GLORY AND GORE (GO HAND IN HAND)

Excerpts from incomplete fanfiction based on characters from Captain America.

HYDRA was dying. That was the facts. They had been strong, slowly taking over and leaking through the cracks in the foundations left by their predecessors, but after Pierce was taken out, it started to wilt and weather. HYDRA always said that if you cut off one head, another shall take its place, but they never thought about what happens if you go for the heart instead. 

Captain America was their folly; they never should have believed he was dead. But they had other things to worry about. He was gone and left a void that they quickly filled before anyone could bat an eye. Used the loss of a savior and the recoils of war to insert themselves into the rebuild, to make sure it all went the way they wanted. SHIELD was foolish to not see it; History repeats itself. Their Trojan horse was accepted and as soon as Zola was taken in, it was over. 

Checkmate. 

Or they thought. 

Steve Rogers came out of the ice, putting a new queen on their board, but as HYDRA always does, it grows. Their decades of training allowed them to put their own queen into play: The Asset. 

He was born from a shell of a man, the one they chose to be their next experiment. They took what they could from Erskine’s serum and created their own, creating modification after modification, one that even burned Schmidt’s skin off. But it was for science. Many died, many gave up, but this one-- the one they captured back in Italy-- had a bite to him. Zola took one look at him and knew he was the one.

“He’s perfect,” he had whispered, big eyes even more round in wonder from behind his spectacles. 

They had injected him with the first batch, waiting to see how he would react when Captain America showed up. Schimdt had been wondering when they were going to finally use their super soldier and stop parading him around like some show dog. He sicced his own dogs on the Cap and watched from afar, waiting to see how he fared. And he did well. More than well. Better than he expected. He was not shocked when the Captain took the soldier from them. 

The damage had already been done; he would find his toy again. 

They learned of the camaraderie that developed within the group of men that the Captain had rescued from HYDRA’s clutches in Italy. Schmidt was growing impatient as the Howling Commandos-- how tacky-- took down compound after compound. The Captain was closing in and he knew that this meant two things: his armies needed to be ready to fight and that the soldier--or the Asset, as Schmidt had started to call him-- was also drawing near. 

So, he sent Zola on a mission, letting him lead the Captain and the Asset straight to him. 

He watched as the Asset fought with all the bravery he could muster, even donning the Captain’s shield in an act of foolishness. He faced the HYDRA soldier face-on, holding his head tall and stance wide as the gun charged up for another blinding blow. He was preparing for it, but he wasn’t as familiar with the shield as the Captain was, or how Schmidt was, after watching how the Captain used it for weeks. 

“Shoot him,” Schmidt ordered, “To the right of the shield.”

Schmidt laughed to himself as the boy flung out of the side of the train car like a doll. The Captain tried to save him, but it was too late. 

“Are you sure he will survive,” Zola asked him.

“He must.”

Schmidt was partially correct. The boy survived, but his body did not. The serum saved him from death, but didn’t save him from casualty. Almost the whole left side of his torso was unsalvageable and Schmidt had to resort to lower ranks to save the Asset after Zola was captured. 

Donning a giant, red star on the shoulder of his new metal arm, Schmidt put him in a cryostasis chamber until he was stable. Until he was ready for the second dose, then the third, and the final. Schmidt sent him away, along with a handful of scientists to help create the soldier they needed, the one that would take them out of the possible checkmate Captain America put them in. 

He sacrifices himself, castling himself for the perfect diversion. Captain America is too busy taking him down to see the queen line up. 

The Valkyrie going down with Captain America on it, now that wasn’t expected. Two days later, the Asset is brought out of cryo to be born again into a new world. 

Finish this ??? idk??? 

And now, in a base in the Alps, Dr. Müller, one of the remaining heads of HYDRA, frantically packs their bag, cursing at himself and at others in German as he tries to get out. An alarm is blaring and the remaining soldiers and scientists in the compound scream and flee. 

They know what is to come.

A woman cries out as she gets knocked down and trampled. A group of people throw themselves at the elevators, willing it to open, to move faster. People clutch to each other, weeping openly as the panic ensues. Everyone pleads to move, to get out before he comes.

A large thud comes from the roof. A chorus of cries rings out, but silence comes with it. 

“You idiots,” he says to the chaos of people, “There is no way out. He is already here.”

They watch the ceiling, flinching at every footstep. 

They have all heard of The Soldier, hand ow he is completing the task he started so long ago. Revenge runs hot and fuels him. Müller doesn’t blame him. He never once convinced himself that HYDRA was doing the right thing, the best thing. HYDRA played dirty; it always did. They made groundbreaking discoveries in science and the price of that was paid with many lives. He didn’t care about it at all, about the semantics. What is the difference between a lab rat and a poor human soul? At least they contributed to something bigger than themselves, that their pitiful lives benefitted something, even if they didn’t want it to. 

But, this. This was different. This is something that he knew would come back to haunt them. He was reluctant to be a part of the Red Book, to learn how to wipe the Asset and reset him. He did look away each time, but he was there, standing in the room, pressing the buttons. 

He still learned the commands needed, just in case. 

He still said yes to the assignment.

The silence carries on. The footsteps halt. He can hear mutterings of prayers, fears, and last-minute admissions. He wants to laugh. He knows that God cannot hear them and will not save them. They tried to create God and they were now paying the price. 

The sudden explosion makes his ears ring. It shoots him back onto the floor as the elevator bursts open and it takes him a moment to gather himself up. Screams erupt from the people hit in the blast, blood painting a red carpet for the shadow that steps from the smoke. He sees the glimmer of metal within the haze, sees the hardened and cold blue eyes that once, many decades ago, held so much life and love. The Soldier steps towards him, looming over him in all of his glory, fury etched into his frown lines. He can see where the star used to be, and how the Soldier has gotten rid of it. It’s an attempt to bury his past, but they know him. They will always know who he is. They will always know what he is. 

He is the one that haunts Müller’s dreams-- his and the others. The stories of his ruthless pillage and dismantling of HYDRA have given him endless nights, where he can’t sleep without seeing those steely eyes, how hate swirls so deeply in them. 

An apology threatens to tumble off his lips, the urge to plead for his life and lay down his transgressions at the Soldier’s feet. But it’s feebile. He is going to die today. 

He stands and looks Death in the face. 

“How nice to see you again.”

The punch to his face throbs. It knocks his molars together and he can feel where his bottom teeth punctured his tongue. He spits out the blood and laughs. The room watches in silence, waiting for their own turn. 

There’s another hit and the pain is blinding. It brings him to his knees and another hit to his stomach takes his breath. He wheezes, looking up to the Soldier through his broken and bent glasses. 

He smiles at him again, his teeth blood red and dripping. 

“Oh, Captain America,” he sing-songs, “You won’t kill a man. It’s not in you.”

The blond man looks down at him, and sets his jaw. Grabs the man by his hair and pulls him to a standing position. He smooths him down, and tightens his tie like the man stumbled over into the dirt, like a cursory brush of his gloved hand would wipe away all the blood and sins. 

The Soldier leans in and grins. It’s a wicked thing, one that makes Müller’s hair stand on end. It’s vicious and feral, almost rabid. The fury in his eyes flickers to delight and he huffs out a laugh. 

“You’re right,” he says and he grabs Müller by the shoulders. Moves him around so he’s behind him and lets him get a full view of the blown-open elevator. “I won’t kill anyone.”

There’s another shadow within the smoke. 

“But he will.”

Müller’s blood runs cold and old prayers his grandmother used to say flutter to the top of his mouth, resting on his bleeding tongue. From the dark emerges the Asset, the Prometheus that lingers at the edge of his brain, only coming out to haunt him and remind him that he is never safe. 

“Желание,” he starts, “Ржавый, Семнадцать, Рассвет.”

The Soldier grabs him by the throat, almost taking him off of the ground, but Müller pulls at him, gritting out the commands.

“Печь, Девять, Добросердечный!”

The Asset stands rigid, face blank and Müller’s heart calms.

“Возвращение на родину, Один, Товарный вагон.”

He sighs with relief, but then the Soldier tuts. Chuckles. Leans in close and says, “ты думаешь, это сработает?” 

The Asset’s blank face twitches and a glimmer of a smirk breaks on his face as he looks at the Soldier. 

“Это твоя работа, любимый,” the Soldier says, mirth in his voice. Müller gulps. 

“Спасибо, дорогая,” The Asset replies and a smile blossoms on his face, making the scientist still. It’s an expression that Müller had never seen before from the machine, not that he recalls any smile at all from the Asset, but this. This is a face of serenity, of trust. 

Of love. 

Müller’s eyes widen, flitting between the two. Of course, it makes sense. They were fucked from the beginning. 

“Hail Hy-”

A shot rings out and red paints the right side of the Soldier. Müller’s body falls dead to the floor, eyes glassy and unfocused, a bullet between his brows. 

“Really, Buck?” the Soldier says, “You couldn’t have waited for me to get out of the way?”

He shrugs at him. 

They’re long gone by the time Agent Hill arrives with back up. No one else was hurt, besides those in the crossfire of the elevator explosion. Instead, they’re all left to be corralled and placed on the scale of justice and see how heavy their sins weigh. 

***

It’s a wonder that they haven’t been found yet. Their faces have been plastered all over the news, warning everyone to look out for the vigilante once known as Captain America and his partner, James Buchanan Barnes. 

When Natasha released all of the files the day the helicarriers crashed, she unleashed all of the intel on the Winter Soldier too, but no one had known about him before that day, only Natasha and Sam. They detailed all of his past, leaving out the part where he was a brainwashed assassin created by Nazis, but keeping in what benefitted them. They over-emphasized that Bucky was wanted for the murders of the Starks, which caused a national outcry when that story broke. 

Steve hated it all. He hated that he couldn’t see his friends anymore, that he couldn’t do what he was made to do, even before he became Captain America. He has always wanted to make the world a better place and it was naive of him to think that the world would want that. 

He gets upset about it, more often than he would like to admit. And as always, Bucky is at his side. If he’s angry or if he’s reduced to a sobbing mess, Bucky is there to see it through. Through it all, something that makes him so angry, but also so comforted, is the fact that they could easily find them. He knows Natasha is too smart, too good at her job. Maria Hill is also the best of the best. Sam is just a stubborn ass who would fly over the entire world just to find his friend. He knows they’re letting him leave, letting him hide. Steve’s good but he’s not that good. 

Now, Bucky is that good and Steve thinks that’s the only reason why Tony or someone else hasn’t found them. To be honest, he doesn’t even know if his old friend is looking. Doesn’t know if they’re friends or enemies or what. 

He doesn’t spend time thinking about it. 

They’re in a small bungalow in Texas of all places. It’s hot and horrible, but it's a place neither of them would willingly set foot in. It switches between humid and dry, but it’s always hot. Their small fan sputters as it rotates, blowing slightly cooled Lockhart, Texas air back onto their sweaty skin. They have a small AC but the sweltering heat is too much for it to handle. They don’t care enough to try and get a better one.

It reminds them of the old days when the Brooklyn black-top was hot enough to cook eggs on. They would lay around back then, just as they’re doing now, groaning and complaining, too hot to move. Occasionally they’ll pull the frozen rags out of the freezer and let them melt against their skin, but it’s a short-lived reprieve. 

They’re fucking miserable; it’s the perfect hideout. 

Lockhart is a small town, small enough to not have the ability to transition to the 21st century. There are still small diners, and movie theaters that are the only actual entertainment that the town offers, and everyone knows everyone. It’s nostalgic in a way that Steve and Bucky missed. They came to town shortly after the fallout with Tony, waiting until the main fuss had died down and the media had started to talk about different news. Their faces and names were still broadcasted, but the photos are grainy, the descriptions vague. 

Plus, Steve became Captain America for a reason. He charms his way into the town immediately when they pass by a farm on the way into town and notices that the  (put in farm accident or something that wins the affection of the town)

After that, Steve and Bucky were welcomed with open arms. Lorraine, who runs the diner, gave them free coffee and the “breakfast deluxe” when they first came in. She thanks them, saying it's from the whole town, and whatever Lorraine says goes because then everyone knows who Steve and Bucky are-- or at least they know Roger and James. They’re names they had picked out back during the Howling Commando days. Undercover names. They never needed them, but used them for fun. If only Dum Dum could see them now.  

…