A/N HALT! Not the first chapter out today!
1991, December 22nd, Pennsylvania
John walked up the steps to the old house, hands in his pockets, posture casual - as casual as he could make it, considering he felt like running everywhere these days. His training, luckily, helped a lot. It kept his breaths calm and his heartbeat relatively steady. He hadn't actually received full S.H.I.E.L.D. training before being plucked off the roster for his mental talents, but he was grateful for what he had gotten. Either way, it had instilled very useful habits into him, and he was far fitter than he had been previously. He'd kept up the fitness regime they'd given him, and since Howard's death, he'd become even more grateful for that. He hoped he was ready for whatever was coming.
He glanced off to the side into the woods as he reached the front steps, and did a double-take as he saw a woman with brown hair in a tight ponytail step out of the trees, pushing through a bush. She was looking at him with a friendly smile on, and he paused briefly, confused. A neighbor? He didn't know Dave's neighbors - this woman could be anything. His eyes flicked back to the door, to the handle, and he realized with a jolt in his chest that the door was cracked open. Now that he was close, he could see signs of damage around the latch. Someone had forced entry. He looked back at the woman, who was still approaching, and he noted that one hand was held behind her back, so he couldn't see it. He didn't like that much at all.
John made a quick decision, and pushed the door open enough to slip inside, then shut it behind him again. It didn't latch, but that was fine. It was a barrier between him and an assumed weapon. He stepped sideways away from the door, still close to the front wall, and looked sharply up as a thump came from the floor above. Someone was here. Dave and his family? Maybe, maybe not. Maybe the break-in was a coincidence. Maybe it wasn't related to whatever - whoever - had killed Howard. But he couldn't risk it. Carefully, he pulled his handgun out of the back of his jeans, flicking the safety off.
For now, he ignored the stairs, instead walking down the entry hall and right into the dining room. He knew this house's layout, for the most part, thanks to having helped paint the place a year earlier. The rooms of the bottom floor connected into what amounted to be a loop. His plan was to sweep that loop, right to left, to end up back in the hall, and then work his way upstairs. No need to barrel upstairs to be ambushed from behind. He suspected the woman outside would do that enough anyway, soon enough. He didn't have much time. He started forward, quickly moving through the living room - untouched - and into the kitchen. The kitchen was also undisturbed, save for the cup of what looked like tea still on the counter. It was still steaming. Much more likely to be a problem than not, with signs of a break-in. John adjusted his grip on his weapon.
He walked quietly into Dave's daughter's play room, and couldn't help the sigh of relief that the place looked untouched. Maybe she was at daycare. God, he hoped she was at daycare.
He moved into the next room, the living room, and found the television on, but on a static channel. It didn't mean anything, but he still found he didn't like it anyway.
He stepped back into the entrance hallway, and carefully peeked out the front door's window. The woman was standing with her back facing the door, down the front walk. Some kind of handler, maybe? Why wasn't she following him in? He glanced up the stairs again as footsteps creaked on the wood floors above him. He swallowed, and started up the steps.
He reached the top without the stairs complaining of his presence too badly, but stopped at the top step, his eyes glued to the sight in front of him. Dave was lying in a pool of his own blood in the hall, his head caved blood hadn't yet reached the edge of the stairwell, but the chunk missing out of the railing said he'd hit his head hard there first. It didn't seem like he could have hit the railing hard enough on his own for this amount of damage. Then again, it seemed like it would be hard for anyone else to have caused this damage either. But Dave was dead, and that was a fact, and someone was still up here. It could be Janet, his wife, but...
John stood there for another moment, torn. Did he risk his life further, on the hope that Janet was still alive? Eve was waiting for him to come home.
He half-turned to go when movement at the end of the hall caught his eye, and he paused. A man stepped out of the room at the end of the hall, and John's heart leapt into his throat. He'd never seen so much menace rolling off a single person before. The man was tall, his frame muscular, his face uncovered. He was familiar. Sergeant James Barnes?
This was a man who's picture had sat on Howard's back office wall - the picture had been from the 1940s, and had captured the Howling Commando unit in a moment of peace. Rogers had been at the forefront, two people under his arms - Barnes, and a pretty nurse - and the rest of the unit had been gathered around them. He'd done a lot of staring at that photo, during the times Howard went off on a tangent that was more for his own sake than John's. He would recognize those people anywhere.
This realization came instantly, as did the one that came right after it: Sergeant Barnes didn't look a day over 30. Sergeant Barnes had been captured by Hydra in 1943. The serum. John took one last glance at Dave's crushed body on the floor, and spun to dash down the stairs. Behind him, he could hear Barnes dash forward, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. Car. Car now.
He took the last five steps in a jump and sprinted to the front door, throwing it open, leveling his gun, and shooting the woman on the front walk in the right arm before running forward again, ignoring her pained shout as she hit the ground and taking off down the brick front walk. Barnes exploded out of the house behind him with the crash of the door being ripped off its hinges, but John didn't look back, running as fast as his legs could carry him. He could hear Barnes catching up, but he just pushed harder, fear driving him, and then the woman shouted something and the footsteps behind him dropped away. John got into his car with a blessed lack of fumbling with his keys, and as he started the car he twisted to look out the window. Barnes was walking back to the woman sitting up on the front walk - she'd called him back to help her, it seemed. He registered that and then returned his eyes to the windshield, and peeled out of the driveway. He had to get home. Had to protect Eve from the same fate.
A/N Last one for today, folks! Let us know what you think! If anyone wants to chat my tumblr is on my profile!