This chapter was a really tough one to figure out. So many people doing so many things as Hydra finally takes over S.H.I.E.L.D. in the movie, so it took me awhile. And ended up quite a bit longer. Sorry about the wait- it was entirely because I was struggling to try to get everything into the chapter. :) I hope you enjoy it!
Thank you SO MUCH for leaving reviews, Angstytales and Ochre57! Ochre57- Yes! This story is going well beyond the end of the The Winter Soldier movie! It's going to cover the gap between TWS and Civil War and then get back into canon for awhile with Civil War. :) Thank you so very much for the kind review, I'm thrilled to hear people enjoy this story!
Chapter 8
Steve had kept an arm on Natasha, not enough to hold her up because he knew she would never allow that, not until the blood loss actually landed her on the ground. But he had kept a hand on her back. A show of support, but also keeping him close enough in case she actually did collapse from the blood seeping from her shoulder wound. The gunshot that Bucky had inflicted.
Whatever had just happened wasn't making sense. But Steve had seen him with his own eyes. Called him by name. Fought him.
Natasha was pale beneath the dirt and soot on her face and Steve had hurried behind Agent Hill as she led them to safety.
"Have you seen the new girl at the coffee shop?" Natasha had asked, her words uneven with pain, one hand pressed against the wound in her shoulder.
"What?" Steve asked. He had looked down at her, worried her injury was affecting her enough to make her confused.
"The girl at…the coffee shop. By the Triskelion. The one with the…the flower tattoo on her wrist." Natasha was short of breath, her injury clearly catching up with her.
"Is she Hydra?" Steve asked. How much damage had been done that they didn't even know about?
"She's cute," Natasha said.
He looked down at her.
"I bet she'd be a fun date."
It was the first relief he had felt since Sitwell had been pulled from the car and they had started fighting for their lives.
"I don't think 'fun' is in the cards right now," he said.
Natasha's lips moved in the slightest hint of humor, but then she grimaced and shifted her shoulder slightly. He kept them moving, Sam with them.
The cavern Hill led them into was dimly lit, the air damp and cool. Natasha shivered slightly and Steve pushed their pace a little faster. She needed medical attention. The cave was a complete headquarters. For what, Steve didn't know. But there was a doctor, supplies…and Nick Fury.
His mind was racing to catch up to what was happening- Hill helping them escape from Rumlow and the execution he had clearly planned for them, Natasha's injury, taking on the Winter Solider—Bucky—and now Director Fury alive and well and briefing them on what he knew. Apparently Bucky wasn't the only one who wasn't dead.
Fury faced them, just as alive as Bucky.
It was facing Fury that finally had Natasha faltering. Not enough for anyone to see, but Steve was close enough to pick up on the pause in her step, the way her hand fell slightly away from her wound finally letting the doctor look at it while her entire attention was on the former director of S.H.I.E.L.D.
It was a load off Steve's shoulders when Natasha finally took a seat, listening to Fury, while her wound was taken care of. Steve kept Natasha in his periphery while he listened to Fury. Sam was guarded, Hill and Fury unknown entities to him. Steve would have ordinarily put him at ease, but the truth was, it was getting hard to know who to trust anymore. He watched the doctor suture the wound on Natasha's shoulder, silently wishing Natasha would have agreed to some sort of pain medication every time the needle pierced through her flesh.
Steve stood while Fury spoke, unable to take a seat and sit around the table like they were discussing a standard operation. Nothing about this was standard. His muscles were too tense to do anything but stand, as if he was a guard watching over his people. And maybe he was.
His mind kept going back to the Winter Soldier turning, Bucky facing him. He forced his thoughts back to what Fury was saying. The sound of water dripping somewhere in the distance echoed when Fury paused. He opened a case, showing them microchips. Three of them.
Hill spoke up, "Once the helicarriers reach three thousand feet, they'll triangulate with Insight satellites becoming fully weaponized."
And then guns would be trained on the population, eliminating anyone Hydra saw as a threat. Eliminating millions of people.
Fury nodded toward the microchips. "We need to breach those carriers and replace their targeting blades with our own."
Steve had been listening without reaction until Fury explained what he wanted to accomplish. They could take control of the carriers and use them for S.H.I.E.L.D. Salvage what Hydra was taking from S.H.I.E.L.D.
"We're not salvaging anything," Steve spoke up sharply. In the silence of the cave, his words rang with anger. Anger at what Fury was suggesting—that they would somehow protect whatever remnant of S.H.I.E.L.D. remained—had him glaring at the director. "We're not just taking down the carriers, Nick, we're taking down S.H.I.E.L.D."
Fury protested, "S.H.I.E.L.D. had nothing to do with it."
Steve didn't want excuses. He wasn't taking orders. Not from the man who had inadvertently allowed Hydra inside S.H.I.E.L.D. and hadn't noticed. Not from anyone within the organization. "Hydra grew right under your nose and nobody noticed."
"Why do you think we're meeting in this cave?" Fury asked. "I noticed."
But Steve was beyond excuses. Excuses led to compromises. And compromises led to innocent lives being ruined. His shoulders stiffened. "And how many paid the price before you did?" The thought of what he had been supporting by serving S.H.I.E.L.D. meant he was to blame, too.
Fury's defenses lagged. He looked to Natasha, then Hill before dropping his eyes briefly. "Look, I didn't know about Barnes." There was an apology in his demeanor, but he wasn't surrendering.
Steve didn't care. He didn't care about apologies that were too late for Bucky. Too late for the victims of whatever Bucky had done. He was done taking orders. Done trusting. He had seen what happened in wars when leaders were willing to cut losses and sacrifice, and he wasn't doing that anymore.
"S.H.I.E.L.D., Hydra, it all goes," Steve said. The announcement was a courtesy to Fury. He wasn't asking permission. He was letting him know what he was going to do, with or without Fury.
He had disobeyed orders before to save Bucky. Crossed enemy lines and brought back Bucky and his unit from Zola when Captain America was supposed to be nothing more than a monkey dancing to an organ grinder to rally crowds.
"Well," Fury said. The atmosphere that had been charged with them at odds shifted, settled. "Looks like you're giving the orders now, Captain."
He didn't want to give the orders. This wasn't a battle he wanted to lead. Not against Bucky.
He held Fury's look, not backing down. Accepting what was being handed to him. His jaw clenched as he gave a slight nod. He saw Natasha's grim understanding and looked away.
He needed air. He strode from the dim room, through the damp cavernous tunnels.
The back entrance of the cave led out onto a bridge, high above water. The mist from the water below the bridge cooled his overheated skin. But it didn't do anything for the memories that burned through him.
The day he had buried his mom. Bucky had been there.
"Thank you, Buck, but I can get by on my own."
"The thing is, you don't have to. I'm with you to the end of the line, pal."
When he had no one, he had Bucky. He wasn't leaving him on his own. Even it meant the end of the line.
Sam approached. Steve heard him, but didn't turn. He already knew what Sam was going to say.
"He's gonna be there, you know."
He had seen Sam's compassion counseling soldiers. But also the unwavering commitment to hard truths people needed to hear.
When Steve didn't answer, Sam continued. "Look, whoever he used to be, the guy he is now, I don't think he's the kind you save. He's the kind you stop."
Sam wasn't telling him anything he didn't already know. He tried to ignore the sick feeling at the thought of what Bucky would try to push him to do.
"I don't know if I can do that." It was only fair that the people willing to follow him into battle know what Steve was capable of. Or not capable of.
"Well, he might not give you a choice. He doesn't know you."
"He will." Steve didn't know if he believed the words or not. But he did know he would do whatever it took to give Bucky the chance to remember him.
Pushing back the lifetime of memories, he centered his thoughts on the task at hand. "Gear up," Steve said. However he felt about Bucky, there wasn't time to dwell on that. Millions of lives were dependent on them stopping Hydra. He started walking back into the makeshift base Fury and Hill had set up in the hillside.
"Steve," Natasha said, stepping from the shadowy entrance to the cave.
Steve looked down at the bullet hole in her jacket. He could see the white of the bandage beneath it, but no blood seeping through now.
"It's nothing," Natasha said.
Steve had seen the two units of blood Fury's doctor had given her. And the gaping hole before it had been sutured shut. Natasha hadn't complained. Hadn't done more than grow quieter than usual.
"Besides, it's not like I haven't been shot by him before," she said wryly.
Steve winced.
"It's a joke, Steve. I healed then, I'll heal now."
"That's not him," Steve said. "Bucky wouldn't do that. Not the Bucky I know." He was defending him without thinking. Because that's what he and Bucky had always done. They defended each other.
To the end of the line.
Natasha didn't point out the obvious, that Bucky did do it and she had the bullet hole to prove it.
"I'm sorry," Steve said quietly. He met Natasha's eyes.
"You didn't pull the trigger," she reminded him. "You didn't even know he was alive."
That was where he had really failed. Not that he hadn't kept Bucky from Hydra. But that he hadn't even known Bucky was alive. All these years, Bucky had been alive. And when Steve had been pulled from the ice, he hadn't known. Hadn't had any idea that Bucky was still out there somewhere.
"You couldn't have known," Natasha said. Her low alto was calm, reserved. But firm. "You didn't have any way of knowing."
He clenched his fists. He wasn't interested in excuses for his failings.
"Steve," she said. She waited until he looked down and met her eyes again. "You couldn't have known." Her fingers brushed against him arm briefly.
Steve shook his head slightly. He pulled away from her. "That doesn't change what Bucky's been through." He pulled in a long breath. "Let's go."
Go fight the one person who had always been there for him.
#
The Soldier stood against a wall in the corner of the makeshift gym. He kept his eyes up, but let what was happening in front of him dull, fade to the background. This used to be some sort of a break room in the bank. Now it had mats on the floor.
"We don't have time for weakness. When the enemy finds this place, they're going to capture you. All of you. Or kill you. This is your only defense. You defend your life, you defend Hydra. Today is the day. "
He let the words become a white noise in the background. They didn't matter to him. His mission wasn't defense. It was ushering in the next phase for the world.
He was in the gym waiting. Waiting to be activated again. Waiting for the director to say they were ready for the next steps. The steady thud of bodies falling to the mats wove with his thoughts.
He had chosen his weapons from the small armory in the corner of the gym, now he stayed there, letting his mind fade towards the mission.
"Good. Throw him. Don't let him take you without a fight," the trainer said.
The Soldier mentally reviewed the blueprints of the carriers. Every entrance point. The weak spots.
"Next. Come on."
"I—I can't—I don't—I…"
The sound of the woman's voice drew the Soldier's attention. While every other noncombatant had gone through the line and completed the drill without comment, she hesitated.
The Soldier watched dispassionately as she shook her head slightly, drawing back from the trainer. She had a dark purple welt on her jaw, but the rest of her skin was pale. Her dark hair hung halfway down her back in a loose braid. Her frame looked frail in the standard uniform of black cargo pants and black t-shirt Hydra supplied.
But he knew she could easily do what the instructor was asking. He had been thrown by her. That was why she drew his attention.
The trainer ignored her shaky protests and stepped toward her. The Soldier watched as she instinctively took a defensive posture, before catching herself and stumbling out of it. When the trainer got close enough, she took an awkward hold on him—a wrong hold the Soldier noted was deliberate—and tugged uselessly in a parody of an attempt at a defensive throw.
The attempt earned her a sound of disgust and a shove away from the trainer.
The Soldier watched the way she made herself stay upright and go to the end of the line.
He studied her. She wasn't strong, anyone could see that. And no one seemed to look past that with her. It was a smart move when surrounded by people who wanted to use whatever strengths you had.
The Soldier continued to watch her. Just because no one else considered her a threat, didn't mean she wasn't.
But she wasn't just a threat. Something prodded at the edges of his consciousness. He looked at her hands. Trembling. Small, pale under the fluorescent lighting. He could feel them on his arm, warm. Her eyes were on the floor now, but he knew they were dark. She had looked at him with those eyes. Really looked at him. Saw him. Sympathy.
He almost got hold of the thought before it faded away under the directive of the mission.
Ready to comply.
"It's time."
Rumlow's decree rang with finality. The Soldier felt it. Everyone else in the gym felt it, judging by the way they stilled. The air filled with tension.
"Get her," Rumlow ordered the Soldier with a jerk of his chin in the direction of the line of techs and medics.
The woman's eyes blew wide when she saw the Soldier striding toward her. For a split second, he thought she may try to throw him if he grabbed her. But then she just stiffened and let him take her arm, though the way her jaw firmed up, he could tell she wanted no part of the mission.
He didn't care. The mission mattered more than any one person or their feelings.
She didn't look at him with anger. It was pity. That didn't make sense.
He kept a firm grip on her and led her from the gym. The way she pulled back slightly on her arm, even thought it wasn't quite enough to count as resistance, let him know how much she wasn't a willing participant. That would change soon enough.
"I don't want anyone to die." Her words were urgent.
He looked down at her while he kept pulling her along. Her dark eyes were pleading with him. He turned his gaze forward again.
"You don't have to do this," she said. Her free hand came up and he thought she was going to take hold of his hand. He didn't know what to do if she did. But then she lowered her hand and spoke again. "I don't think this is who you are."
He stopped at the exit. The rest of the strike team was approaching, along with another handler. The handler barely glanced at him.
"Hold her still," he said to the Soldier.
As much as she seemed to want no part in the mission, she looked almost relieved to get the injection.
The handler jabbed the needle into her upper arm, withdrawing it and covering the needle. "Bring her to Pierce when you get there," he said to the strike team.
Firm nods acknowledged the directive.
The abandoned bank was attached to a parking garage. Black SUVs were the only vehicles in there.
By the time they got to the vehicle, another team taking the vehicle next to theirs, her steps were dragging, her arm a dead weight in his hand. She was mostly able to get herself into the oversized vehicle, needing only a firm shove to get her to move over.
The SUVs pulled out of the parking ramp, pulling out onto the DC streets, heading toward the river that sliced along the edge of the capital.
Grim determination rather than conversation filled the vehicle on the way to the Triskelion.
The cylindrical tower rose ahead of them, surrounded by gray water. A strip of road was the only direct approach, but the S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters wasn't on lockdown yet.
A weight brushed the Soldier's shoulder. He looked away from their destination looming ahead and down at the woman. Her head rested against his shoulder. Her eyes were open, but unfocused.
He didn't know what her part of the plan was, but he couldn't imagine how she was supposed to carry it out like this.
"He never liked me."
The words were so quiet, the Soldier only heard them because of how close she was to him.
"I deserved it," she mumbled, her head rolling forward slightly. She slumped more heavily against him.
The Soldier had no idea who she was talking about. Hydra wasn't given to relationships. To people liking one another or caring about anyone. She wasn't talking about someone from Hydra.
"Doesn't care," she breathed out through lips that sounded numb. "Easier for him to not care. Like you."
Caring wasn't part of his programming. Not because it was easier. Because it wasn't necessary.
The SUV pulled to a stop alongside the tall building, the other team right behind them.
"Rogers, Romanoff, and Wilson have breached the building," the man in the front seat informed them.
Rumlow let out a low curse. "This changes nothing. We knew they'd try something. Everyone to positions. Hancock, take the girl to Pierce."
The vehicle doors closed with definitive slams.
The Soldier separated from the group. While they made their way to the floors utilized by teams of S.H.I.E.L.D agents, he broke away toward the aircraft runways to complete his mission. Get the helicarriers in the sky so they could protect the world. Stop anyone who interfered with that.
#
Elia was being dragged down another hallway, another strike agent moving quickly along with them. The linoleum tiles under her feet blurred together. She couldn't tell if they were the same as Hydra's underground compound. Were they back there? Or was this the bank, the new headquarters?
"Move faster," the strike agent behind her snapped at her, prodding her with the barrel of his gun.
No, this was somewhere else.
"Attention all S.H.I.E.L.D. agents. This is Steve Rogers."
He was ok. The thought floated around with the loose, unassociated memories that filled her mind when she was sedated. Captain America was safe. She couldn't remember why she had been worried about him, but the relief that sank into her skin let her know something had been wrong. But he was safe. And here?
"I think it's time you know the truth. S.H.I.E.L.D is not what we thought it was. It's been taken over by Hydra."
Elia couldn't follow what he was saying, but it was enough to anger the man pulling her through long corridors and up flights of stairs. His anger had his footsteps hitting the tiles harder, his fingers curling deeper into her arm. The Soldier hadn't been angry.
Another thought dancing with the memories in her brain. She tried to grab onto it. When the Soldier had pulled her out to the vehicle, he hadn't been angry. His grip firm, determined, but it was nothing personal. It didn't hurt. Did it? Did what hurt?
She lost whatever thought she had found.
Doors slid open and she thought they were in the clouds. No, that didn't make sense. They were inside. In a building. What building? They were on a top floor, a wall made of glass in front of her. They weren't in the clouds. Just above the city in a building.
""I guess I've got the floor," Pierce said, a small smile of contented irony on his face.
Elia instinctively recoiled at the sight of the director as the agent let go of her and trained his gun on the men and woman standing with Pierce. Elia caught her balance before she fell.
She swayed on her feet, struggling to follow what Pierce was saying. She glanced toward the bank of windows. Water. There was water all around the building beneath them. Like a moat. She wondered if there was a white knight somewhere in this castle. Captain America. He was safe. He was here.
Her own thoughts were confusing her, everything blurring in front of her.
The water far below the windows started churning. Dragons. Did dragons live in moats? Canon blasts shot fiery shots into the sky. Or dragons breathing fire.
"…and you knew they were gonna drag your daughters into a soccer stadium for execution? And you could stop it with the flick of the switch. Wouldn't you? Wouldn't you all?" Pierce asked, making conversation like he was hosting a cocktail party.
Smoke billowed in the air outside the windows, rising and filling the sky. Was someone being executed?
"Not if it was your switch," one of the men said, disgust evident in his tight words.
Elia looked away from the bewildering amount of smoke and flames below and back toward the men. One of the strike agents held a gun out for Pierce to take.
"That won't be necessary," Pierce said. He motioned to Elia.
Elia blinked. He wasn't one of the good guys. That much was a consistent thought in her muddled brain.
When she didn't move, one of the agents grabbed her and tugged her over toward Pierce.
"Have you had the pleasure of meeting Miss Anderson?" Pierce asked.
Elia tried to look at the men and woman facing off against him. Or women? The figures broke apart, distorted, and joined back together. Woman. Just one of her. But she didn't look like the others. The others were guarded, on edge…scared. Their posture was defensive. But the woman in the blue suit….
Elia tried to figure out what was different. The middle aged woman with the harsh bob and blunt bangs wasn't scared. She was…waiting? Biding her time for something.
"What can you tell us about Mr. Singh?"
The director spoke to her, drawing her divided attention back. Mr. Singh. She knew that name.
"He could lose everything," Elia said, her voice somehow cooperating with a stray thought that shook loose from the mess in her head.
The man facing Pierce made a sound of protest and stepped forward, but a gun cocking sounded like a bullet and had Elia wincing.
"What could he lose?" Pierce asked.
"His money. His…his…everything…" she trailed off, losing the thought momentarily until a jab in her side brought it back. "He…extortion…he took Daniel Biar's banking company…laundered money…"
"I'll spare you the details," Pierce said. "But she's been delightfully helpful in sketching a picture of how you made your money, and just how you secured your place on the council."
"So you own him now," a defiant voice spoke up. "You can't stand against all of us."
"Mr. Yen," Pierce said amiably. "Let's share what Congressman Whittaker accidentally shared with this Pandora's box I've been interviewing over the past few months. Go ahead," he instructed her.
Yen. That name was familiar. Her hands were icy. Her fingers starting to numb. Another jab in the back brought her attention back. "You got…a pardon…records sealed…it was a manslaughter…manslaughter case…because of the affair." She was so tired. She couldn't keep her eyes open. She wanted to sleep.
"But it wasn't manslaughter, was it?" Pierce asked.
"Third degree murder," Elia murmured.
"Third degree murder," Pierce tsked. "Well that sounds bad, doesn't it? And money laundering. Really, Singh? I have all your secrets. Secrets that could destroy your lives. Tear your families apart. I think you'll find cooperation is in everyone's best interest."
The woman in the blue suit eyed Pierce as he took the gun that had been offered and leveled it at Singh.
The movement was so sudden, Elia didn't know who had moved, but Singh was suddenly crashing into her and the woman in the suit was spinning toward Pierce, taking his gun.
Elia's head was already spinning, her vision blurring, she couldn't tell who the woman hit first. Who she kicked. There was the sizzle of electricity when she flicked an electrode onto one of them, sending the strike agent into spasms. The woman took both strike agents to the ground.
Elia took a step back, but her back hit something. The glass. She looked out the window. No, not that way. Stairs. She needed stairs.
The woman in the suit's face blurred, then turned to younger features. She pulled the blunt cut wig from her head. "I'm sorry. Not everyone," the redhead said.
#
The Soldier let the man with the wing pack and the guards distract one another outside on the runways. Hydra launched smaller aircraft, moving to the offensive.
Helicarrier 1 was airborne. He had seen the man with the shield make it onto it. The Soldier moved along the perimeter of the launchpad. The man with wings made it onto Helicarrier 2.
Helicarrier 3 was a line they weren't going to cross. That was where he kept his attention.
A group of S.H.I.E.L.D. pilots started to move down the runway. This was the boundary that wouldn't be breached. He lifted his gun toward one of the jets. It didn't matter if it was Hydra piloting it, collateral damage was inevitable in a battle. He aimed and fired.
The jet spun out of the sky, flames shooting from it before it crashed, flames exploding then. A makeshift bomb to take out S.H.I.E.L.D pilots and aircraft alike.
The Soldier didn't let the smoke or flames slow him. S.H.I.E.L.D operatives ran in a panic. He kept up a steady stride through the debris. He fired at them. No one was going to stop the helicarriers from taking flight and linking. It was a protection system for the world. The world needed it. It was his mission.
A man on the runway fired at him. The Soldier lifted his titanium arm and deflected the shot, not stopping in his approach to the man. He struck out with his foot, a thudding sternal blow that sent the man flying into the fire of a downed jet.
It was a methodical process to find pilots and put a bullet through them. In the cockpit of a jet. On the runway trying to get to a jet.
He tore off the glass of a cockpit and swung inside. The controls were familiar enough. He had been trained to pilot planes, helicopters, whatever the mission may call for.
Every slow, steady thud of his heart directed him to finish this mission. Nothing existed besides the mission.
The plane lifted off. He was going to get to the third carrier and defend it. His mission.
#
Elia just wanted to get away. None of this made any sense. She wanted to—she just needed—
She willed her feet to move. The floor tilted under them.
"She's disabling security protocols and dumping all the secrets onto the internet."
Elia didn't listen to Pierce. Whatever was happening, she wasn't a part of it.
"Including Hydra's," the redheaded woman said. She worked at the computer with hardly a glance at Director Pierce.
Secrets. Elia knew people's secrets, didn't she? Had she just told some?
She ignored what they were saying, it was making her head spin. She stumbled toward the door. Out the door. There was a stairwell. She needed to go down. Out of the sky. Back to solid ground.
Clinging to the railing, she tried to control her steps, stumbling, sliding, making her way down the stairwell, every time she fell a step echoing in the empty stairwell.
She could hear gunshots, footsteps. Every floor she passed sounded like chaos. She didn't want chaos anymore. She wanted…
Home. She needed to get home.
#
The man wearing the wing pack was easy. The Soldier had only had to wait for the two adversaries to land on the helicarrier, then shove the man with the shield off the edge. When the man with the wings tried to go after him, it was only a matter of grabbing him and bringing him to the ground, tearing a wing off. That threat was out of commission.
He had known the one with the shield would be more difficult.
He went into the helicarrier, climbing to the level he knew the man would have to get to if he wanted to stop the program. The carrier was silent except for the distant hum of engines, the fight below silenced by the walls. He positioned himself so the man would have to go through him to disable the carrier.
No one got through him.
When the man made it onto the catwalk, the Soldier was ready. He stared down the man. Waiting. Ready.
"People are gonna die, Buck." The man faced him on the catwalk. There was no fear in his posture. Only regret heavy in his words. "I can't let that happen."
The Soldier didn't make conversation—he attacked and he killed. So he stood silently, waiting for the inevitable move this man was going to make.
"Please don't make me do this."
The plea didn't reach through his conditioning. Emotion was meaningless. For the weak. He thought briefly of the woman.
I don't want anyone to die. You don't have to do this.
When the man launched the shield, the Soldier flashed his arm out and sent it ricocheting back off to the enemy. He pulled his gun and fired. The man deflected bullets with the shield. His gun versus that man's shield. It was an even match. He switched to a knife, deftly twirling it with skilled fingers as he pulled it.
He didn't feel any fear getting closer to the enemy. He needed to get closer to end him. The man managed to ward off every blow, landing a few against the Soldier.
Frustration grew when the man wouldn't quit. The Soldier launched himself into the man with a roar, knowing where the trajectory was launching them. They both flew over the railing. The landing didn't slow either one of them.
The microchip that would unlink the helicarriers, disabling them, fell and the Soldier kept up his attack, anything to keep the opponent from picking up the chip.
He could tell the other man was holding back. Doing only as much as necessary to avoid him. Weak.
But then the man slid down the angled ramp they fought on and grabbed the chip. The Soldier slid after him, managing to get possession. Until the enemy kicked him and the chip dropped.
Both men went over the drop off, after the chip.
The Soldier increased his attacks. Bullets, blows, using the man's own shield against him, he would use whatever he had.
The Soldier sank his knife into the man's shoulder, eliciting a cry of pain. He earned solid blows to his head in return.
For a moment, he held the microchip. The other man grabbed hold of the Soldier. With an iron grip, he pinned him half on the ground, holding his flesh and bone arm at an angle to subdue him.
"Drop it!" the man ordered, his voice right in the Soldier's ear.
The Soldier only took orders from Hydra.
"Drop it!" the man yelled.
He wasn't going to drop it while he was alive.
He tightened his fingers around the chip.
The man wrenched his arm, a brutal crack of bones breaking a shout of pain free from him.
The man pulled him up and over, down with him, a solid arm around his neck. The Soldier swung his metal arm up, the man met it by pinning it at his side.
The Soldier strained against the hold. He wasn't going to lose this fight. The other man had to know that. He didn't know why the other man restrained him instead of killing him.
The vise around his neck tightened. Blackness closed in.
#
Everyone was running. Panic. Chaos. Fear.
Elia needed to get away. She couldn't see straight, everything swam in front of her eyes. She collided with the people running across the lobby. She barely registered the jolts, her entire body numbed by the sedation. There was daylight ahead. She wouldn't let herself get knocked down. Not before she got out the doors.
Someone crashed her from behind and she lurched forward unsteadily. She caught herself against another person, grasping for purchase with fingers that wouldn't cooperate, but they pushed her off and kept running for the exit.
The exit. That's where she was heading. Outside. Away from all this.
When she made it through the doors, the sunlight burned her eyes. She let out a cry of pain, her hands reaching up to cover her eyes.
The light was too much. Tears welled, an automatic reaction to the sting. She kept moving, hands over her eyes, landing against solid bodies that were running. Screaming.
Smoke hung in the air, making every breath burn.
She needed to open her eyes, see where she was going. She forced herself to lower her hands. See through her watering eyes.
She was heading back toward the building. She had gotten turned around. Away. She was going away. Wasn't she?
She awkwardly turned, nearly falling over with how the movement made her head spin. She managed again to stay on her feet. She kept stumbling, tripping. Moving. She would crawl if she had to.
#
He blinked his eyes open. Cleared his vision.
He turned his head, but didn't see anyone.
The mission wasn't over.
He got to his feet unsteadily. Stalked with uneven steps across the platform to locate his target.
The man wasn't slowing down. He was climbing toward the controls of the helicarrier.
The Soldier lifted his gun, still uneven and getting his full vision back after the blackness. He fired off a shot at the man who was climbing to reach the centralized computer of the helicarrier.
He missed and staggered slightly. He blinked to clear his vision, drew a breath to steady his feet.
He lifted his gun again. This time the shot didn't push him off balance. The slug went straight into the man in the back of his thigh.
The man finally stumbled for the first time, his leg giving out under him. But he caught himself. Limped to the computer, dragging himself forward with the railing surrounding it.
The Soldier lifted his gun again, taking care to aim. This blast caught the man in the torso, twisting him slightly before he dropped to the ground with a grunt.
He had stopped him.
He started toward the man. He could admire the fight the other man had put up. But that didn't mean he was going to let him live.
Sudden blasts came from the gun deck. The entire carrier lurched.
Below them, more firing. Glass shattered somewhere in the carrier as it took fire. The carrier was firing and taking blasts.
The Soldier moved toward the wall of glass, ready to break through before he was blown up with the carrier. His target could go down with the aircraft.
A metal beam struck his shoulder, sending dull pain vibrating through his torso. He turned, trying to stop it with his stronger arm, but it wasn't enough to break the momentum of the beam. He was pushed to the floor. The beam pinned him brutally.
He pushed at it. The weight across his chest made every breath agony. The carrier listed, the beams still standing groaned with movement.
He had to get it off. His breath came in heavy gasps as he fought the crushing weight. He grunted, straining at it. It didn't move.
The carrier was still moving, but not flying. It was falling. The beam shifted more heavily onto him when the carrier crashed into something, metal and glass and brick all crushing into a sound of destruction. Flames were licking at the windows.
He struggled, fighting more desperately to free himself.
The man he had fought made it to him. The Soldier looked for a weapon in his hand. He didn't know why the man was going to end him now instead of letting the carrier crash do the job. Why the man didn't get off the carrier instead of bleeding to death alongside him.
The man braced himself and lifted against the beam. His neck corded with the effort.
It shifted just enough for the Soldier to slide out, his broken arm useless at his side, radiating pain. He gathered his strength, determined to push up from the ground. Get away.
The other man's breaths were labored from exertion, matching his.
"You know me," the man said determinedly.
"No, I don't," the Soldier raged, swinging at the man, but off balance with his injured arm tucked against his side. He still managed to knock the man down. He didn't want any part in whatever this man was doing. He knew how to fight, how to take out a target. Why didn't this man do that? Why had he saved him?
Weak.
"Bucky," the man said.
Bucky. It rang against something. Something underneath what he was.
"You've known me your whole life."
The Soldier's next swing was pure frustration. Anything to stop what the man was saying.
His whole life? His whole life was Hydra. Hydra, that was burning down around them. He didn't know this man.
"Your name is James Buchanan Barnes—"
"SHUT UP!" It was a desperate scream as he swung against him, pushing him away again.
The man staggered to his feet. His mask had come off.
He was supposed to know him. He knew that he was supposed to know him.
"I'm not going to fight you." The man dropped his shield. It silently fell through the flames and smoke growing around them, beneath them. "You're my friend."
No. No. He wasn't letting this man into his head. Bucky. James. Zola. A train. Brooklyn. It all pressed at the edges of his mind, trying to push through. Dozens of assassinations. Innocent people. Ruthless kills.
He had to stop what threatened to consume him.
He hurled himself at the man. Knocking him onto his back.
"You're my mission," he said ruthlessly. A mission. That was what made sense.
Finish the mission.
He landed a blow to the man's face. Another. Again.
"You're!" A solid hit. "My!" Level the enemy. "Mission!"
He drew his arm—the arm Zola had given him, the one that had been used to kill—back, ready to land one last blow and end this. Silence the demons gnawing to get in.
"Then finish it," the man said through swollen, cut lips. "Because I'm with you to the end of the line."
No.
No.
Steve.
Until the end of the line.
Horrors rushed in around him, through him, over him. With a groan, the carrier broke apart, but it didn't move as much as the foundation that was being torn away from the Soldier.
Bucky.
Steve started sliding, the side of the carrier no longer there.
Bucky watched him fall. Debris, flames, it all fell towards the water below.
Until the end of the line.
He launched himself off the carrier, but the memories chased him.
He hit the water with enough force to force a grunt of pain when it jostled his broken arm.
He kept his eyes open.
There.
He kicked his legs, swimming deeper until he got hold of Steve's uniform.
Holding nothing but the uniform, he dragged him to the surface, the water churning around them as more pieces of the carrier landed and disappeared.
Until the end of the line.
He didn't know if Steve was alive when they broke the surface. The water was shallower now. They had made it close enough to shore that Bucky could stand. He pushed his way through the water, every step methodical, unyielding. He kept his grip on Steve, finding a strap on his shoulder to haul him with.
He dragged him to a sandy shoreline and unceremoniously dropped him to the sand.
He stood over him.
Until the end of the line.
Steve was breathing. He moved slightly.
The Soldier wasn't breathing. He was warring with Bucky. With the memories.
With one last look at the Triskelion burning across the water, helicarriers falling from the sky, Bucky turned.
Broken arm guarded at his side, he started walking.
Away.
#
