The girl took off into the alley, and Crow Man was a fraction of a second too late in reaching out to grab her by the backpack and pulling her back to him. Her speed caught him by surprise, and he cursed himself in Russian for underestimating her. More so, he hated that she seemed to have sensed something he had not. He had seen her tense, and had recognized the look in her eyes.
She was frightened.
But she didn't run from something; she had run toward it. It was so achingly familiar, the frustration he had felt at her actions, and he found himself frozen when, instead of a small girl with dark tangled curls, he saw a small boy with boney arms and blond hair.
Steve, a voice in the back of his head supplied, and he shook it away, realizing the girl had disappeared around the corner.
He cursed himself again for the distraction - how stupid, how dangerous - and darted into the alley after her.
Ximena wasn't exactly known for completely thinking out her actions, and this time was no different. She had only felt fear that wasn't hers, fear that belonged to someone who had been, in their own paranoid way, kind to her, and she wasn't gonna stand around and let their fear paralyze her.
She had already let that happen plenty after the attack on New York.
The fear grew the closer she got to Helen and Marty's fire escape, and she had to pull back within herself to keep it from overwhelming her. There was anger as well, underlying the fear, and separate from those, that malicious glee she had spent her entire time on her own trying to avoid. She heard spanish cursing, a raspy feminine voice trying to shout to be left alone, and she heard mean, drunken laughter.
She turned the corner, and only took a split second to unpack the scene in front of her. Three men, shoving and tugging at Marty, hitting him and laughing, as another pushed Helen away. Ximena felt her eyes burn, and she didn't think before barreling into a knot of bodies pressed against the wall.
"Leave 'em alone!" she shouted, shoving at the closest body that obviously wasn't Helen or Marty; it wore too nice of clothes, and not enough layers. The laughter was cut off by a sharp cry, and the person she had shoved crashed into someone else, another stranger. They crashed into the ground several feet away. Next to her, Marty stumbled away into the wall, nearly falling over.
"Nena!"
Ximena ignored how Helen called out to her, and she turned to face the two left standing. As it were, her appearance seemed to have sobered them up a bit, and she refused to believe she had made a mistake even as they whirled on her.
I'm stronger than them, I'm stronger than them, I'm stronger than them, even if they're bigger than me, she told herself as the man holding Helen shoved her away.
"Hey, what the hell was that?!" Ximena's head snapped to the side to see the men she had shoved away picking themselves up, expressions dark when they saw her, and she swallowed hard.
I'm stronger than them.
No, Ximena was not known to think these things through. She knew she could handle any bad man that came after her. She was less sure about bad men. Plural.
In her distraction, she forgot to pay attention to the men in front of her, let out a yelp of surprise and pain when a hand gripped her left backpack strap and yanked her forward. The strap dug into her shoulder, and pain shot through it and down her arm. She stumbled forward, and grabbing at the arm holding her to right herself, but found herself pulled up to her toes, and a red, angry face leering over her.
While in foster care and on the run, Ximena hadn't actually ever really run into any violent drunks. Stupid drunks, but never violent. But before New York she had a cousin. His name had been Ernesto, and he was 12 years older than her, and once, at a family party, he had gotten very drunk, and very angry, and it took two of her tios and her dad to get him to leave. He wasn't allowed back, but Ximena remembered the look in his eyes. She couldn't feel then, not really, but she could now.
Blind rage, hot and offensive, rolled off the man, and Ximena sucked in a breath, not thinking as she began to squeeze his arm. She'd break it, had to break it, because she knew he'd try to break her first.
She meant to, at least, but froze at the sight of a flash of something small and silver in the corner of her eye. Knife. He had a knife.
If falling off a ladder would bust her shoulder, she didn't know what a knife could do to her.
She did not think this through.
Before she could spiral into a panic, before the knife had a chance to move on her, before she could squeeze her hand and snap the arm, she felt him. It was a ripple, shifting so quickly she almost missed it: concern, anger, calculated calm. And then there was nothing. And she knew then that someone was about to get very hurt.
An arm wrapped around her waist, and she let out a yelp as she was pulled out of the man's grip. She wasn't set down so much as dropped, and she stumbled, falling on her butt on the ground. Almost as soon as she was down, hands grabbed at her, and she looked back to see that it was Marty, bloody and bruised, pulling her back and out of the way. She let him.
In front of her, she heard a strangled cry of pain, and she looked up to see Crow Man holding the man's arm at an impossible angle. The knife fell to the ground with a clatter, and the cry was cut off with a metallic thunk. Ximena wasn't sure if he had punched or elbowed the man in the face, but either way he fell, and he did not get back up.
There was a still silence in the alley for a split second as the other men realized what had just happened. And when it processed, the three remaining men jumped.
Ximena could barely follow what happened next. Crow Man - though it didn't feel like Crow Man anymore, as though he shifted into another man altogether - moved with practiced ease as he side stepped one of the men, and somehow redirected him to crash into another bad man hard enough to drop them both. She didn't catch what he did to the last man, but it must have hurt, and something must have broken. She knew what broken bones sounded like.
One of the men tried to scramble up, reaching for the dropped knife, but before Ximena could give a warning, Crow Man was taking two steps toward him, grabbed him by the front of the shirt, and pulled him up.
He spoke, but too quiet and quick for Ximena to catch. The tone was low and deadly, and not at all like how he's spoken to her. She did not have to reach to feel the man he held. Crow Man only spoke a few short words, but the effect was profound. Terror. So strong it made Ximena's hands shake and her throat go dry, and her eyes burn with tears that weren't hers.
Not even the fear she had felt from Helen and Marty made her react like that. It must have been because the man was drunk.
She swallowed hard and banished the emotions as Helen took her chance to dart across the alley to where she sat with Marty. Crow Man shoved the man away, and he fell in a heap, looking up at him with wide, panicked eyes.
"Go."
The man crawled away, slipping as he tried to climb to his feet. He stumbled twice before finding his footing and taking off, leaving his unconscious friends behind.
Crow Man took a step back, and seemed to take a breath, and Ximena felt the shift once more. His emotions returned, muted though they were, and she picked up the immediate concern as he turned to face her and the couple with her.
"Okay?" he asked, as though he hadn't just beat the everloving shit out of four people without breaking a sweat. Ximena blinked up at him, and Helen tugged at her, trying to pull her closer to the couple than to Crow Man. She was still scared; Ximena felt it, and she knew what it meant. She thought Crow Man was just as bad as the men that had been hurting them.
Ximena nodded. "You okay?" she asked back, and this time he blinked, unprepared for the question.
"Yes," he said, and Ximena felt that barely there affection she had felt before. She moved to stand, and next to her Helen did the same.
Crow Man all but herded her away from the remaining unconscious men, away from the couple as well. She looked at them.
"Are you okay?" she asked, and knew for a fact they'd be lying if they said yes. Marty's eye was swollen, and his lip was busted. Helen shook.
"Stay," Helen said instead of answering, holding out a hand Ximena. She was eyeing Crow Man with distrust, with distaste. "Don't go with him - he's no good. He's dangerous," she said, and Ximena drew back in offense at the words, shifting closer to Crow Man, and found herself grabbing at his sleeve. He let her, not pulling away as she thought he might have before.
How can she say that? He saved them! She doesn't even know him!
It hit her then, as well, that she did not know them either, and that they did not know her. She shook her head, and behind her Crow Man's muted emotions became easier to read. Frustration, distrust of his own, but also a hint of guilt. Did he know what she was saying?
When Ximena didn't move away on her own, Helen reached out, hand snapping out to latch onto her wrist and tug her away.
"No." Ximena sidestepped the grasp, and slapped Helen's hand away. There was hurt in Helen's eyes, and she wondered if it was because of her words or because she had actually maybe hit too hard. "I don't want to." She looked up at Crow Man, and he was watching the scene with keen eyes. There was something sharp in his expression, and Ximena could see a sort of warning as he seemed to shift again, only just barely tapping into whoever he had become when he took down those men before.
Ximena tugged his sleeve.
"Let's go," she told him. "They'll be okay."
She didn't actually know if they'd be okay. But Helen's distrust and Marty's silence did not sit well with Ximena, nor did Helen's pleading for her to stay with them.
Crow Man did not respond for a second, and then gave a curt nod. "Okay."
They walked away, Ximena still gripping Crow Man's sleeve, and ignored Helen's calls for her to come back.
It had been the Soldier that took down the men in the alley, and looking down at the girl next to him, Crow Man could not find himself to feel guilty.
She had not spoken since leaving the couple in the alley, and while he wanted to voice his frustration at her for running ahead to something unplanned, he decided against it. She seemed irritated enough as it was, the fear he had noticed before now gone. He did not inquire about her wellbeing beside his "Okay?" in the alley; a quick visual assessment made it clear she escaped unscathed.
Still, he replayed the scene in his head as they returned to the warehouse - that worthless waste of space drunk holding up the girl, a knife in his hand. He hadn't thought, had only just processed what was played out before him, and then he was gone. There had been no trace of the girl's Crow Man. It had only been the Soldier.
It was miraculous, he realized, that he had not killed them all.
The girl pulled open the door to the warehouse, and gave a lackluster greeting to the dust and supposed ghost. He closed the door behind them, but not before giving a quick sweep of the darkness before them.
He gave the stairs a glance before making his way to sit near the girl and her pallet. The thought of having even the familiar distance of the warehouse now, after what had happened, made his gut twist in a way it never had in his memory before coming face to face with Steven Rogers again.
She would have to suffer his presence.
She said nothing though, as he set his bag down and sat next to it. Dirty light from a back alley lamp streamed in, muted by the dust stained windows and small holes in the side paneling. With that, coupled with his own enhanced eyesight, he saw her glance at him before scurrying to her cabinets to put away the things in her bag. He noted where she stashed her things, what compartments each went in.
When she returned, she plopped down with a huff. A moment passed, neither of them saying anything. Finally, she spoke.
"I… might have froze back there."
He arched a brow, and then realized she probably could not see it. "Did you intend to fight them all?"
She threw out an arm. "Those jerks were beating up on Helen and Marty for no reason! I couldn't not do anything!" She huffed, and in a tone that worried him (from it, he knew she thought her statement true) went on to say, "I coulda done it if that jerk hadn'ta had the knife."
He said nothing to counter it; the girl would get defensive, and in turn shut down any conversation. Perhaps, given how drunk the men had been, she could have toppled over one or two of the men. But even drunk, those men were much bigger than her.
Steve was bad about picking fights with people bigger than him too.
Crow Man blinked. The thought came from nowhere; was almost intrusive in nature. Still, he knew it to be the truth. Not a false memory. He needed to write it down.
The girl spoke before he could get his bag. "Were..." she paused. "Were you not scared of the knife?" She pulled her small bear into her lap as she said that, an unconscious, self-soothing act.
He knew anyone else would have been, at the very least, apprehensive at the sight of the knife in the alley. He, however, was not anyone else, and the drunk was lucky he did not find the blade embedded in his jugular and ripped out.
It seemed even the Soldier knew to show restraint around the girl.
Even still, he knew it to be a lie if he said he had not been afraid of the sight of the knife. He had - a split second of cold fear lodged in his throat reminiscent of what he felt on the airship when he realized that he knew Rogers in another life. It had not been for him, but for the girl, reckless and slight as she was. She had been hurt enough with her shoulder. The fear had given way to rage, however, and then the cold nothingness of the Soldier.
She waited for his answer.
"Yes," he said, deciding honesty would suit him fine for now. She squinted at him.
"You didn't look scared."
"A little," he remedied, and held up his index finger and thumb a centimeter or so apart.
The girl wrinkled her nose, and then scratched at her cheek, looking away. "I got kinda scared too. Just a little," she added in a rush.
Crow Man felt as though this was a vulnerability she would not offer often. Still, he could not stop himself.
"Because you are a little girl."
Her response was instantaneous. She lashed out, using her little bear as a bat, and hit him on the head with it. It didn't hurt in any way, and it bounced off lightly. Crow Man imagined he had been attacked with many things - he could not recall if he had ever been hit with a teddy bear.
"I'm not a little girl!" She snapped, and her act coupled with her indignation startled a harsh, choked, parody of a laugh from him. It caught in his throat, and the girl squawked at the sound. "Don't laugh!"
Would she demand that of him, he wondered, if she knew he had not laughed in over seventy years?
"I'm sorry," he said, and did not feel nearly as apologetic as he should have.
"Whatever," she muttered. "And just so you know, I'm thirteen." She paused. "Almost. Next week."
"You're twelve."
He knew the girl was young. He shouldn't have been surprised. Still, it made him… ache at the realization at just how young she was.
"Not after next week," she said. She seemed to wait for him to offer some sort of information of his own.
Based on the information pamphlet he got at the museum, he answered. "I'm ninety-seven," he offered. She huffed.
"You're not funny."
He let her believe it to be a joke. Silence fell between them again, and he thought about what the woman had said to the girl. How she had begged her to stay, and how the girl had drawn away from her. The woman was right when she called him dangerous, and was right when she had called him a bad man. And perhaps she was right to want the girl to stay with them.
They cannot protect her. The thought was immediately followed with, but I may only put her in danger.
He knew HYDRA would come for him. They might not yet, not before dealing with the immediate backlash of their exposure to the world, but they would search for him soon enough. They would send other Soldiers after him. Trackers. And he would have to be gone from DC before then. Would have to disappear. Leave the girl behind.
"Why are you being weird?" the girl demanded, drawing him from his thoughts. He looked at her, and she stared at him so intently he swore her eyes were backlit in the darkness. He cocked his head to the side in lieu of an answer and she scowled. "You're being a weird kinda quiet. What's wrong?"
He could tell her it was nothing, but something told him she would catch the lie. The girl had proven more perceptive than he had given her credit for.
"You did not stay with the woman. Why?"
"Oh." The girl made a face, wrinkling her nose. "She was being rude. She said you were dangerous."
"That I was a bad man."
She nodded, and then narrowed her eyes at him. "Could you understand her this whole time?!" she demanded, and he blinked at her. He nodded, and she let out a huff of laughter. "Since when do you know Spanish?!"
"A while."
"And you never said so?" She seemed offended that he would keep such a thing from her, but went on to ask, "Do you know any other languages?"
He knew many, but knew that to name them all would spark skepticism in the girl. In any case, the language of his primary handlers' was Russian. "Russian," he said.
"Can you teach me?" she asked hopefully, and the request made him go cold and rigid, not unlike how he felt when she said she would like to sleep in his cryostasis chamber. Because it was the language of his primary handlers for so many years, because it was used as a weapon against him as easily as any other, he was never particularly fond of it, never mind how fluent he was in it.
But rather than snap as he had when she brought up the chamber, he simply shook his head.
"Why not?" she demanded.
"Not a good language for you," he answered in a tone that left no room for further discussion. Before she could take offense, he went on to change the subject. "Did you really not stay with the woman because she was rude?"
"Ain't that reason enough? Anyway, I don't really... know Helen and Marty. And she called you bad."
"If I am?"
She snorted. "'You're not bad, you dumb dumb. You're just kinda… scrambled right now. It's fine, Humpty Dumpty, we'll figure out how to put you back together. Even if it means I gotta go back to that stupid museum."
He was… touched by her words, and a bit apprehensive at the implication that they would stay close to each other long enough for him to seek out his past and make sense of it. He knew he could not stay with her forever, nor could he bring her along with him.
But for now, he was content to stay with her in the warehouse. He was content to be Crow Man, and was content to keep watch that night as he had the nights before.
Outside, the patter of a light rain began to fall on the rusted roof above them.
