Chapter 2
"I can't believe we finally found him."
Phil Coulson wasn't bothering to hide the uncharacteristic excitement in his voice as he zipped up a parka over his suit and looked at Nick Fury with an eager gleam in his eyes.
"We've been looking so long, even I was starting to think you were crazy, Fury," Coulson continued, reaching back to pull the fur-lined hood over his head. "How does it feel to be vindicated?"
"Try to contain yourself, Agent Coulson," Fury said unsmilingly, donning his gloves. "We don't know yet what condition the body's in."
Coulson paused with his left glove halfway on. "I'm sorry we didn't find what you were hoping for, Fury," he said more quietly.
Unfortunately, there hadn't been anything on the Valkyrie they hadn't already found on the Hydra parasit fighter they'd located on a glacier in the area many months earlier. They now had a second copy of the ultra-destructive weapon Hydra had intended to use on the United States, it was true, but there were no additional weapon prototypes. No secret notes from Arnim Zola's research on the Tesseract. Nothing that would help them refine or accelerate Phase 2. The World Council would not be happy about the amount of resources S.H.I.E.L.D. had poured into the project, with little to show for it.
But a year ago, Fury had put his foot down and insisted on resuming the search for the Valkyrie that Howard Stark had been forced to abandon so long ago, and Coulson knew there was no stopping the director of S.H.I.E.L.D. once he had made up his mind about something. Just look at the Avengers Initiative. Fury's obsession with it hadn't been cooled by Tony Stark's lack of cooperation, or the total radio silence from Asgard after Thor's abrupt departure, or Bruce Banner's refusal to even show his face to the world. Technically the Initiative was shut down, on the Council's orders, but Coulson knew even that didn't mean much to Fury.
"Well, maybe we can get a blood sample from the body," Fury said, zipping up his parka. "As a consolation prize."
"You aren't thinking of resuming the super-soldier serum research, are you, sir?" Coulson asked, startled.
Fury didn't immediately answer.
"I mean, the last couple attempts were pretty spectacular failures," Coulson pressed, starting to get a little worried. "I'm not sure we need any more Abominations rampaging through Harlem."
"I didn't have any intentions," Fury admitted, "but we should get what we can while we've got the chance. We might make better headway with a blood sample from the original. The world's only stable super-soldier."
"The Strategic Scientific Reserve had that," Coulson said, "and they never got anywhere with it."
"We have considerably better minds to throw at the problem now," Fury said. "Better equipment, better knowledge base." He pulled up the hood over his bald head. "Whatever the cost, we have to be ready for them."
They were both quiet for a moment, remembering the Kree and the Skrull, and all the implications that came along with S.H.I.E.L.D.'s discovery 20 years ago of the existence of other life in the universe. Their more recent encounter with the Destroyer in New Mexico hadn't exactly been a comfort, either. On this, the two of them were both in agreement: whenever the next extraterrestrial visit occurred - and they were certain it would - they needed to be ready.
There was no sign of Dr. Lewis and his forensics team yet, but the two of them were beginning to swelter in their thermals. Moving decisively, Fury pulled on the lever to open the thickly insulated door of the morgue, and a blast of cold air hit their faces. Fury stepped up into the frigid room, followed closely by Coulson.
The room was dimly lit and icy cold. Their breath showed in white puffs as Coulson shut the door with a thud and they quietly moved to either side of the exam table, looking at what had been delivered from Greenland to S.H.I.E.L.D.'s Manhattan Headquarters less than an hour ago.
The body was lying there, still partially encased in ice. The head and torso were mostly exposed, though, and although the skin was bluish and frosty, there was no mistaking it: It was Steve Rogers.
He was wearing his uniform. The uniform. The helmet was missing, but the white star in the center of the chest shone out clearly in the dim light. Fury ran an appraising eye over the body and then picked up the file at the foot of the exam table.
Moving slowly, as if in a dream, Coulson stretched out a gloved hand and rested it lightly on the star.
"Coulson, remove your hands from the remains," Fury said sternly.
"This is Captain America," Coulson said, breathless from either the cold or the awe, Fury wasn't sure. "The world's first superhero. I used to read his comic books as a kid. My dad bought me the whole set."
"You've mentioned it," Fury said, flipping through the file.
"I joined S.H.I.E.L.D. because of him," Coulson said, his hand still on the star. "I wanted to be like one of the Howling Commandoes, following him into battle." He blinked a couple of times and then slowly removed his hand from the star. "Metaphorically, I mean," he said quickly in a more normal tone of voice, having the decency to look slightly embarrassed. He looked over the body again, and shook his head, blowing out a long breath that left a white cloud hovering in the air. "What a waste."
"I wouldn't exactly call saving the entire eastern seaboard a waste," Fury said, not looking up from the papers.
"Just think what he could have done if he hadn't gone down in that plane," Coulson said. "What he could have done for this country. For the world."
"He could still do it," Fury said, putting down the file with a slap, "if he'll oblige us with some blood samples." He stepped closer to the body, studying it. "Looks like he's in pretty good shape."
Coulson didn't seem to have heard. "He could be sleeping," he said reverently.
The insulated door opened again with a sharp cracking sound, and the forensics expert, Dr. Lewis, came in, followed by two assistants pushing in a wheeled cart filled with examination instruments. All three of them wore clean white coats over their parkas.
"Director Fury, Agent Coulson," Lewis said, nodding to them. He and his team moved to surround the exam table, pulling on their medical gloves, and Fury and Coulson backed up out of their way. "Well, let's take a look."
Lewis switched on the blue light on the exam table's surface, illuminating the body more fully, and carefully looked it all over. Finally, he nodded in satisfaction.
"It looks like he's in pristine condition," Lewis said. "No sign of putrefaction, no evidence of animal feeding. We couldn't ask for better." He glanced at the thermometer above the exam table. "Make sure we keep that outer door shut tight while we're working. The moment he warms up, decay will set in." He gestured to his team. "Let's get the rest of this ice off, for starters. Be careful not to damage the skin."
There was a bustle of activity as the assistants moved to obey.
"Are you going to be able to get blood samples?" Fury asked, barely concealing his impatience with the whole process.
"Most likely," Lewis said, using a small thermal wand to begin melting the chunk of ice encasing the left hand and squinting at the results.
"And full body scans?" Fury pressed. "I'd like to see exactly how the serum affected all his systems."
"Well, we can scan him," Lewis said, "but I should warn you about the problem with frozen bodies. You see, the human body is full of water, and when it freezes, ice crystals form and rip through all the soft tissue. This guy's internal organs are going to be just shredded." He took one glance at Fury's irritated expression and hurried to add: "His bones should be okay, though. We could probably even get marrow samples."
"He isn't 'this guy,'" Coulson suddenly interjected. "This is Captain America."
"Can we get the blood sample now?" Fury asked, ignoring Coulson.
"We haven't even gotten the ice off..." Lewis trailed off, looking annoyed, but after a moment he sighed and then shrugged. "I don't see why not. Garcia, why don't you cut off the sleeve on the right arm, since that one's clear, and put a needle in the cubital vein."
"Don't cut the uniform!" Coulson objected with feeling. "This is Captain America! That's a historical artifact."
Lewis rolled his eyes. "Fine, then. Use the jugular." He put his hands on Garcia's shoulders and guided her toward the head of the table. "Use the big needle," he told her. "Since the blood's frozen, you're going to take a core sample, like you would a sample of ice." The other assistant stood ready with an empty vial.
Lewis watched closely as Garcia began to insert the needle. "That's it," he murmured. "Straight in, straight out." Garcia slowly withdrew the needle from the neck, and handed the syringe to the other assistant, a man whose name tag read "Bell," who carefully lowered the needle down into a vial and depressed the plunger to expel the sample.
"Dr. Lewis?" Garcia said, sounding startled and drawing everyone's attention back to her. "Um... he's bleeding!"
Everyone stopped what they were doing and craned to look. There was, in fact, a slow trickle of thick blood rolling down the neck from the needle prick.
"The sample's liquid, too," Bell pointed out, swirling it around in the vial with a look of surprise.
Lewis swore. "The temperature!" he said. "Is it above freezing?" He frantically started to look all around the morgue, hunting for instrumentation. "If he gets too warm..."
They found several different readings. All said it was below freezing.
"How is that possible?" Coulson asked, squinting at the slow drip of blood down the neck.
Lewis was starting to relax again. "Actually, blood normally freezes at around 31 degrees. But it depends on the composition. You can lower the freezing point with salt or sugar, for example. Bell, stick that sample in the reader and let's see what it says."
The five of them waited for the blood analysis, and finally Bell reported: "Glucose levels are extremely high. As in, diabetic-coma high."
"Captain America was not a diabetic," Coulson said indignantly.
"He wouldn't have to be," Lewis said. "Blood sugar tends to spike under extreme stress. Crashing a plane into the Arctic would do the trick." He looked over the body again thoughtfully. "Actually, this might be a good thing. Maybe his internal organs won't be shredded by ice after all. I've heard of this happening with some kind of frog, I think. They hibernate in the mud over the winter, and even if they get frozen, they can thaw out in the spring and recover."
"Captain America is not a fr-" Coulson started.
"Coulson, park your posterior over by the door," Fury snapped. "And if I hear the phrase 'Captain America' escape your lips one more time, you'll have to remove yourself from the situation."
"Sorry, boss," Coulson muttered, backing up meekly.
"What about his brain?" Fury asked. "Is that going to be intact?"
Lewis waggled his head noncommittally. "Maybe. We'd have to do some scans and see." He walked over to the head of the table. "I might be able to give you some indication by seeing what condition his eyes are in."
Lewis leaned over and carefully pried open an eyelid with this thumb, and bent down close to peer into the eye. "Huh. It doesn't look too bad..." He glanced over at Garcia with hand outstretched. "Hand me a penlight, would you?"
The assistant handed him the light, and he got down even closer, shining the beam directly into the eye. "This is great. I'm not seeing any ice damage at all. Maybe-"
Lewis froze, breaking off mid-sentence. Suddenly he reared back, dropping the penlight on the floor with a clatter, eyes wide with shock.
"Oh my God!" he blurted out, his voice ringing over-loud in the enclosed space. "This guy's still alive!"
"What?" Coulson said. The two assistants stood stock-still.
Fury fixed Lewis with an icy stare. "Excuse me?" he said sternly.
The forensic scientist was standing several steps back from the body, breathing rapidly. "Did you see that? His pupil dilated!"
"So?" Fury said.
"So pupils don't dilate unless there's brain activity."
"This solider has been frozen in the Arctic for 66 years," Fury said pointedly. "Trust me, there's no brain activity."
"Look for yourself," Lewis said vehemently, scooping up the penlight from the floor. He pulled back the eyelid again, and he and Fury bent down low to look. Coulson butted in too, and the three of them hardly dared breathe as they stood there, heads touching, looking at the eye as Lewis shone the light into it.
The pupil visibly shrank.
"See?" Lewis said.
"That's weird," Coulson breathed, straightening up.
Fury straightened up too, and scowled at the scientist. "What's all this business about he's still alive? Is the man breathing? Is his heart beating? I didn't think so."
"It doesn't matter," Lewis said flatly. "We don't call time of death when a heart stops beating. We call it for brain death. His pupils dilated, ergo, his brain is not dead."
"You don't think you can restart his heart, do you?" Coulson asked, startled.
Lewis put his hands up in a quick gesture of negation. "I'm not saying anything. I'm not a physician. I'm just saying... I think I'd like to see a brain scan before I start cutting into him. This is... not normal. I've never heard of anything like this."
"We don't know much about Dr. Erskine's formula, other than it changed him at a cellular level," Coulson said slowly. "Isn't it possible that some portion of his bodily functions remained active? I mean, bodies twitch even after they're dead..."
"You don't need a living brain for a twitch or two," Lewis said. "This is something else. This is-"
"Look at his neck!" Garcia interrupted.
They did. The slow flow of blood caused by the hypodermic needle had stopped, leaving a congealed lump where the wound was.
"His blood is clotting," Garcia said, looking up at them all incredulously. "He's... healing."
Coulson looked over at Fury, a sudden panic rising. "What do we do, boss?"
Fury was looking down at the body with a calculated look in his eye. "Maybe we can salvage more than just a blood sample out of this."
Lewis stripped his gloves off with an air of finality. "Call in a medical team," he said. "This guy's a patient, not a corpse."
Coulson tried not to show his impatience. He had expected Dr. Kathleen Stacey, summoned from S.H.I.E.L.D.'s medical ward, to rush Captain Rogers to the emergency bay and for her medical personnel to swarm around him like a cloud of locusts, pumping him full of medications in a desperate attempt to resuscitate him. But to Coulson's surprise, once they had explained the situation to Dr. Stacey, she had calmly and quietly recited a list of what she needed, and now they were moving Rogers to a medical theater at a leisurely pace.
Coulson followed behind the gurney with Fury by his side, and tried to reassure himself that if Captain America really had survived 66 years in a deep freeze, a few minutes more or less could hardly make a difference. When they arrived, the two of them were sent up to the observation deck and the medical teams below got to work. First they carefully undressed their patient and lowered him into a medical-grade tub of tepid water. "We'll want to warm him up gradually," Dr. Stacey had explained. "Slow and steady wins the race."
"How do you know? It's not like you've done this before," Coulson had pointed out.
"Standard procedure for treating hypothermia," Dr. Stacey said calmly.
And so they were raising the temperature of the water, one slow degree at a time, and the medical team moved around him in a gentle, unhurried way as they performed their tasks. Coulson saw one nurse administering a few blood tests and another attaching sensors to the patient's temples, and eventually Dr. Stacey gave him a single injection in the arm, although Coulson couldn't tell from here what it was. He could see the body temp monitor, though, and it was slowly but surely ticking upward.
"Call me when we know something," Fury said, and abruptly left the observation deck. Coulson couldn't believe he would leave at a time like this, but he also knew the hospital just wasn't Fury's scene. Some people were funny that way.
Finally, after an interminable wait, something different happened. Someone brought in a sturdy platform and set it up by the medical tub. Dr. Stacey climbed up on it, knelt down and leaned over the patient, putting her hands one atop the other on his chest. She gave him several firm chest compressions and looked up at the monitors to see what was happening. As far as Coulson could tell, not much.
She did compressions again, for a longer period of time, continually checking on the monitors. But whenever she paused, the monitor flatlined again. With almost superhuman patience, Dr. Stacey kept going, gently trying to coax her patient back to life.
But eventually she began to tire, and a nurse climbed onto the platform and took her place administering the chest compressions. Dr. Stacey went around to head of the tub. Several of the nurses were standing back in the corner, talking amongst themselves while they waited to be told what to do, their voices echoing around the surgical bay.
"Let's keep it quiet in here," Dr. Stacey said briefly, and the nurses immediately quieted. Coulson wondered why, until he remembered that he'd heard comatose patients could sometimes hear and remember what was said in their presence.
Stacey leaned over the tub and looked at her patient's slack face.
"Captain Rogers?" she said.
He didn't move or respond in any way. The nurse kept on with the chest compressions.
"Captain? I need you to help us out," Stacey said firmly. "Come on. Do your part."
Nothing happened.
Stacey called his name several more times. Tried telling him to report for duty, in her best imitation of a commanding officer. But when the nurse paused her compressions, the monitor flatlined again.
Dr. Stacey put one hand gently on her patient's forehead, smoothing back the wet strands of hair, and leaned down close to his ear.
"Captain Rogers? It's time to wake up now," she said firmly.
Coulson blinked suddenly. What was that green flash? A light from one of the medical monitors? But they were all blinking red or white lights now. Coulson rubbed his eyes with his palms, feeling the grit under his eyelids; he'd been standing here watching too long. He was exhausted, but he wasn't going anywhere until-
"Did you see that?" panted the nurse who was giving the chest compressions, her voice ringing out. Her eyes were fixed on the heart monitor. "There was a spike!"
Everyone in the surgical bay went instantly on alert.
"Don't stop!" Dr. Stacey said urgently, looking at the monitor wide-eyed, and then impulsively she climbed up onto the platform and took over the chest compressions herself with a renewed energy. The pulse line on the monitor was jagged and irregular, but it seemed to be doing more than it had been before, at least to Coulson's untrained eyes.
Suddenly, Rogers' whole body twitched, sending waves lapping all around the tub of water. His head rocked violently from side to side, mouth gaping open, and Coulson clearly saw him clench his hands into fists under the water.
The nurse standing by Dr. Stacey shot her a worried look. "Was that a convulsion, or-?"
"He's trying to breathe," Stacey said authoritatively. She glanced over at the other nurses. "Rub his limbs, give him tactile stimulation!" she called out. "Like you would a newborn." They rushed over to obey, lifting his feet and his arms out of the water, rubbing them vigorously.
"Come on, come on, come on," Coulson whispered, uncaring that Rogers couldn't hear him. "Come on..."
Long seconds passed. Suddenly Rogers thrashed in the water again, and half the nurses lost their grip on his limbs. Waves of water splashed over the edge of the tub. He arched his back, chest rising out of the water, and then he collapsed back down, sending more waves up and over. Dr. Stacey leaned back on her heels from where she knelt on the platform, halting the chest compressions, but the heart monitor continued to show a wild, jagged line. The nurses stood back a little, uncertain.
He's fighting for it now, Coulson thought.
Rogers tipped his head back with mouth wide open, struggled visibly, and then gasped loudly, sucking air in hard and then immediately going into a violent coughing fit. For long, agonizing seconds, he choked, gasped and coughed by turns while the medical team stood back and watched, eyes wide. Finally, he settled down into a recognizable breathing rhythm, in and out, although he was panting like he'd just run a marathon, his eyes still shut tight.
"Record the time!" Dr. Stacey said with a ring of triumph in her voice. "07:04, patient resuscitated!" Several of her nurses were unable to restrain their joyful exclamations. Coulson knew how they felt. He was giddy as a child. They'd just brought a dead man back to life, more or less. Rogers lay in the tub, his chest visibly rising and falling, eyes still closed. He was beginning to shiver, though, and his lips were blue.
"Turn up the heater," Dr. Stacey ordered, pointing at the controls on the tub. "Let's get him warmed up the rest of the way, stat."
Meanwhile, Coulson was dialing his phone as fast as he could with shaking fingers.
"Fury?" he said the moment he heard a voice on the other end. "They did it, sir."
"Give it to us straight, Doc," Fury said, strolling over to look at the patient. "Good news and bad."
Captain Rogers was no longer shivering. His skin looked pink and healthy, right down to his lips, and his face was totally relaxed, eyes closed, lashes fanned across his cheeks. His arms floated in the water, moving ever so slightly as the steaming water lapped around his body. A sheet had been draped midway across the tub, providing some modesty.
"You can see the good news for yourself," Stacey said, nodding toward her patient. "Pulse is steady and he's breathing independently. Blood fully oxygenated, body temp a nice toasty 99 degrees."
"We've also checked for signs of frostbite," she added, "and tested for grimace response and nerve induction. He passed them with flying colors. He'll still have the use of his limbs."
"What about his brain?" Fury asked.
"His brain activity's been gradually strengthening over the last 20 minutes," Stacey continued. "If the trend continues, I think he should be in good shape."
"So what's the bad news?" Fury asked.
Stacey raised an eyebrow. "Well, he's still unconscious... but that's only because I've sedated him. And his body is fighting the medication hard. I've given him several doses now, enough to put down an elephant, but his metabolism just burns through it like it's nothing. I don't know how much longer I can keep him under."
"Why sedate him at all?" Coulson asked. "We want to talk to him. The sooner the better."
Dr. Stacey shook her head. "I'm not the betting type," she said, "but even I'd be willing to bet he didn't expect to survive what he just survived. We certainly didn't. He just lost 70 years of time. The world we're living in might as well be a foreign country, as far as he's concerned. It's going to come as a shock when he wakes up."
The three of them were quiet for a moment, thinking through the implications of that.
"Someone's going to have to explain this to him," Dr. Stacey said.
"I'll do it," Coulson said immediately.
"Coulson," Fury said wearily, rubbing his forehead, "the last thing the man needs to hear when he first wakes up is a request for an autograph."
"I wouldn't do that," Coulson said seriously. "I'd break it to him very gently. It can't be you, sir. Your presence isn't exactly soothing. No offense."
"I think we'd better leave this to a professional," Dr. Stacey said. "A psychiatrist, maybe one who specializes in care for veterans. We have several on site."
Fury nodded. "Choose whichever one looks-" He glanced at Coulson with a hint of tolerant amusement. "-soothing."
Coulson was disappointed, but he tried not to show it. "He's going to know something's wrong the moment he opens his eyes," he pointed out instead, glancing around at all the medical monitors. "It doesn't exactly look like a 1940s hospital in here."
"We can rig up something that looks a little more familiar," Fury said. "Just until the psychiatrist can get him to understand." He drummed his fingers on his thigh. "And we'll need to take security precautions. If he takes the news badly, there's no telling what he might do."
"This is Captain America-" Coulson started, and then quickly shut his mouth, shooting an apologetic look at Fury.
"Captain America or not, we'll have trouble containing him if he wakes up mentally unbalanced," Fury said. "He's a super-soldier."
"What are you going to do, restrain him?" Coulson asked. "We can't hold him here, practically or legally. Technically, I'm not sure he even works for us. S.H.I.E.L.D. didn't exist when he went under."
"We may not be able to restrain him, but I'm not letting him out of my sight," Fury said. "Call Price and tell her to start prepping a room for us to move Rogers into. Tell her to make it as accurate as she reasonably can, but make sure she understands she may not have much time, either. And have Fontes set up a security perimeter at least a couple of blocks out. I want men on the ground and eyes in the sky. Whatever happens, we can't lose track of him."
Coulson nodded, and left the room at a brisk pace, his phone already up to his ear.
"Let's get him out of this tub and cleaned up as quick as we can," Dr. Stacey told her head nurse. "See if you can come up with some period-appropriate clothing to put on him. There are probably plenty of photos online that we can use as a guide. Just keep a close eye on him and let me know if he looks like he's starting to come around."
The head nurse nodded, and the nurses bustled into activity around the patient. Fury led Dr. Stacey out of the room and out into the corridor, where it was quieter.
"How did this happen?" Fury asked Dr. Stacey. "How is he still alive? He hasn't even aged, as far as I can tell."
Dr. Stacey shook her head slowly. "We'll be unraveling this puzzle for a while, I think. Scientists have been theorizing about suspended animation for a long time, but we've always known it would involve very careful control of the environment: temperature, humidity, oxygen, and so forth. Maybe even IVs and feeding tubes. But this..." She shook her head again. "He was out in the wild, with environmental conditions constantly changing. The odds against his survival seem astronomical."
"Lewis said something about his glucose levels keeping his blood liquid and his organs intact," Fury said.
"Maybe that was part of it," Dr. Stacey said, "but there had to have been more to it than that. Usually when a person freezes, there are micro-ice crystals that form that puncture the body's cells. Muscle, skin, fat, everything. Obviously, that didn't happen. I suspect the super-soldier serum made him more resilient at a cellular level, but it doesn't really explain how his brain was kept alive. You need an oxygen source for that. He must have been buried under snow most of the time. He definitely wasn't breathing when you brought him to me. I can't explain that."
"Don't look a gift horse in the mouth," Coulson said, rejoining them as he tucked his phone back into his suit pocket. When the other two looked at him questioningly, he added, "that's what my granddad always said, anyway." He looked through the observation window at Steve Rogers' sleeping form. "It doesn't really matter how he came back. It only matters that he did."
There was a voice far in the distance.
Steve couldn't identify it, but he was certain he'd heard it. Maybe someone had seen the plane go down. Maybe they were here to look through the wreckage.
He wanted to call out, but everything felt foggy and he couldn't seem to fully wake up. All he saw was darkness, and it felt like someone was pinning him down, pressing on his chest with a heavy weight. He tried to get up anyway, but had no strength. Suddenly a spike of adrenaline shot through his veins as he realized there was seawater lapping around his body. The plane was leaking after all. He was going to drown.
Steve fought to rise, but he couldn't move. His limbs were too heavy. Worst of all, the water cocooning him felt warm, not cold. He knew it was a bad sign. He must have gone numb to the core. He couldn't let himself sleep again. The voice he'd heard - it meant rescue was nearby. He shouldn't have laid down; he had a duty to last as long as he could. With a terrible effort, he forced himself to try for a big, deep breath, hoping the cold air would invigorate him. But he couldn't seem to draw any air in. Was the water already over his face? In a sudden panic, he rocked his head from side to side, arching his back, straining and struggling with all his strength, until finally he was able to take in a good gulp of air.
It hurt. It burned his lungs like fire, but still he kept on taking big, labored gasps, pushing through the pain. His heart pounded like a drum, pulsing loudly in his ears, and his fists clenched in the water. For a time, he could focus on nothing but the air moving painfully in and out of his chest as violent shivers rocked his body.
An indeterminate length of time passed. The voice seemed closer now - in fact, there were now several voices - but the pain in his chest was beginning to ease and the water was so comfortably warm that despite his best intentions, he was growing sleepy again. He couldn't be complacent - after all, there was no guarantee that the Allies had been the ones to find him. It was just as likely that the scattered remnants of Schmidt's fanatics had some way to track the Valkyrie. It could be that his soon-to-be-rescuers were also his captors.
He knew he had to be ready for a fight, but a powerful wave of sleepiness crashed over him that he could not resist. His last thought as he drifted off again was that if Hydra found him, he'd just have to escape as soon as he woke up, because he was in no condition to do it now.
TO BE CONTINUED
Author's note: Please take a moment to leave a review and let me know what you think so far! I love getting feedback, it helps me know if I'm on the right track.