Chapter 21: The Winter Soldier
The sound of a lock disengaging and the groan of heavy machinery had all eyes on the metal doors on the far wall as they parted.
"Well, damn." Tony rolled his eyes as Rumlow and Karpov walked in, then shot a glare at Rogers. "You know, you can be annoyingly right sometimes."
Steve's eyes were locked with Karpov's. Yeah, Captain America was all about intense indignation. His dad was right about that.
"When we turned you over to SHIELD, we were just handing you right back to Hydra?" Steve asked.
"Let's say you start with a few ice cubes in a glass," Karpov replied smoothly, walking up to Steve, "then you add water, and you let it sit for a very long time. After the ice melts, what happens to it?"
"I'm not interested in playing games," Steve said. "We get it. Hydra has infiltrated SHIELD."
Ah, Cap, always so direct. Tony studied his own restraints. Yeah, no getting out of them, and they'd deprived him of anything he might use to contact Jarvis or call a suit.
"So, how deep does this go?" Tony asked conversationally. "Are we talking an exterminator level infestation, or do we need to burn down the whole house?"
Rumlow gave a tight smile and a cocky tilt of his head. "Enough chit-chat."
"What do you want, Rumlow?" Steve asked.
"A few things," Karpov said. "The red book, for one. We thought we'd find it on you, but we didn't, so we'll want that back. Also," he looked at Stark, "a particular little piece of technology that allows us to control the implants in the Winter Soldier, and, finally, the data your A.I. stole from Hydra."
"Oh?" Tony put on his best clueless face. "What data?"
Rumlow withdrew his stun baton and jabbed it into Tony's midsection. The world went white for a moment, and when it was over, his ears were ringing.
Or was that Steve's voice?
"Tony! Tony? Are you okay?"
Never better. I love torture. Forgot how awesome it is. He breathed through his teeth. "You know, I did this once already. You might have heard about it. I killed every one of those motherfuckers."
Rumlow tapped the baton against his leg. "I think lips will loosen once we start getting serious." He glanced at Karpov. "Which one?"
Karpov shrugged. "The most expendable, of course."
"Yeah, I know." He waved the baton between Clint and Natasha. "Which one? Her?"
"Hey!" Clint barked, "Assholes, we've been tortured by way better than you."
"No, no," Karpov shook his head. "She could prove valuable."
"I don't know, half a dozen of one, six of the other," Rumlow said.
"She is a skilled spy," Karpov gave Natasha a respectful bow of his head. "She likely has information that will prove useful."
"I'm really not that valuable," she said, but there was a slight tremor in her voice.
Tony wasn't sure if she was acting or genuinely frightened. It was always hard to tell with Romanoff.
"She's way more valuable than I am," Clint said, "I'm just a guy with a bow and arrows, and I don't even have those right now."
Tony needed to stall, though it probably wouldn't help. No one knew where they were, and he didn't have a damn thing on him to contact anyone or anything, but nevertheless, stalling was always a good idea and definitely much better than the alternative.
"Okay!" he exclaimed. "Here's the deal. I'm no dummy. Jarvis is on a failsafe. You know, after my last kidnapping, I took enhanced measures." He really, really should have taken enhanced measures. If he got out of this alive, he absolutely would. "In the event of my disappearance, Jarvis is on a ticking clock. All of the data he stole will be dumped to the Internet and simultaneous alerts delivered to all major media outlets across the globe."
"If that happens, we kill you all." Karpov said.
"So," Rumlow pulled out his gun and pointed it at Clint, "First question, where's the red book?"
"Look, Cap," Clint said, "you give them anything, and a lot of people are–"
Rumlow fired. Clint gave a hard grunt as the bullet sliced through his right thigh.
"I'll just keep hitting body parts until he's dead, or you answer, and if he dies, I move on to Romanoff," Rumlow said. "Where's the red book?"
A siren blared.
"What the hell?" Brock lowered the weapon and looked at Karpov.
"An attack," the Russian said.
"By who? Thor? Banner?" Rumlow looked at Tony.
"How the hell should I know?" He'd really like to know. The list of contenders was slim, if this was in fact a rescue mission. Fury, Hill, Bruce, or Thor, maybe all of the above.
If it were Thor or Banner, they'd know soon. Nothing would hold either of them at bay for long, and boy would these guys be sorry they messed with Avengers.
A deep groan came from the metal door and then, impossibly, it began to open. Metal fingers slipped inside, gripping the seam and forcing the doors apart further.
"Shit! Shit! Shit!" Rumlow opened fire, but the bullets bounced harmlessly off the metal door and the hand.
Something small and round rolled inside.
Karpov ran to the computer panel just as the grenade exploded. A moment later, Barnes was inside, his clothes and face peppered with gruesome red streaks and blotches, an automatic rifle in his right hand. Rumlow was unconscious on the ground, his legs covered with chunks of cement and computer paneling.
Rogers' old buddy looked like some bloodied jigsaw killer out of a horror movie. Karpov grabbed the edge of the computer panel and pulled himself up. Barnes aimed the gun at him.
"Stand down, Soldier!" the colonel commanded.
Barnes didn't move, and Tony began to doubt their chances of being rescued.
"Bucky," Steve said, "get us down from here."
Karpov raised his hands slowly. A word tumbled softly from his lips. "Zhelaniye."
A single bullet to his head silenced him.
Rumlow groaned and pushed himself off the floor, swinging his weapon upward. Barnes sauntered toward him, and before the man got his bearings, fired a bullet into his face, sending flesh, bone, and brain matter onto the floor as Rumlow crumpled lifelessly.
Jesus. That guy doesn't mess around. Tony really hoped Barnes was there to rescue them and hadn't just gone mindlessly homicidal, and he really hoped there were no hard feelings around being ratted out to folks who turned out to be the same assholes who tortured him. "Hey, there, about my parents, I'm totally okay with that. Well, not okay, okay, but I understand. You had no choice."
-0- -0- -0-
"...about my parents."
'Sergeant Barnes?'
'Howard…!'
He shook his head, nearly losing his balance. Stop! He had to focus. Couldn't let the images and the sounds in his head take over. The mission was paramount. The mission…
Protect.
"Hey, okay," the man — Stark —was still talking. "Not a great time to bring that up. My bad. How 'bout you get us down from here before more bad guys show up?"
Bad guys. Hydra. More were on the way. He could hear their footsteps, even with the blare of the sirens.
The overhead lights reflected a shimmer of red and blue, and his eyes focused on the shield propped against the wall. He grabbed it, running his fingers along the edge. It felt familiar in his hands.
The doorway. There had been another doorway, on a train….
He looked up as a figure appeared, a rifle in his hand, raised, aiming…
"Bucky!" Steve's voice, frantic, familiar. A warning.
'Bucky…No!'
For a moment, he wasn't sure where he was. The images in his head blurred with the present. He raised the shield, blocking, bringing his gun up with his free hand and firing.
Bullets bounced off the shield. His aim was true. The figure in the doorway crumpled. Reality crashed back into him with the roar of his pulse in his ears. More men appeared. He fired again, holstered his weapon, then withdrew a grenade and tossed it low through the doorway.
The explosion vibrated through the floor. Then there was silence.
-0- -0- -0-
Steve strained against the restraints, grinding his teeth and groaning with the effort. He heard more than felt the stress on the shackles around his ankles, and frustration built with each passing second of failure. "Bucky, get us down from here so we can help!"
Bucky spun, using both arms to swing the shield toward Steve. He flinched from the sudden ferocity of it as the edge of the vibranium disk smashed the metal between his ankles.
The soft glide of a boot caught his attention, and he was just about to shout a warning when Bucky spun around as two familiar figures slid through the space between the door panels.
"Oh, hell." Clint gave a pained gasp.
Two of the previously frozen Winter Soldiers faced off against Bucky, one lean, of Japanese descent—Tanaka according to the info they'd found—and the other more muscular, sporting a bushy beard. Steve never found out that one's name. Bucky yanked the shield out of the wall and sent it toward Tanaka, forcing the other soldier to drop his gun to catch the shield. Bucky used that distraction and fired, diving into a roll and coming up firing again as Tanaka recovered from the backward slide caused by the force of the shield. With a grunt, Tanaka swung around and threw the shield into the wall hard enough to embed the edge into the cement.
The bearded soldier fired, and Bucky blocked two bullets with his metal arm. One hit the wall to the left of Steve's head. Too close. Bucky ran the other direction, drawing fire away from Steve and the others—or at least, that's what it looked like he was doing, though Steve wasn't sure if that was wishful thinking—then he took cover behind a cement beam.
The two soldiers glanced at one another, then crept on opposite sides of the beam as Bucky popped out, sending off a couple of rounds. The next few seconds were a blur as Bucky leapt from cover, firing at Tanaka, and sent his metal fist into the side of the bearded guy's face.
Tanaka attacked from behind, wrapping his arm around Bucky's neck, while the bearded one got to his feet. Metal arm pulling at the chokehold, Bucky dropped the rifle and kicked with both feet, connecting squarely with the other soldier's midsection and sending him flying backward into Steve.
The maneuver felt deliberate, like how they used to wordlessly coordinate on missions, and Steve wrapped his legs around the guy's neck, squeezing, keeping the hold even as the guy pummeled Steve's legs with his fists, then tried pulling to no avail. He flailed, panicked, and reached down, coming back up with a knife. The blade embedded into Steve's right side, but he gritted his teeth against the pain and kept his hold until the soldier's struggles weakened and he slumped. Steve kept his legs tight for a few more seconds, then released. The soldier folded limply, and the knife slipped out and clattered to the floor with him.
Panting, Steve caught Bucky's alarmed gaze for a moment as his friend fought against Tanaka's hold, and in that moment, the vice of frustration around his heart leapt into his throat. With another grunt, Steve struggled to free his hands, but the restraints held. Hydra knew how much strength a super soldier had, and they'd obviously developed tools to restrain them.
"Steve?" Natasha asked.
"I'm fine." The wound was bleeding, but he'd had worse. He'd heal.
Bucky drove Tanaka backward into a rolling monitor stand, sending it crashing to the floor. The tendons and muscles in his neck strained as his metal arm slowly pulled Tanaka's flesh one away until he had enough maneuvering room to duck, then spin and send a right hook into Tanaka's jaw.
The two men traded blows and kicks, and Steve knew he wasn't imagining things when he saw Bucky in the wide swings of those right hooks, until Bucky pulled out another gun, but Tanaka spun a roundhouse kick that knocked it out of his hand before he could fire. Another kick to the gut had Bucky flying through the air. He crashed into a cement beam, taking a chunk out of its edge, and landed on his stomach with a grunt. As Tanaka charged, Bucky rolled and drew another knife, flinging it toward the other soldier. Tanaka caught it, threw it back, and followed through with a powerful charge forward.
Bucky batted the knife away with his metal hand just as Tanaka tackled him. They wrestled on the ground, each man trying to get a solid hold, with Tanaka managing to land a few hard blows to Bucky's face. With a frustrated growl, Bucky was suddenly on top of Tanaka, metal fist battering Tanaka's face relentlessly, blow after blow, sending sprays of blood, teeth, and bone into the air, until there was nothing left of the face except the left eye and part of the lower jaw.
"That's really…gross," Natasha said.
Steve grimaced. He'd seen a lot in his time, but he still had to look away for a moment.
Chest heaving, Bucky finally stopped, shoulders slumping, and rolled onto his back next to the dead man.
"Bucky, are you–" Another figure walked slowly and confidently into the room. "Watch out!" It was Josef, the Winter Soldier leader of the Hydra Death Squad, according to the information Tony took from the bunker.
There were five soldiers total, besides Bucky. Where were the other two?
Bucky scrambled to his feet, swaying slightly and breathing heavily. Josef titled his head and twisted one corner of his mouth upward in an eager smirk. Bucky was spent, but Josef wasn't, and that put Bucky at a severe disadvantage.
Damnit! Steve tried to break free of the restraints again, pushing back the pain in his side. He heard the right one creak, but it held.
Josef raised one hand and waved come on with his fingers. A challenge.
Dropping his head forward with a heavy sigh and looking like he had nothing left to give, Bucky stood there a second, chest heaving, arms limp at his sides. Then his right hand moved in a blur, and a knife flashed through the air. The other man caught it effortlessly, and in that fraction of a second, Bucky's metal hand pulled a small handgun from somewhere on his body and fired one shot.
Josef's head snapped back, his right eye exploding as he fell backward and hit the floor with a solid, lifeless thud.
"Now, that's the way to do it," Stark said.
Steve breathed a huge sigh of relief. "Bucky, get us down before more show up."
Bucky slipped the gun back into place and turned toward them.
"Sergeant Barnes…." a voice that couldn't be filled the room.
-0- -0- -0-
The voice reached into his brain like an icy fist and stopped him.
A memory came to him. A Dark room. The man with the round face and glasses.
Strapped to a table. Shallow breaths reciting words, over and over again. 'James Barnes, Sergeant, 32557038'
He turned around, the Soldier in him resisted, demanding mission priority. Resume mission. Release Avengers. Destroy Hydra. Evade capture.
The mutilated thing inside him roared, turned, faced the green specter with round glasses on the screen fifteen feet away.
"What is this?" Steve's low voice asked.
Zola, his brain answered. He knew that voice, that face, even if it wasn't quite the same, he recognized it, and it sucked the breath from his lungs, leaving him shaky and lightheaded.
The camera on top of the monitor turned, focusing on Steve, and the voice continued. "Rogers, Steven, born 1918."
"Some kind of recording," Natasha said.
"I am not a recording," the voice answered. "I may not be the man I was when the Captain took me prisoner in 1945, but I…Am."
The camera swiveled back with a whir. "It is good to see you again, Sergeant Barnes. You are one of my greatest achievements."
His legs were locked in place, his gaze riveted on the ghost in the machine.
"Bucky, look at me. Get us down from here," a voice prodded, and though he heard the words, they didn't register past the gripping, dark, feeling of dread expanding from his gut, filling his chest, his throat, his skull….
"Welcome home, Soldier," the voice said. "A little recalibration is in order, I think."
"You know this thing?" the woman's voice asked.
He knew the Thing. Zola.
Zola.
Pain. Helpless. A metal coffin. Cold. A machine at his head. Fire in his skull.
"Zhelaniye." The word sliced through his brain.
"No." He wrapped his fingers around the butt of the handgun in his pantleg.
"Semnadtsat."
He lifted the gun, fired at the face. The monitor sparked, went dark.
The face reappeared on another screen. "Rzhaviy"
The word was like lightning in his brain. "Stop!" He shot the second monitor. Another sprang to life.
"Rasvet."
"Bucky!" Steve's voice. "Run. Get out of here!"
"Pech." Zola continued.
Run. Run! He took off toward the metal doors just as they closed.
"We've got an incoming missile! Barnes? You better…Holy shit!" The voice in his ear again. The winged man.
The bunker shook from an explosion that sounded too close.
"Devyat" Zola continued.
He stumbled, hands over his ears. "NO!"
His eyes fell to the automatic rifle on the floor, and he picked it up.
Another word. "Dobroserdechniy."
He felt himself falling into the abyss and clutched at control. The sequence would finish, and the order would come to kill. He would comply.
"STOP!" He fired, taking out the main control panel, and reloading the rifle, screaming, firing, rushing forward, blazing a path of bullets across the monitors and control panels.
Still the voice continued. "Vozvrashcheniye na rodinu."
He reloaded, took out a wall of computer banks, then grabbed his last grenade and flung it toward another section.
"Odin…." Static filled his brain as the explosion vibrated through the room.
Machines sparked, caught on fire, filling the room with smoke, but the voice died with a groan before the final word.
He fell to his knees, chest heaving, his brain sizzling with static and electricity. A voice called to him. Frantic. Insistent. Growing louder.
"Bucky! Bucky, get up."
Coughing.
"Vstavay, soldat," the woman's voice. A command. Get up.
Get up. Get up. Get up.
He got up. The mutilated thing growled and pushed within the static of his mind. Hands picked up the shield, gripped the metal edge tightly. Feet carried him to the Steve. Arms swung high, crushing the shackle that held the wrist. Then the other.
The Steve dropped to the floor, hand clutching his side, eyes wide and wet. "Bucky?
He pushed the shield to the man's chest. It belonged to him. Had always belonged to him. On the train. Even before then.
"Situations all clear out here." The voice in his ear announced. "Do you know Banner, or the Hulk guy, whatever, well, he can PUNCH a missile?"
"Hey, don't let us intrude on your buddy time, Cap," Tony huffed, "but could you maybe get to the rest of us? Barton's bleeding all over the floor, and I can't feel my arms."
Steve glanced at Tony. "Yeah. Hey Buck," his lips turned upward, "help me get the others down?"
His legs moved, carrying him to the Widow. Thick shackles held her ankles. His metal fist made short work of them, then took care of the ones around her wrists. She, too, dropped to the floor, then peered up at him, unwavering, probing, assessing.
The shield's edge freed the others. The Widow went to the wounded one, draped his arm across her shoulder, spoke softly to him.
He moved to the doorway. There were two more Winter Soldiers. Two more potential threats. He picked up the rifle. When had he dropped it? He loaded another cartridge and held the firearm in front of him as he moved to the doorway.
The Steve helped force the doorway open, then stepped in front of him with a glance, raising the shield, and led them into the hall. Bodies lined the corridor. The elevator would take them to the surface. They clustered inside, rode it upward until it stopped, and exited.
One thing at a time was all that he could focus on through the static of his mind. The elevator, then exiting. A visual scan. No threats identified. Outside. Sun on his face, softened by clouds. A hint of moisture in the air. Still bodies on the ground. Charred, smoking trees outside the base fence line.
Something in the air. Incoming! He tensed, swung the rifle.
Identified. Friendly. The Winged Man. Sam Wilson.
"Hey," Wilson landed, smiled, and extended his hand to the Captain. "Sam Wilson here." A shift of his head, then a nod. "Mr. Stark. Glad you all got out safely."
"Who are you?" Stark asked.
"Sam Wilson, former pararescue. Your buddy here recruited me to help. Turns out, I'm on a Hydra kill list." He leaned closer to Steve. "He's who I think he is, isn't he? Seems kinda touchy about the name, though."
Steve nodded and glanced his way. "Yes, he is."
The other eyes turned to him, wide, brows crinkling. It started to rain.
"Bucky?" The Steve took a step toward him. "How did you–"
"Hey guys." The doctor stumbled over to them, shirtless, barefoot, running a hand through his dusty hair. "Cap, Clint, take a load off and I'll look at your injuries."
"Barton's priority," Steve said. "I've had worse."
Natasha eased Barton to the ground.
"Bruce?" Stark walked up to the doctor and clapped him on the shoulder, "you arrange all this?"
"Oh no." He shook his head vigorously and pointed as he knelt in front of Barton and pressed his torn shirt to the bullet wound. "He did."
Again, all eyes turned to him, wide, brows crinkling.
"Bucky…you assembled a team?" The Steve came up to him, touched his shoulder.
Touched him.
He looked at the hand. The touch was gentle. Not a threat.
"Bucky, are you with me?"
Bucky. The static in his mind made it difficult to focus.
"Anybody got a phone so we can call in the cavalry? They swiped all my toys," Stark said.
"Yeah," Wilson offered his phone.
Stark snatched it with a quick smile, becoming enthralled by it, swiping and punching the screen, then talking to it.
"Zola got through nine of the activation words," the Widow said. "I think he's in a hybrid state."
An expression crossed the Steve's face, almost like pain. The stab wound was still bleeding. It required medical attention. That must be the source of the pain.
"How do we get him out of it?" the Steve asked.
The Widow shook her head. "I don't know."
"A knock on the head did it for me," the arrow man said, leaning against the Widow.
"I'm not sure attacking him is a good idea," Steve said, then turned. "Bucky? Do you understand me?
Affirmative. He gave a single nod.
The hum of an aircraft drew his attention to a sleek, black plane landing a few feet away. He aimed his rifle.
"Easy." Steve put a hand on the weapon. "It's ours."
"Hill's assembling a team," Stark said. "Hopefully not Hydra. She and Fury are making a list, checking it twice, but call me skeptical. For all we know, Hill could be Hydra. Fury, too."
"Not Fury. I'm almost positive not Hill, either," Romanoff said.
"Yeah, well, Fury was positive about Pierce," Tony countered.
The mission was complete. Others were on the way. The static in his brain began to fade. The protocol emerged. Return to base…
No.
He shook his head.
Evade capture.
"Bucky, are you okay?"
The vehicle. One mile southwest. He moved in that direction.
"Hey." A hand on his arm, firm. He spun, fist raised.
"Okay!" The Steve released him, arms raised. "Sorry. Where are you going?"
He felt shaky inside. The static faded. The mutilated thing kicked and clawed toward the surface.
The Soldier resumed his mission. Evade capture. His feet carried him toward the gate.
Stop. The mutilated thing inside him screamed. He ignored it.
"Bucky…"
The name hit him like a jolt through his brain. He winced, turned, gave a growl. "Go!"
"Bucky, stop. You need help. Come with me."
"GO!" He flung his hand toward the jet.
"NO, not without you!" Steve yelled, taking a step forward, eyes wet, brows pressed together, fists clenched.
The words stopped him, rattled in his brain like shattered glass reflecting glimpses of memories. A metal railing. A chasm of fire and smoke separating him and the Steve.
Steve…
"Stay or go, it's your choice, just let me come with you," Steve continued, breath heavy, "because I'm with you 'til the end of the line." He took another step forward, one hand reaching but not touching.
An image broke through a crack in his mind, vivid and clear, as if he were actually standing in front of an apartment door with his hand on the shoulder of small Steve, staring into sad eyes. 'The thing is, you don't have to. 'I'm with you 'til the end of the line, Pal.'
The mutilated thing inside him broke free, driving the last of the static from his mind, and with it came everything—pain, fear, rage, desperation—a chaos of sensations and images that overwhelmed him. Rubber gloves on his flesh, breath that smelled of tobacco in his face, screams and bloody, tear-streaked faces….
'Howard…'
'Please…I didn't see anything…'
'Not my baby…..'
His legs gave way.
-0- -0- -0-
Steve watched helplessly as Bucky unraveled, swaying on his knees, shaking like a newborn colt. The rain was coming down hard now, mixing with blood and bits of flesh from Bucky's face, hair, and clothes before cascading to the Earth.
"Hey." Steve reached out, gently, slowly, and placed his palm on top of Bucky's head, fingers brushing the soft, wet strands.
Bucky hunched forward, shoulders shaking, head bowed. Steve dropped to his knees, reaching, touching softly, arms wrapping around his friend, loose at first, tentative, giving him room. Bucky tensed. For a moment, Steve thought he would pull away, but instead Bucky fell against him, trembling, sobbing, clutching at Steve's arms, face pressed into Steve's breastbone, gulping, deep shuddering breaths. Then he screamed.
It was a sound of fury and denial that hurt a hundred times worse than the knife wound in Steve's side.
-0- -0- -0-
Clint couldn't look away, though he desperately wanted to. He knew what that felt like. Maybe not completely, and sure as hell not to the same incomprehensible level of fucked up, but he knew. Recognized the horror, the shattering of a wall and the flood of…everything it was holding back.
But Jesus, those sounds coming from Barnes were brutal—raw, primal, and absolute agony to listen to. Steve was wrapped around Bucky, hunched over in the rain, not speaking, not even rocking, just holding him while the man came apart in his arms.
He felt Tony shift beside him and looked up. Stark's eyes said it all. They always did. That was the thing that always gave the man away. No matter what words came out of his mouth, his eyes never lied. At the moment, they held an abyss of grief and guilt.
Natasha knelt and placed her hand on his shoulder. Even Bruce had stopped his ministrations, and the new guy with the wings was silent a few feet away, a little too engrossed with a piece of equipment on his wrist.
Finally Barnes quieted, but he stayed still against Steve, trembling, breathing heavy. Another few seconds passed, and he pulled away, eyes red and puffy as they darted around furtively, face pale, rivulets running down his cheeks.
"So, what do you say, Buck?" Steve asked, almost a whisper, pulling Barnes' gaze back to him. "Are we leaving, or are we going…home?"
Barnes blinked at him, gaze dropping to the wound in Steve's side, and something lost and almost childlike crossed his face. His eyes drifted over them, coming to rest on Stark. Clint held his breath.
Tony gave a nod.
Clint released the lungful of dread he'd been holding and exchanged relieved glances with Natasha.
Barnes brushed his fingers over the wound in Cap's side, then sucked in a breath and eyed the Quinjet. He uncurled. Steve's arms fell away as Barnes got a leg beneath him and pushed to his feet. His breathing ebbed as he eyed Steve between strands of wet hair, then slowly nodded.
Clint couldn't stop the grin that broke his face. He didn't know what they'd do if Barnes had decided to take off, because Rogers sure as hell was committed to following him, and with the Hydra mess, they really needed all hands on deck.
And when it came to Hydra, Barnes had the inside track…depending on how much he remembered.
"Okay, let's go home, buddy." Steve put a gentle hand on Barnes' shoulder, and guided him toward the jet, throwing an appreciative glance at Tony as he passed.
Clint hoped they were in the clear and there weren't anymore surprises—especially not of the supersoldier variety. If there were any stragglers, they were probably hiding. Having a guy who could turn into a green rage monster at any moment was no doubt a deterrent to hostile engagement.
"You know we still have two supersoldiers on the loose," he muttered to Natasha, watching as Steve disappeared into the aircraft with Barnes.
"Yeah. The notes I reviewed indicated Hydra had a hard time controlling them. Maybe they didn't want to defrost all of them. As a team, the other supersoldiers followed Josef."
"He was the last guy Barnes fought, right?" Clint asked.
"Yeah."
"Well, Hill and Fury certainly have their work cut out for them."
"Okay, Barton," Bruce said, "let's get you to the Quinjet where there are medical supplies and I can clean this wound."
"What's Hills ETA?" Natasha asked Stark.
"Five minutes by air." Stark tossed the phone back to Wilson. "Thanks."
"For the Avengers, anytime," Wilson said with a smile.
Clint liked the man.
Author's Note:
This was quite a chapter, wasn't it? I love hearing your thoughts and reactions about each chapter, so if you're inclined to leave a comment, thank you!