a social security card, and a passport.

Stephen Lee.

He looked up at her, "Why?"

Lian shrugged, "This country owes you a great debt. You deserve a fresh start."

"And no one knows?"

Lian shook her head, "No, and with this, no one will figure it out. Now, get back to work, you have a proper paycheck to earn."

"Yes, ma'am, and thank you."

She shook her head, "Don't thank me, you have to pay taxes now."

Steve smiled and leaned over the bar to kiss her cheek.

She batted him away, though her cheeks were flushed as she grumbled, "And go see a barber."

He laughed, maybe the future wasn't so bad after all.


Harry fell asleep nestled beneath a giant tree in roots that had outgrown the local fauna. It was dry at least, and Hedwig watched over him. Buckbeak curled around him.

But as too often happened, even his dreams were not safe.

Voldemort screamed until their throat hurt.

They had had him.

They had had him!

"Where are the others!?" Voldemort screeched.

Lucius Malfoy whose face was wrapped in bandages leaning against his wife.

He didn't look good.

"Dead," Lucius said, his good eye trained on the floored.

"Where is Bellatrix?"

"Dead," the toerag said.

Voldemort shook their head, "Where?"

Lucius finally looked up, "He killed them, he killed them all."

"Black?"

"Potter," Lucius said through gritted teeth.

Voldemort barked a laugh, "The boy? The child? You think I would believe that Potter was a match for Bellatrix and the others?"

"He used knives," Lucius said flatly.

Voldemort's voice rose higher, "Knives? Muggle weapons!?"

Lucius shook his head, then froze at the pain that must have caused him, "He isn't human, M'Lord. He moved with inhuman strength and speed, like a vampire who had freshly fed."

Voldemort paused, their thoughts turning…

Inhuman?

That might explain so much.

"So Potter killed all of them?" Severus asked.

"Yes," Lucius said, leaning more heavily on Narcissa.

Harry was amused, and it was his vindictive amusement that got him trouble.

Potter, Voldemort hissed into their shared consciousness. You will pay for what you've done.

Sucks to suck, Harry responded.

Rage burned through Harry's mind.

"I will kill you!"

Through Voldemort's eyes, Harry saw Narcissa and Snape exchange a look.

'O' to… what are we at now? Three? Blowing yourself up while trying to hit a baby, garlic Quirrel, and your diary. So three for me and you're still failing. I think your assassination attempts are in the double digits at this point, right?

Voldemort screamed, turning away from his three left over Death Eaters, well, an invalid, the invalid's wife, and a double/triple agent.

What a great team.

Voldemort began hissing, and suddenly Harry felt sick, even in the dream, he could feel the pain in his skull as if it was being cracked open.

He felt as if Voldemort had a hold of his soul and was trying to rip it out of him at the root.

Lucius's panicked voice cut through the chanting, "Severus— No!"

They spun to face Severus whose wand was raised, his lips already moving, "Avada Kedavra!"

Again, Harry saw the Killing Curse, again he felt it.

But when Voldemort died, Harry remained.

He guessed Snape was on the right side after all.

The pain in his head ceased and Harry opened his own eyes to see a black smoke raise from his skull, and it dissipated into nothing.

Harry took in a depth breath, Buckbeak nudging his shoulder, and he knew himself to be free.

Free and whole and himself.

Just him, in his own mind, with his own soul, and having his own life to live.


AN: Thoughts, lanner falcons, or feedback, pretty please?