Chapter 1: I. To Be a Soldier
Summary:
Day After Tomorrow - Phoebe Bridgers
Notes:
PLEASE DO NOT REPOST/POST TO ANY OTHER PLATFORMS. THIS AO3 ACCOUNT IS THE ONLY WRITING PLATFORM USED BY WONWO_O.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
With every blow, every punch Seungcheol delivers to the red punching bag, the chains holding it up rattle loudly against the quiet air. Every hit is faster, more powered than the one before. The only light on is the one above him, fluorescent and flickering despite everything in this building being newly upgraded. Grey walls, sleek black floors, polished so well that if he looked down, he could see his reflection staring right back at him, untainted. The red punching bag is stark against the modern surroundings and he could laugh, really.
He feels out of place. Hell, he is out of place.
Sticking out like a sore thumb ever since they found him in the ice, frozen against time. Seventy years lost, just like that. Everything has moved faster than he could have ever imagined—technology, transportation, society, everything. Somehow, he’s meant to keep up, meant to keep his chin forward, back straight, help people because that’s what he was made for, what he was transformed for and…
This wasn’t supposed to happen—he was supposed to die like a hero, saving his country and being remembered as someone who sacrificed.
Someone worthy.
There used to be hope that maybe everything that has led him to this point would be worth it in the end, but as each day passes, he’s less and less sure.
The punching bag rips beneath his fist, sand pouring out onto the floor at his feet, around his bare feet. His chest is heaving, his black hair hanging in his face and his bare knuckles bloody and bruised, the purple hues already starting to fade as they heal.
Through the blood rushing in his ears, he can hear the door buzzing and the heavy material sliding open and then shut. Light footsteps sound closer and closer until they come to a calculated halt approximately three feet behind Seungcheol.
It’s Minghao, he knows this by the light footsteps alone, but looks over his shoulder to confirm and is greeted by his bright red hair contrasting greatly with his all black stealth suit hugging his slim and muscular body.
“Captain,” he says, a smirk in his tone. “Jihoon is looking for you.”
Seungcheol looks back down, body trying to regain his breath like it’s 1949 and he still has asthma keeping him from properly sucking air into his lungs. Minghao looks down, following his line of sight and raises an eyebrow. “Destroying SHIELD property, I see.”
“This is mine,” Seungcheol says, voice rough and raspy, regarding the sand still tainting the floor that is now partially covering his reflection, then regarding the ruined, red leather. “Was. It was mine.”
Minghao nods, rocking on his heel as he clicks his tongue. “Well, regardless. Jihoon still needs to see you.”
Seungcheol sniffs and nods, the back of his wrist brushing his nose. “I’ll shower and be right there.”
✪
Lee Jihoon was the first person Seungcheol grew to trust after being retrieved from the ice.
He has a blunt way of speaking—sugar coating is never an option, especially not when it comes to Seungcheol. He is a trusted member of the Veteran Affairs center in the heart of Seoul. Trusted, likeable, never anything less than true to himself or others. Maybe that’s why SHIELD chose him to talk to Seungcheol after their difficult start with him.
(It had taken Seungcheol two months to leave the apartment they set up for him—they mimicked the layout of his apartment before the war. Everything was the same, down to the scratch in the floorboards where Seungcheol had broken a beer bottle in 1948. It was the worst and best feeling, being somewhere so achingly familiar but without one integral part. They couldn’t give that back to him—no one ever could. Leaving was hard when all he wanted to do was sit in the past. But eventually, when promised that he would be more useful than not, he spent eight months adjusting to this new life filled with missions and tasks and people who could hang on the wall like spiders or turn any-sized. He requested a renovation when the nightmares became frequent and within a week the charming home was replaced by stale whites and blacks and greys.)
Even then, he still had been reluctant to open up, mostly sticking to himself, doing his job only to retreat back into his solitude.
Meeting Jihoon changed that, though.
⍟
A knock at the door sounds against the quietness. Seungcheol pauses from where he was reading a newspaper, setting the pages down gently against the black, marble island. Then, without warning, the door opens and someone crosses the threshold.
“Come on, soldier. Let’s see if you’re as special as they say you are—”
Seungcheol is on his feet, has the intruder by their neck and against the wall within the second. “Who the fuck sent you?” He practically spits and the person blinks, eyes sharp and dark.
He speaks easily, unfazed. “Agent Boo said that you’re having a hard time adjusting and wanted me to help. My name is Jihoon, Lee Jihoon but you probably know me as Falcon—they said you’d know I was coming.”
Seungcheol had been told. The embarrassment hits him like a freight train and he drops Jihoon promptly, suddenly aware of the several inches between their heights. He steps away, eyes locked on the floor in guilt. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay, I get it. It's hard adjusting to life outside the military, let alone life outside the military in a completely different era.” He presses his lips together and cocks his head toward the door. “What do you say to some jogging, soldier?”
Seungcheol huffs out a laugh, standing straighter in a way that enunciates his broad shoulders, hands on his hips. “Soldier? It’s Captain.”
“You’ve gotta earn that title,” Jihoon says with a shrug. “What do you say? Three miles?”
Seungcheol eyes him up and down. He’s got a good build, he could handle more. “Five.”
“I can do five,” Jihoon agrees.
⍟
Jihoon could not do five.
Seungcheol laps him within the first mile, a smirk on his face as he calls, “On your left!” for the second time, Jihoon growing irritated.
“Yah! I can see you, you bastard. I know exactly where you are!”
Seungcheol smiles to himself, pushing forward until the wind is whipping on his face and he’s nearing Jihoon again. “On your—”
Jihoon trips him. Seungcheol loses his balance, tumbling on the floor before catching himself in a somersault and standing upright, turning around to look at Jihoon only to find him lying on the floor, spread out like a starfish with his chest heaving and a wheeze rattling from his lungs.
Seungcheol walks over, hands on his hips and eyes squinted against the beaming sun as he looks down at him. “You alright?”
“Not my proudest moment,” Jihoon says, out of breath with sweat glistening against his hairline. “But man, did it feel good to see you take a fall, even if you made it look cooler than it needed to be.”
Seungcheol laughs, the first genuine laugh he’s had since he woke up in that bullshit makeshift hospital. He looks up at the sky, takes in the day for what it is with its blue skies and abundant clouds, which is beautiful. “You work with SHIELD?” He asks after his laughter settles and Jihoon is standing again.
“New recruit,” Jihoon says. “Still figuring it all out if I’m being comepletely honest. It’s a lot different than the military.”
“Active duty?”
“Right by the north’s border,” Jihoon explains. “It was nothing compared to what you went through but it definitely wasn’t ideal either.”
Seungcheol nods, understanding. “Thank you for your service.”
This time, Jihoon is laughing. “Shouldn’t I be thanking you , Captain? I mean, you drove a fucking plane into the Arctic for our country. All I did was bitch about bug bites.”
Seungcheol remembers the coldness, the hammering of his heart, the desperation coming in through the radio telling him to stop being so selfish, that there are easier ways to do this. And maybe there were different ways, but to Seungcheol, this was the best.
He remembers the crash, the unbearable noise of the metal of the plane scraping against the ice. And then, the blackness, dreams that he lived in like it was bliss; dancing in a water stained living room to a broken radio, brown eyes and dark hair and the crooked tips of fingers intertwined between his and—
“We should go,” Seungcheol says, chest feeling cold. “Are you hungry?”
✪
Jihoon is waiting for him in one of the briefing rooms.
Seungcheol is redressed now and freshly showered, wearing a black sweatshirt and sweatpants, hair still damp. Jihoon is staring up at a blue hologram when Seungcheol walks in, the tips of his fingers pressed into his lips as his eyes flicker through the text displayed in front of him. His eyes find Seungcheol for a fleeting moment.
“Took you long enough.”
“I was sparring,” Seungcheol explains even though he knows Jihoon, in the kindest sense, doesn’t care.
“You’ve been working with Scarlett Witch, right? Do you think he’s ready to join a mission?”
Seungcheol stops to think. Chan, Lee Chan, hair a burnt orange and a timid nature that bleeds into his mannerisms that can snap within the second. Alias Scarlett Witch.
He came in a little over a year ago after being retrieved from Slovakia with his older brother Lee Seokmin, Quicksilver, silver hair, eyes always a bit worried, always so protective of his younger brother. They were taken from Korea at young ages, experimented on mercilessly, made to distrust everyone around them—it was a hellish mission, but eventually they succeeded. After gaining their trust, they’ve focused on training them to join the team.
Seungcheol has often been tasked with taking Chan under his wing, Jihoon or Minghao usually taking responsibility for Seokmin. They’re both smart, quick learners—Seokmin’s incredible speed more and more powerful everyday, Chan’s telekinesis and energy manipulation far more impressive than Seungcheol has ever seen in his life.
They’re ready, both of them are. He settles for a nod and a quick, yes. Jihoon nods, too, trusting his judgement. “Alright, we’ll be taking Chan with us, then.”
Seungcheol blinks, furrowing his thick eyebrows. “Wait—we’re going back to Slovakia… Jihoon, that could trigger potential memories—”
“We have to see where he’s at in terms of mental healing,” Jihoon explains. “Seokmin just came back from his first mission, too. He seems to be okay. What better way to find out than this?”
Seungcheol presses his lips together distastefully. It’s not the easiest mission to test such things. Sentient bots have been terrorizing a small city—an army of bots, actually. The origin is unknown and the bots are loyal, determined and armed.
Maybe his hesitance is due to his soft spot for Chan—beneath the hostility and fear he often displays, he’s just a kid. A smart one, at that. Not only that, but he doesn’t make Seungcheol feel like he’s on some pedestal—he knows little to nothing about Captain Korea. Chan only knows Choi Seungcheol who happens to be Captain Korea, agent of SHIELD, not the soldier to the public he used to be. If he knows about his legacy during the 625 War he doesn’t show it—how Seungcheol was made by another country to gain support so people could easily choose a side, choose someone to root for, who was worthy enough to help. He was made to prove that his country deserved to be looked at twice despite the divide being forced upon them.
But Chan doesn’t know, or maybe he does and he’s just kind enough to feign obliviousness.
Either way, Seungcheol is grateful.
Within the hour, they’re preparing to take off. Seungcheol puts on his stealth suit, its color a black that is nearly invisible in the night, the red and blue taegeuk in the middle of his chest with thick, silver lines branching away from it. A brown leather gear belt is buckled around his waist, equipped with a gun and extra bullets—not that he ever needs them.
His main weapon is his shield. He grabs it from where it is mounted on the wall, its black and silver rings shining, a matching red and blue taegeuk in the center, the vibranium light in his hands as he looks at it.
A symbol of hope—that’s what they had called it all those decades ago.
Jihoon calls out his name and Seungcheol snaps out of his thoughts, slotting the shield onto his back and grabbing his helmet before jogging to catch up with the rest of them boarding the quinjet.
For the first few minutes, he stands at the front of the jet with Minghao, looking out into the vast sky. He gets a look of himself in the reflection of the dash.
He can’t help but think that it's still eerily foreign to him at times. Muscles on his arms and his bicep and pectorals are practically straining against the bulletproof fabric of the suit. His face is still the same—round, brown eyes, dark and long and thick lashes. Full lips and a small mouth, almost naturally pouted at times. Dark and thick, black hair, longer than it’s ever been in his life.
Unaging, timeless.
“Hyung,” Chan’s voice calls from the back of the jet, capturing Seungcheol’s attention, head snapping toward the sound, feet moving on their own accord to sit next to him.
“You alright?” He asks, trying to meet Chan’s eyes that seem to be flickering everywhere they can land except for on Seungcheol.
“Just nervous, I think,” Chan answers, hands fidgeting on his lap. “It’s a big jump from training.”
“If it helps, I think you’re ready,” Seungcheol tries. “And if you still feel like you’re not, you’ve got me by your side, you’ve got Jihoon by your side. Hell, you’ve even got Minghao and Junhui on your side on this mission, alright? We wouldn’t let anything happen to you.”
Chan visibly relaxes, exhaling heavily before giving Seungcheol a small smile. It counts for something, Seungcheol thinks, so he ruffles Chan’s fiery orange hair and heads over to where Junhui is sharpening the tip of his arrows.
He whistles, impressed as the metal tip glints against the fluorescent lights. “What is that? Vibranium?”
“Adamantium,” Junhui answers after a beat, adjusting his hearing aid with a smirk, glancing up at Seungcheol. “They used all the vibranium on that fancy shield of yours.”
Seungcheol laughs, throwing his head back. “Ah, yeah. It makes me look pretty, you know?”
“Ease up on the flirting,” Minghao calls from beside Jihoon, leaning against the dash, a joking lilt to his tone. “We land in five minutes.”
Seungcheol lightly punches Junhui’s shoulder, ignoring the dramatic and pained sound he makes in favor of grabbing his helmet and strapping it on properly beneath his chin.
He gives Chan a reassuring smile with a two finger salute that makes him laugh, easing the tension the slightest bit.
“Alright,” Seungcheol calls, remembering the details given before boarding. “We’ve got an army of sentient bots that are looking to eradicate an entire city by any means. They’re loyal to whatever the hell created them, they’re unafraid, but I think we can gain control with some simple techniques. We split up—Junhui, we’ll need you as high as you can get.”
Junhui nods and gives him a salute. “Roger that.”
“Jihoon,” Seungcheol continues. “Watch Junhui’s back, stay high, but stay low, you understand?”
“Draw minimal attention,” Jihoon simplifies. “Yeah, I can do that.”
“Minghao, take out as many of them as you can. Chan, stay with Minghao, watch his back, be careful.”
“What about you?” Chan asks, fingers twitching against his sides.
Seungcheol smiles. “I can hold my own, don’t worry about me.”
The quinjet lands, invisible to the naked eye—which would be fine if they were up against humans. They file out quickly, the quinjet taking off the moment the last of them steps off, rising up into the sky before blending in with the clouds and sky, awaiting their return.
Junhui cranes his neck, Minghao’s eyes narrow toward the city just beyond the cliff, and Chan’s eyes glow red, on high alert, Jihoon’s mechanical wings span out and he's shooting off into the air. Junhui leaves shortly after to find higher ground and Minghao gestures for Chan to follow him, gracefully treading down the rocky terrain. Seungcheol observes the area, gloved hand coming up to his ear comm. “Everyone’s comms are working, right?”
“You checked twice already,” Jihoon says
“Found higher ground,” Junhui informs. “Falcon, you have eyes on me?”
“Copy,” Jihoon answers, the sound of whipping wind present in the background.
“Black Widow, Scarlett Witch?” Seungcheol tries.
“We copy,” Minghao’s voice comes in hushed. “Spotted a crowd of bots—civilians are in sight. How do we proceed, Captain?”
Seungcheol spots another crowd of bots herding civilians like cattle. “Start rounding civilians and taking them to the underground bunker. Don’t draw attention, we want to avoid as many casualties as possible.”
“Copy—on it.”
Seungcheol inhales until his lungs burn and grabs his shield, the metallic sound sharp against the air. It latches to his arm easily, and he’s off to help Minghao and Chan round as many people as they can. It’s easy to remember why he still does this; the relieved eyes that meet his, the spark of hope that ignites people’s faces once they realize that there’s help. It makes Seungcheol feel a bit more human.
He finds a group of civilians hiding behind an abandoned church, huddled together and startling when they hear Seungcheol’s heavy boots crunching against the ground. He extends a hand out to them, shield by his side to show that he trusts them and he wants them to trust him.
“Captain Korea,” one of the children whispers, breaking from his mother’s embrace to follow Seungcheol, looking over his shoulder and beckoning them over.
After a few seconds of hesitance, they begin to timidly approach him. Seungcheol plucks the few Slovak words he knows out of his brain, stringing along a sentence that he hopes says, “ Please let me help you, there’s a safe space underground.”
They seem to understand, following him down a small slope with grass and bushes, Seungcheol moving aside a camouflaged hole cover and helping them jump in one by one.
Then, Minghao’s voice comes in through his comms. “We have an issue Captain. The bots are starting to suspect—”
A shrieking alarm blares and Seungcheol naps his head toward the origin of the sound—a bot standing several yards away, metal hand pointing directly at the group. Before Seungcheol can hurl his shield at it, an arrow pierces its wired spine and it shuts down with a loud drone.
It’s too late, though, Seungcheol already knows. They’ve been found out.
“Fuck,” he curses under his breath, turning to rush the rest of the people into the hole. “Hurry! Hurry now—!”
Gunfire erupts just as the cover is put into place, Seungcheol’s instincts kicking in before his mind has time to process, shield whipping around to cover his body. He pushes forward, the harsh sound of bullets clanging against his shield, taking the chance and throwing his shield forcefully, severing the metal bodies of a group of bots starting to near him.
“You’ve got at least a hundred and twenty about to close in on you,” Jihoon’s voice crackles through the comms.
Seungcheol sprints toward the heart of the town, leading civilians to safer areas for the time being, making use of the buffer period he has before its time to go all in.
A bot is flung in his direction, surrounded by a red energy and hitting the side of the building with a harsh sound.
Chan’s voice comes through after, “I got your back, Cap.”
“Thanks, Chan,” Seungcheol says just as a bot dives from one of the roofs and lands on Seungcheol’s back.
He throws himself on the floor, his weight crushing the heavy thing and he clutches the metal skull in his hand until it’s crushed and the body is limp. When he gets up, he sees Minghao snapping one’s neck and Chan using his telekinesis to pick two of them up and ram them into each other until they’re nothing but chunks and scraps of metal. Bullets rain down from above on the group starting to surround them, courtesy of Jihoon. Arrows flit down from higher up, piercing the bots in the spine and skulls, sending them to the floor as useless as ever.
They work in perfect harmony, subtle teamwork that makes it so much easier to accomplish their tasks. Every punch, every throw of Seungcheol’s shield is answered with someone watching his back, looking out for him.
“Heads up, Cap,” Junhui says. “You’re gonna wanna take a few steps back.”
Seungcheol complies, backing away from the bots before an arrow pierces the ground anticlimactically. He blinks, looking around at the others who seem just as confused. “I think you missed—”
A loud boom sounds, the arrow erupting into an explosion that has Seungcheol planting his feet on the floor for some balance.
Jihoon comes down from the sky, mechanical wings folding in as his feet touch the floor, Junhui coming into view on one of the roofs, a breeze whipping through his hair as he crouches down, drawing another arrow with ease.
They’re down to their last several bots, Seungcheol running headfirst into the fight, shield swinging, crashing down onto the ones he can reach, Junhui’s arrows demobilizing them and Minghao finishes those off. Chan throws them into the ground or against concrete buildings, Jihoon taking them into the sky, breaking their backs against his knee and leaving them to plummet.
Seungcheol is on his last one, its neck in his hand as he starts to squeeze, crushing the wires.
Then, it begins to speak.
“Win—winter—winter— is—n-near, ” the robot groans before short circuiting, its metal body limp and clanging as Seungcheol lets it go and it noisily falls to the ground.
A heavy and confusing silence settles in the air, Seungcheol furrowing his eyebrows as he kneels, cocking his head and taking note of a red marking on the back of its skull.
“It’s only May,” Junhui says unhelpfully.
Seungcheol’s eyebrows stay furrowed, standing up and kicking the lifeless bot over before reaching down and tearing off a piece with his bare hand. “We’ve got to get this back to SHIELD.”
✪
Agent Boo (Seungcheol just calls him by his name at this point— Seungkwan; he likes to think they’re close enough by now considering Seungkwan is the one who found Seungcheol having a panic attack, naked, in the gym showers after his first mission) schedules a meeting with the entire team when they get back from Slovakia. He’s the head agent, responsible for their missions, their briefings, possibly everything they do, everything that comes in and goes out of SHIELD.
Seungcheol isn’t sure what he was expecting, but he’s a little more than surprised at the amount of people sitting in the room. Soonyoung, alias Ant-Man, someone that is too happy all the time in a way that is sort of endearing instead of annoying. Hansol, alias Spider-Man, a kid originally from New York that is actually not a kid so much anymore who likes to think his crush on Seungkwan is subtle but Seungcheol can see right through him. Wonwoo, an android made of organic-like materials brought to life with a mind stone placed in the middle of his forehead—if it wasn’t for the stone and the lined dents of where his skin is pieced together in artificially made patches, he would look completely human.
Joshua, alias Iron Man, is missing, something Seungcheol isn’t surprised by in the slightest. Chan, Jihoon, Minghao, Seokmin, and Junhui occupy the rest of the empty seats.
“Captain has something he’d like to share,” Seungkwan says after greeting everyone, gesturing toward Seungcheol standing on the other end of the long, glass table.
Seungcheol nods, uncrossing his arms. “Red star on the base of its skull,” he says, tossing the metal chunk that he had been holding down the table until it comes to a stop just in front of Seungkwan. “Soviets.”
“We call them Russians now,” Hansol says, quickly hushed by Seungkwan.
“That’s—no, we don’t,” he huffs, holding up the piece of metal, turning it over in his hands with creased brows, delicate fingers tracing over the red star. “What business do they have with these?”
“Obviously they’re not reliable,” Seungcheol says. “We took them down in under two hours.”
“Maybe they weren’t meant to be something important,” Minghao suggests. “Maybe it was a distraction.”
It’s hard to remember that Minghao has seen things, knows things better than anyone in this room, having been part of the most controversial, intense Soviet underground training program designed to create lethal assassins. If anyone knows the Soviets like the back of their hand, it’s Minghao.
“Distraction?” Seokmin asks, his hand protectively clutching Chan’s arm. “Are they planning something worse?”
“What can be worse than this? They’ve managed to create these—these things that are sentient enough to give us riddles,” Chan says. When everyone looks at him curiously, he nervously glances at Seungcheol. “Well, didn’t they tell you something, hyung? Winter is coming?”
Seungcheol blinks, having completely forgotten about that in the midst of everything. “It probably doesn’t mean anything,” he tries but Minghao shakes his head.
“It could,” Minghao says, voice quiet. Eyes distant. “It has to.”
“Nothing shows up in the records for such a saying,” Wonwoo chimes in quickly, head tilting to the side. “No known riddles either. Perhaps in a different language… Scanning… No, nothing. Apologies.”
“Isn’t he the coolest?” Soonyoung beams, earning a nod from only Chan.
Seungkwan sighs, rubbing at his temples with his pointer and middle fingers. “We’ll increase our surveillance on them for the time being. Be on high alert—if we find anything we’ll have to send a group out to investigate.”
They’re dismissed just as Joshua finally shows up drinking coffee and eating a donut, eyes wide. “Did I miss it? I missed it, didn’t I?”
Seungcheol rolls his eyes. “One minute too late.”
“Aw, Cap,” Joshua coos, doe eyes crinkled. “Why didn’t you come and get me? I would’ve given you a donut.”
“Unfortunately, I was busy picking up your slack,” Seungcheol jokes and Joshua cackles, obviously delighted by the banter.
It had taken Seungcheol a while to warm up to Joshua Hong.
Seungcheol was untrusting towards Joshua, even though his grandfather was a pioneer of technology in South Korea, especially during the 625 War, and he had seamlessly taken his place in the tech world for his riveting inventions and studies on technology. Seungcheol knew him personally, watched him manipulate vibranium and turn it into a pretty and painted shield just for him.
Joshua Hong, though.
He’s Joshua Hong —a young, attractive bachelor—a gay, young, attractive bachelor. Everyone praised him, kissed the ground he walked on, accepted him with open arms. Magazine cover after magazine cover, interview upon interview everywhere. Everywhere Seungcheol went, he would see Joshua’s face—on the subway ads, on newspapers.
Maybe it was the bitterness that made Seungcheol have such a distaste for him, the jealousy of seeing someone so openly free fall into the acceptance that he craved.
But they’re better now—he understands Joshua a little bit more, can see that beneath his charm and jokes, he’s a genuine person navigating this world for the first time, too.
Joshua polishes off the rest of his donut and his eyes light up, the sticky tips of his fingers pointing at Seungcheol. “I saw your pretty face in the museum the other day.”
“Uh,” Seungcheol blinks. “Sorry, what?”
“The exhibit dedicated to you, remember?” Joshua says, gesturing around vaguely. “Seungkwan got your okay to use some of your personal belongings to display—it’s actually cool as fuck. You should go see it!”
“I’ll keep that in mind, Joshua,” Seungcheol says with a tight smile, exhaustion crashing into him unexpectedly.
Luckily, Joshua can read his body language well at this point and cuts the conversation short with the promise to visit him tomorrow. Seungcheol retreats back to his apartment, listens to the elevator making his way to one of the highest floors before indicating his arrival with a chime.
I miss elevator music, he thinks wistfully as he exits the silent and confined area.
He takes an hour-long shower, mostly standing beneath the steaming spray as he stares blankly at the water swirling down the drain. By the time he gets out of the shower, he’s swaying on his feet, exhausted and, for once, excited to lay down. He puts a record on the turntable Joshua had gifted him for his last birthday and lays on his stiff mattress, staring into the darkness until his eyes droop shut.
⍟
The radio crackles with more news of the invasion—KPA forces crossed the 38th parallel just a week ago. The Hangang Bridge was blown to pieces, four thousand people killed. It all starts to sound the same after that, more bad news, more deaths, more meddling from the west disguised as help—the need to help for selfish, selfish reasons. They didn’t need help in the first place. He wishes the outside world saw that, too.
They’ll have to evacuate their small apartment soon. That’s what they’re saying—it isn’t safe here. Too many risks.
The front door lock clicks open and Seungcheol snaps his head from where he’s sitting in front of the radio, dark eyes wide as he stands and someone familiar comes in, closing the door behind them and locking it.
Jeonghan turns to face him, a smile on his face while avoiding Seungcheol’s eyes. “Hey, darling.”
“Your hair,” Seungcheol says, taking slow steps toward Jeonghan. “Jeonghan—you… You cut it?”
Jeonghan instinctively runs a hand through his hair, the short and black strands falling into his face. It’s a stark difference from the locks that would reach just past his chin. He likes to keep it long, let it hang naturally at home and slick it back with a heavy amount of gel when he goes out. It brings out the slimness in his face and his feminine features that disappear the moment it is cut so short. Now, he looks boyishly youthful, his long lashes straight, the curve of his nose sharper. Still beautiful, still handsome, but so… different. “Yeah,” he says after a moment, huffing out a laugh that doesn’t sound all that genuine. “It’s—I had to.”
Seungcheol blinks, dark lashes fanning his cheeks. “Had to?”
Jeonghan reaches into the pocket of his trousers, pulls out a folded piece of paper and hands it to Seungcheol. “According to this, yeah.”
Seungcheol glances at Jeonghan, unsure, before plucking the paper with his thin fingers. He squints to adjust his focus, eyes never working the way they’re supposed to and makes out enough words to understand. The tears well up instantly. “You—you’re…”
“Drafted,” Jeonghan finishes with a tight smile. “I leave for training next week.”
“Oh,” Seungcheol says shakily, throat thick and hands shaking as he tries to keep the tears from spilling over. “That’s—that’s… wow, okay. That’s so soon.”
Jeonghan is sighing, in Seungcheol’s space within the second to tip his chin up with his fingers, forcing their eyes to meet. “What happened to not letting me fail, Cheollie? Hm? I’ve gotta do this—it’s quite literally the law.”
Seungcheol nods. He understands that this is not something one can get out of doing. The radio had said that they would be drafting young men immediately to expand the military—he just thought that maybe, possibly, Jeonghan would be an exception. “Maybe I can go, too,” Seungcheol says after a moment. Sure, he’s got a list of medical issues longer than the bible but he could always pull some strings, tell a few lies. He knows people who have done it, it’s possible.
“You’ve got two left feet and you can’t even get up the stairs without taking a break, Cheollie,” Jeonghan says, a joking lilt to his tone even though it’s all true. He taps Seungcheol’s chin. “I’ll be okay, I promise. I’ll write to you every day.”
Seungcheol weakly punches him, bony fist meeting the slight and lean muscle Jeonghan’s arms carry. “Yah, don’t make promises—you haven’t even left yet.”
Jeonghan smiles, all straight and white teeth. “Let’s go enjoy the few days we have left together, then.”
“At least until you come back,” Seungcheol corrects. “Because you’ll come back home.”
This time, Jeonghan’s smile doesn’t meet his eyes. “Yeah, baby. I’ll come back home.”
✪
Seungcheol jolts awake with a gasp, air filling his lungs as his body lurches upright, sweaty and cold. He blinks the bleariness away, grips his hand into the stiff sheets to ground himself as he begins to go through the mental list he made to keep himself sane when waking up from the frequent dreams and nightmares.
This is now.
It is no longer 1950.
He can breathe without his lungs rattling and wheezing, he can see without glasses, his bones are nowhere near as brittle as they once were and he can lift more than humanly possible.
Jeonghan is no longer here with him, no longer alive. His laugh isn’t ringing in the air, his touch isn’t lingering on Seungcheol’s skin.
That one is always the hardest to get past.
He stays up until the sun begins to peek through the horizon, clouds moving in from the south and threatening rain. It takes no time to decide to go for a jog, throwing on grey sweatpants and an oversized black hoodie on top of a white t-shirt, leaving his apartment with nothing except the clothes on his back.
Eventually, he finds himself at the familiar track, bending down to lace his shoes properly just as someone calls “On your left!”
Seungcheol snaps his head up, finding Jihoon already taking off in a sprint. He smiles to himself, lets Jihoon gather some hope before taking off and catching up within fifteen seconds.
They run until their (Jihoon’s) lungs are burning and they’re sitting on the floor, the sun beginning to fully rise, clouds rolling toward them.
“Couldn’t sleep?” Jihoon asks after a while.
Seungcheol nods, gaze aimed toward the neatly trimmed grass. “Something like that. You?”
“Something like that,” Jihoon repeats, the corner of his mouth tilting up. “Nightmares?”
Seungcheol swallows, blinking up at the heavy clouds getting closer. They’re not nightmares, per se. Not when he’s dreaming about Jeonghan before the war. The nightmare is waking up; the nightmare is remembering. Maybe it is a nightmare in its own way, then. He settles for a nod again. “Yeah, nightmares.”
Jihoon gives him a sympathetic, pressed smile. “Guess all soldiers are the same.”
“We’re more similar than we’re different,” Seungcheol points out.
“We were told to worship you, you know? ” Jihoon says, earning a disbelieving chuckle from Seungcheol. “I’m serious—they would show us all those clips of you in the back of trucks and military vehicles. I know they’re scripted, but a lot of the guys loved it.”
Seungcheol laughs. He remembers having to film those—it was propaganda, something to inspire and give some hope. They forced him to make them even after he lost… everything. “Yeah, and what’d you think? Did you worship me?”
Jihoon tugs at his lip with his teeth before looking at Seungcheol. The wind tousles his hair and it’s vulnerable, almost too vulnerable. “I thought that you looked sad.”
Seungcheol lets out a breath somewhere between a laugh and a huff. “Yeah,” he says. “That’s… That sounds right.”
✪
Getting paired to do missions with Minghao always brings new surprises, like a winded up jack in the box that changes with every eruption, frightening yet exhilarating and Seungcheol is left coming back with newfound curiosity. It’s no different this time around. The quinjet is filled with other agents, meant to be of support although it’s evident that he and Minghao will be doing the brunt of the work. The agent at the head of the group, Agent Park, is thorough with his knowledge, informs Seungcheol of the details.
There are hostages being held on this satellite launch platform owned by SHIELD. Pirates— that’s what the agent had said more than once. Pirates are taking this vessel hostage and it’s a problem. Enough for it to be Seungcheol’s responsibility, enough for Minghao to be sent down onto the boat beforehand.
There’s loose conversation about what the pirates are asking for—billions of won, something SHIELD can afford but refuse to pay. What would that say about them? That they are weak when it comes to their property? Not only that, but these hostages will die with or without the money. It’s never about the money.
Twenty five pirates led by a man who’s name Seungcheol cannot remember for the life of him, and thirty four hostages including techs that were just trying their best to do their job.
“Do we have a location for the hostages?” Seungcheol asks, latching his shield onto his back, the sound of the vibranium tinging clumsily against his ears.
“There’s a control room on the east side,” Agent Park says. “We believe that they are there.”
Seungcheol frowns, thick and dark eyebrows prominent against his skin. He looks over his shoulder, can hear Park swallow nervously. “You think?”
“We—we know, Captain,” Agent Park corrects. “That’s where they are.”
Seungcheol nods before straightening his shoulder. There’s a heavy silence as everyone waits for his orders, as he slicks his teeth with his tongue and tilts his chin down the slightest bit. “I’ll sweep the deck and find our main guy—the chances of him sticking with the hostages are low, he’ll definitely be letting his guys do the brunt of the work. “Minghao, do you copy?”
Minghao’s voice sounds in his ear, the crashing of waves carrying over as well. “You know I do.”
Seungcheol resists the urge to roll his eyes and laugh. These are serious matters. “Good. Minghao, the engines need to be off. After that, wait for instructions. Agents, find the hostages. Get them out safely and discreetly. I’ll sweep the deck and find the main guy and deal with him accordingly. Agents, life pods are on the craft, be quick and be out. Ready?” A chorus of agreements sound. “Alright. Let’s go.”
The agents behind him shuffle as they ready themselves. Seungcheol holds his wrist to his lips, speaking into the communicator carefully. “Secure channel thirteen.”
“Channel thirteen secured,” Minghao replies. Then, without missing a beat, “What are your plans for Saturday?”
Keeping myself sane, Seungcheol almost says. Almost. He knows better than to be so honest with Minghao. “I’m not thinking about Saturday right now.”
“You need to get a life,” Minghao says bluntly. “Go kiss a pretty girl.”
“Or guy,” Seungcheol says before he can think twice. He pauses, squeezing his eyes shut with regret. He can practically hear Minghao’s jaw hit the floor.
“Captain Korea is one of us?” He gasps like he’s scandalized, like him and Junhui haven’t been caught with their lips on each other's neck in elevators and hallways. “Who would’ve thought?”
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” Seungcheol answers. It’s true—there is so much people haven’t seen, haven’t been told. Captain Korea has been so carefully crafted ever since Seungcheol stepped out of that chamber with three times the muscle mass and one thousand times the strength.
Choi Seungcheol is different than all the smoke and mirrors—has lived a different life than what is known to the public. Sometimes, he wishes he could thrust it out into the open, let it bleed into the streets until the soles of those passing by are tainted. It would be worth it, he thinks vaguely.
“Maybe one day you can tell me,” Minghao says, voice softer than before.
“One day,” Seungcheol says. The door to the side of the quinjet slides open, the air whipping around his black hair.
“And when is that?”
Seungcheol shrugs to himself and then, he jumps.
Minghao scoffs in his ear. “No parachute? Show off.”
The water is cold against Seungcheol’s face as he crashes through the surface. For a moment, it’s like he can’t breathe, like he can feel the water freezing over and stilling his lungs and his blood. But he’s surfacing before he can be pulled under the panic and the wind hitting the cold water on his face is enough to shock him back into reality.
He makes it to the ship in one piece, climbs until he’s hauling himself up onto the deck, the wetness beading off his waterproof stealth suit and dripping from his black hair onto his broad shoulders. He unclips his navy blue helmet from his belt, slotting it onto his head and strapping it beneath his chin. It takes all of twenty second before he’s found, which is what he wanted—it’s better that the attention be on him than on the hostages.
From there, it’s all a blur and pure instinct.
His shield is off his back and in the air, taking out two pirates while another one tries to catch him off guard with a punch to his back. He looks over his shoulder, unimpressed. The pirate visibly stills, eyes looking over Seungcheol as the shield returns back to him and he catches it nonchalantly without looking, eyes boring into the man. The air is still. Seungcheol braces himself, bends his knees the slightest bit just in case he’s charged at.
And then, the man is trying to run. It doesn’t take much for Seungcheol to stop him, a simple toss of his shield, the sound of the body hitting the floor. Seungcheol catches his shield with ease again, latching it back on before continuing to sweep the deck.
Four, five, six more pirates are taken out with ease that makes Seungcheol wonder if he really is needed here. He doesn’t question it, he never does.
A gunshot sounds from behind him, his back tensing as he whips his shield around, crouching to hide his body behind the vibranium, waiting for the harsh sound of the bullet hitting the metal. The sound never comes and Seungcheol holds his breath, looking over the curved edge of the shield and finding Minghao staring back at him, gun still pointed.
As Seungcheol straightens up, he takes a glance at the body on the floor between them, the crimson blood starting to pool quickly. He hums, toeing at the limp body. “Thanks.”
Minghao raises an eyebrow, tilting his head to the side as he drops his arm, gun aimed at the floor. “Distracted, Captain?”
“Nope,” Seungcheol denies. “Just wanted you to get at least one of them.”
“So considerate of you,” Minghao snorts before straightening his shoulders, a hint of a smile on his lips. “Tell me a fun fact about yourself.”
“Secure the engine room,” Seungcheol starts. “And then I’ll tell you a fun fact about me.”
Minghao rolls his eyes, his red hair fluttering as the wind floats around them. “You’re too good at your job.”
Seungcheol gives him an exaggerated salute as he walks backward and away from Minghao. “Go do your job.”
It’s only a matter of time before the rest of the pirates realize that they’re missing a good chunk of their men. The clock is ticking, seconds counting down. If they have time to find out, the hostages are as good as dead. They need to act quickly.
Seungcheol looks for the control room, heading east and scanning every crevice and door for more pirates. A gunshot sounds and Agent Park’s voice comes through the ear comms.
“Pirate down. He had orders to check on those on the deck. We only have a two minute window before things get messy, Captain.”
“Get a bomb on the door,” Seungcheol orders. “I’ll be there in a second.”
He quickens his pace, seconds mentally counting down with all the lives in their hands. He finds the control room, a light above them flickering helplessly. Agent Park meets his eyes and aims his gun at the door with a nod.
“Target acquired,” Park says into the comm. “Agents in position.”
Seungcheol brings his wrist to his lips. “Minghao, what’s your status?” They’re met with radio silence, seconds feeling like hours. Seungcheol grits his teeth, speaking more forcefully this time. There’s no time to fuck around. “Minghao, what is your status?”
“Hold on!” Minghao’s voice crackles, the sound of a pained grunt that is too low to be his muted in the background. “Engine room secure.”
There’s a scream from inside the control room—their two minutes are up. “On my mark,” Seungcheol says. The agents hold their guns up, square their shoulders, lock in. “Three. Two. One.”
The door blows open, agents filtering in quickly with shouts and demands for the pirates to lower their weapons. Seungcheol whips his head around, searching for the man at the head of this entire thing. Seungcheol finds him quickly, the name coming to him like a ringing memory— Pelletier . Serge Pelletier.
He spots Seungcheol in an instant, escaping out of the room with obvious panic. There’s no second thought as Seungcheol sprints toward his direction, legs fast, surroundings passing him by as he dodges and weaves through his own agents. He sends his shield into the glass wall, the object barely missing Pelletier on the other side, lodging itself into the metal wall as he makes a run for it. Seungcheol jumps over the controls, Pelletier already sprinting away as Seungcheol pulls his shield from the wall and follows.
He barely makes out Pelletier turning a corner—a shortcut. Or what he thinks is a shortcut to the lifepods on the other side of the craft. Seungcheol thinks of the diagram of the craft that they were shown just before they left, gauges his surroundings before sucking in a breath, grabbing his shield, and sprinting toward a window. The glass shatters around him, onto his shoulders and head like a harsh snowfall, and in the midst of it all, stairs leading down onto the first deck.
“Hostages are en route to the lifepods,” Agent Park informs him. “Minghao missed our checkpoint, Cap. We’ll have to proceed without him.”
Seungcheol throws his head back in annoyance, jumping over the spiraled railing to cut some time. “Minghao!” He barks into his comm. “What the fuck are you doing? Pelletier is on the move toward the pods and I’m pretty sure he has a gun—get back to Agent Park and protect the hostages.”
Seungcheol reaches the bottom of the stairs and there’s no reply from Minghao as he opens the door, the lifepods untouched, his surroundings unmoved. Annoyance prickles at his skin. “ Minghao! I need a copy from you—”
A kick to Seungcheol’s chest sends him stumbling back, a chunk of the wind knocked out from his lungs. Seungcheol clenches his jaw, cocking his head to the side as Serge Pelletier stares back at him, fists raised.
There’s a beat, a baited breath.
Pelletier swings first, missing Seungcheol by a fraction of an inch. He’s sending a kick at Seungcheol’s chest again with a quickness and strength that is almost impressive. Though Seungcheol blocks it easily, the sole of Pelletier’s boot hitting the black and red taeguek, bouncing off, the vibration sending Seungcheol back in a somersault that he easily finds his footing from. But Pelletier is kicking again, his boot driving into the center of Seungcheol’s chest again and knocking him back. He’s trained well, Seungcheol will admit that. Part of him wonders if his specialties lie outside of kicking Seungcheol until his chest aches.
Pelletier chooses then to flip over Seungcheol, body plummeting down as Seungcheol slides back, the man’s foot landing perfectly between Seungcheol’s spread legs, barely missing his head. Seungcheol jumps up, successfully jumping over the ankle swipes sent his way, navigating backwards as Pelletier gains his footing and aims one punch at Seungcheol’s stomach and another at his side that go blocked. He does another kickflip just as Seungcheol tucks and rolls beneath him, putting enough distance between them to anger Pelletier.
With a running force turned into a jump and punch, Pelletier nears him, blocked by the shield and Seungcheol’s quick instincts. One, two kicks barely dodged, and then Seungcheol uses his strength to thrust his shield forward right as Pelletier’s foot nears his face. The action causes him to be thrown backward, body carelessly thrown in the air and landing roughly on the floor with a loud thud that seemingly knocks the wind out his lungs. An advantage, Seungcheol realizes quickly. This guy can hold his own well which is… It’s not good, to put it bluntly.
Pelletier lurches back up, landing in his feet easily, charging without a second thought. One blocked kick, two blocked kicks. Seungcheol is pushed back with each boot to the arm and chest and shield. Pelletier’s anger and desperation is apparent as his hits get more and more powerful. Seungcheol finds his chance to strike as Pelletier fumbles slightly in his movements. He grips his shoulder, pulls him down and drives his knee once, twice, into Pelletier’s stomach before grabbing him harder and throwing him over his knee, his body flailing in the air before his hands come out, catching himself in a rather impressive flip.
Pelletier straightens up, anger etched onto his expression, chest heaving as he looks Seungcheol up and down, spitting on the vast floor between them before tonguing his cheek and chuckling. He speaks in French, tone raspy and gritting. “I thought you were more than just a shield,” he says, tone bitter and belittling.
Seungcheol’s nostrils flare, an amused smile on his lips as he drops his shield to the floor, kicks it away and out of reach. He unlatches the chin strap of his helmet and tosses it aside as well, his black hair wavy and tousled from the dampness of the sea. A thick eyebrow is raised and he replies in the little French he knows: “Let’s see.”
Pelletier smiles like he’s won the lottery, fists raising almost teasingly as they find their footing. He’s hesitant, the confident facade dropping easily when he realizes Seungcheol isn’t afraid.
The kicks come back with a newfound desperation, mixed together with punches thrown directly at Seungcheol’s head. They’re dodged and blocked, Seungcheol’s body working on instinct—forearm blocking a fist, elbow blocking his own face to avoid a broken tooth or nose. It’s easy to drive his elbow into Pelletier’s head, to send him fumbling back and stumbling to regain his composure before charging headfirst back into the fight.
Seungcheol easily sends a kick to his shin, I can kick too, he thinks bitterly before putting all his strength into another kick directly into Pelletier’s chest. He’s off balance and Seungcheol runs toward him, launching off his feet and into the air, body flipping to avoid a pathetic swipe to his ankles, leg extended on his way down and plummeting directly into Pelletier’s head.
He’s limp on the floor, slowly blinking up into the dark sky as he achingly tries to get up. After a few seconds, he succeeds, chest heaving as he has yet to give up. Seungcheol inhales, dashes forward with all his strength, ramming into Pelletier until they’re flying back and through one of the doors, breaking it as they crash through, Seungcheol landing on him with a loud bang! that rings through the room. Seungcheol drives a fist into Pelletier’s face to avoid wasting any more time, properly rendering him unconscious.
Seungcheol stares down at the limp body, catching his breath as he sits up. A noise to his left pulls him out of the blood rushing in his ears.
“Oh, hey,” Minghao says as he looks over at him from where he is bent at the waist, fingers stilling on the keyboard of one of the many computers lined up. His red hair jostles slightly as he raises an eyebrow and turns his attention back to whatever he is doing.
Seungcheol stands up immediately, trekking toward Minghao. “What the fuck is this? You’re supposed to be helping Park with the hostages,” Seungcheol snaps.
“Extracting files, backing up the hard drive,” Minghao lists nonchalantly. “It’s a good habit to get into. Shouldn’t you know?”
“Why the fuck are you doing that?” Seungcheol asks, although it’s not much of a question. This isn’t the task he gave Minghao—this isn’t even something that was mentioned during the briefing. “We needed your help out there, Minghao—”
“Let me finish this,” Minghao quips, unfazed.
Seungcheol clenches his jaw in annoyance, watching as Minghao accesses another encrypted file. “We needed your help with the hostages, not this. Why are you doing this?”
“I’m doing what I need to do,” Minghao says simply. “And you did what you needed to do. I think this was a successful mission.”
“You’re compromising this mission—”
“It’s only compromising if you say something,” Minghao says, rolling his eyes. “Besides, I think it’s best if you turned a cheek to this.”
He tries walking past Seungcheol, but Seungcheol roughly grabs him by the arm, stilling him and ignoring the annoyed look Minghao sends him. “How can I turn a cheek when you’re jeopardizing—”
“That’s a bit dramatic.”
Before Seungcheol can reply, Pelletier is back up and rushing toward them, throwing a grenade toward the two and rushing to escape without a word. Seungcheol instantly swings his shield from behind him, deflecting the object and giving them time to get the fuck out of there. He grabs Minghao just as Minghao latches onto him, hauling them up and onto the desks, jumping from surface to surface before crashing through the window right as the grenade explodes, the heat making the hairs on the back of Seungcheol’s neck prickle.
They land on the floor heavily, dust coating their clothes and faces as they crawl to a safe area with their backs against the wall. Minghao inhales and exhales loud against the quietness.
“Do I have to admit that was my fault?”
Seungcheol’s head falls back onto the wall with a thud, rolling his neck to look at Minghao, unimpressed. “Yeah, no shit.”
✪
The anger has yet to dim down by the time they get back to SHIELD Headquarters. It’s a painful twelve hours after the mission—Seungcheol goes to his apartment, showers, eats something because he needs to, not because he wants to. He waits, sits and dozes off on his couch until he’s woken up with another dream of Jeonghan.
This one is blurry, not as vivid as all the other ones. It’s a memory from their youth. A summer's day, a breeze in the air as they walk down the street with their hands in their pockets because it’s hard to not hold hands when they’re constantly bumping shoulders. At least, that’s when Seungcheol liked to think, unsure if Jeonghan felt the same or if it was just comfortable to walk like that. Melon popsicles, radios playing songs on loops. The heat making their sweat stick to their necks. Jeonghan’s eyes on him, only on him as they find some shade and talk about everything and in-between.
Seungcheol shakes off the memory as he blinks his bleary eyes.
Seungkwan should be in his office by now.
He gets dressed in a white t-shirt and blue jeans, shoving a black baseball cap onto his head as he leaves with the same anger harbored throughout all these hours sitting in his chest. He keeps his back straight, shoulders back, gaze forward as the elevator takes him down, down, down to the lobby. From there, he goes into the parking garage, walking past Joshua’s collection of sports and luxury cars before finding his own motorcycle. A Kawasaki Ninja 500—black and sleek, something plucked out of Seungcheol’s selfish wants. He had bought it only a year ago after being guilt tripped by Joshua, and by far, it’s the best thing that’s happened to him in a while.
He hops on, starts it up and is out of the parking garage within the minute, heading for SHIELD’s main headquarters only five minutes away, the wind whipping around him, prickling the skin of his arms and neck.
There are looks thrown his way as he enters the building, a lot of bows and greetings thrown his way— Captain Korea’s way— that he acknowledges with polite bows of his own and kind smiles that he knows are appreciated. It’s hard to act this civilized when all he wants to do is tear the walls down, break everything within a mile radius of him until he’s standing in nothing but ash and dust.
The elevator doors chime open, empty as Seungcheol steps in and calmly presses the button to Seungkwan’s floor. The music is subtle, accompanying him on his way up. Stopping when the elevator chimes again and Seungcheol steps out, trekking to Seungkwan’s office.
The door swings open with force as he steps inside, Seungkwan startling the slightest bit, eyes wide as he holds the phone up to his ear in one hand and scrambles for the gun beneath his desk with the other. When he realizes it’s just Seungcheol, he exhales a heavy breath, rolling his eyes and apologizing into the phone before promptly hanging up.
Seungkwan clasps his hands together and sets them on the desk gently, raising an eyebrow at Seungcheol’s unmoving position. “May I ask why you’re here?”
“Minghao was extracting files and backing up a hard drive in the middle of a mission that most definitely had nothing to do with either of those things,” Seungcheol says quickly, dark eyes flickering across Seungkwan’s face to catch any sort of reaction When his expression doesn’t move, Seungcheol narrows his eyes. “I’m wondering if you know anything about that.”
Seungkwan sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers. “Captain—”
“Hyung is fine.”
“Hyung,” Seungkwan restarts, leaning back in his chair. “Listen—it’s… It’s a side project we’re working on. It’s supposed to remain a secret—”
“I don’t like secrets,” Seungcheol says over him, voice calm, eyes angry.
Seungkwan presses his lips together, elbows on the desk as he leans forward, words slow and leaving no room for any sort of argument about to fall out of Seungcheol’s mouth. “Well, sometimes we need secrets.”
Seungcheol laughs bitterly. “That’s— God . Are you kidding me?”
“This is a personal assignment to Minghao,” Seungkwan explains. “I can’t talk about it any more. Sorry, my hands are tied.”
With that, Seungkwan is standing up, patting Seungcheol’s shoulder as he walks out of the office, leaving him alone with his rage.
Because that’s what it is— rage. Anger .
Ever since he woke up from the ice, had pieced together that times were different and that he was still alive despite trying everything in his power not to be, he has put all of his trust into SHIELD. Has learned to trust Seungkwan and this… This is how he’s repaid?
Secrets.
Seungcheol clenches his jaw and storms out, chest shaking.
He fucking hates secrets.
✪
Perhaps it’s the loneliness that has been seeping into every crevice of his thoughts—maybe even the desperate need to feel something, anything , different than the isolation he has felt ever since waking up in the future. Whatever it is, Seungcheol finds himself at the Seoul Museum with a cap pulled over his eyes, a denim jacket over his white shirt and his head low as he makes his way toward the Captain Korea exhibit Joshua had been telling him about.
It’s almost comical staring at all of this now.
Bright lights shine down and illuminate the first costume he ever wore. The reds are bright, the blues even brighter. His shield is more of an oval than a circle and was made of cheap, scrap metal rather than anything that could protect him. He was used for entertainment first, made to be the spokesperson for the war—a puppet to the west when they found out they could exploit every tragedy for their own personal gain.
This will help you all, he had been told.
He was stupid. Not anymore, though. He likes to think he’s gotten better at reading lies for what they are.
The exhibit continues the further he walks. There’s an entire section on his early life—a birth certificate, doctors notes, shoes with holes worn on the bottom. An entire page written on what his mother was like before she passed, how he loved her so much, how being taken to an orphanage almost killed him physically and mentally. More and more facts all blend together as he reads—he excelled in school, was always smarter than his peers, but could never physically compare. Pictures of his sickly and thin body displayed for all to see—a crooked spine, a nose broken in an alley fight that never healed quite right.
He used to be embarrassed, but he’s not anymore. Sometimes, he wishes he could go back for very specific reasons. To tilt his head up toward the sun and bask in the now of it all. Force himself to be grateful for what he had before he lost it all.
His main reason is suddenly in front of him.
It feels like a punch in the gut, like he’s a foot shorter and he’s suffocating and finding air all at once.
Yoon Jeonghan
Born in 1923, Yoon Jeonghan grew up the eldest of two. An excellent athlete who also excelled in the classroom, Yoon Jeonghan enlisted in the army shortly after the invasion of the south. After winter training, Yoon Jeonghan and the rest of the 107th shipped out to the captured front. Captured by still a standing HYDRA troop later that fall, Yoon Jeonghan endured long periods of isolation, depravation, and torture. But his will was strong. In an ironic twist of fate, his prison camp was liberated by none other than his childhood friend, Choi Seungcheol, now Captain Korea.
Reunited, Yoon Jeonghan and Choi Seungcheol led the troops of South Korea.
Yoon Jeonghan was presumed dead on the 27th of January in 1953, just six months before the war ended.
Seungcheol’s jaw twitches as he reads the last sentence, the thickness in his throat almost choking him. He can see his reflection in the display, can see the way his dark eyes are glistening against the lights and the way his hat does almost nothing to hide the fact that he is crying in the middle of a museum.
Childhood friend.
If Jeonghan was here, he’d laugh out loud—Seungcheol can almost hear his cackle echoing against the well polished floor. He would say something funny, something crude; he would nudge Seungcheol’s shoulder and say, “What do you think, Cheollie? Do childhood friends blow each other in the shower?” And Seungcheol would blush and warn Jeonghan about that damn mouth of his.
From beside him, two teenagers gasp as they read the display. “Wow,” one of them mumbles. “I couldn’t imagine losing my best friend like that.”
Seungcheol grits his teeth, the tears finally starting to spill over. He wills himself to walk away, biting his tongue.
Jeonghan was so much more than that.
Jeonghan is so much more than that.
SHIELD DESIGN/ART BY REV
Notes:
first chapter! done! we’ll meet real time jeonghan eventually… or will we?
kudos and comments are greatly appreciated! i truly need all the encouragement to finish this monster T-T (predicting this will be anywhere from 90k-110k words… i don’t even wanna think abt it)
leave thoughts on svt as marvel characters! i’m very happy with the casting, but maybe that’s just MY brain…
see u hopefully sooner rather than later with an update!<3
Chapter 2: II. Eating Me Alive
Summary:
Keep the Rain - Searows
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Am I comfortable in silence
or is it eating me alive?
Nothing's ever really quiet
when you need distraction to survive.
It’s just past midnight when Seungcheol returns to the apartments where all the team members reside. It’s safer, that’s what SHIELD explained when Seungcheol had requested to be moved back to the heart of Seoul the moment he stepped into the elevator and was met with Soonyoung asking for an autograph.
Things are different now—that’s something else they had told him multiple times. It never gets easier to hear or be suddenly reminded. Hell, Seoul wasn’t even Seoul when Seungcheol was growing up. Gyeongseong. That’s what it was called before he crashed into the ice, before the war. Seoul only came after liberation from Japan—1945, if he digs into his memory correctly.
When he woke up in the makeshift hospital made to ease him into his transition to the future, the nurse had slipped, said he was safe in Gyeongseong, prompting him to ask what the hell she meant. It was only the start of a panic attack worth sedation.
The apartments he previously lived in are long gone, replaced by corporate buildings sitting on the ash of his memories.
He tries not to think about it too much—if he does, he isn’t sure he’ll make it out alive.
The common room in the middle of the complex is empty—the air conditioning flickers on and the television plays with some sort of modern movie with special effects that have Seungcheol staring in amazement at the way technology has come so far. Though, if he said that out loud, he’d get more than one comment about his age—about this old man stuck in this young body. It’s funny sometimes, he has to admit, but he wishes that someone would just understand. There hasn’t been a day where he hasn’t been at least a little lost. He wonders when it’ll stop feeling like that.
There’s a part of him that always wishes Jeonghan were here to experience all these new things with him. He was never interested in the advancement of technology, always so flippant when it came to new inventions and innovations.
What do we care about technicolor for when we can't even afford food that isn’t grey or brown, Seungcheol?
Then, Seungcheol would roll his eyes, would say that one day Jeonghan will be forced to catch up with the times and embrace the future for what it is— hopeful.
Now, a bitterness coats his tongue as he bites into this vivid and crimson apple. Jeonghan would have grown fond of it all if he had the chance to.
In the midst of his reminiscing, Joshua walks into the common room, a sort of confidence in every step that makes it hard to look away. He’s on his phone, eyes flickering across the screen as he types, a hand coming up to push his brown and freshly washed hair out of his face. His pajamas are cotton and a light blue, bringing out the brightness in his complexion as he goes into the kitchen with a plethora of snacks and drinks they all share.
It takes him a moment, but eventually he notices Seungcheol’s presence, doing a double take and putting his phone on the island with a bright and white smile, doe eyes curving in delight.
“Cap!” He cheers like it isn’t late. “What are you doing all by yourself?”
“Misery is company,” Seungcheol tries joking even though it isn’t much of a joke. Luckily, Joshua laughs, so he can’t feel too embarrassed about the subtle honesty he let spill out. “I, uh… I was at the museum. I went to see the exhibit you told me about.”
Joshua’s eyes widen the slightest bit in interest. “Oh, nice! How’d you like it? Was it good enough for Captain Korea himself?”
Seungcheol presses his lips together, the nail of his thumb puncturing the skin of the apple still in his grasp. Did he like it? He’s not sure, really. It was interesting to see his early life on display like some sort of school project. Almost like he was learning about someone entirely different, someone who he has never met.
The real problem was the small piece dedicated to Jeonghan—a fraction of the entire exhibit dedicated to someone who was interwoven into Seungcheol’s life, heart, and being. Childhood friend. But was he really that? He was Seungcheol’s rock, Seungcheol’s lifeline, Seungcheol’s reason to breathe and live and become the best version of himself. It’s most of the reason he took the serum to begin with—to have a chance at being happy with Jeonghan even if it was just temporarily. He wasn’t supposed to live this long, especially not without Jeonghan. He hadn’t planned to. Part of him wants that to be on display.
There has never been Seungcheol without Jeonghan.
And that’s where the lonely ache in his chest comes from—the feeling of being so irrevocably lost, like life has turned into a spiralling maze sinking, sinking, sinking and taking him down into such depths he would have never thought to venture when he had Jeonghan around.
He doesn’t say that out loud, he’s smart enough to know better.
Joshua is still staring at him patiently, like he can see all the rusted gears turning.
“I wish they got things right,” Seungcheol finally says.
Joshua gives him a curious look, eyebrows knitting together and mouth parting with a question surely on the tip of his tongue. But Seungcheol doesn’t want the questions, doesn’t want the sympathy, and surely doesn’t want someone to pretend like they understand when they don’t. So, he gives Joshua a smile that is more sad than he intends and heads to the elevator to wilt in the solitude of his apartment.
⍟
The night before Jeonghan is set to leave, he suggests an idea. Seungcheol already knows what he’s implying, already hates the thought of leaving the small shelter they’ve been staying in—a house with several other families—to pretend to be interested in some girls for the night. (Seungcheol and Jeonghan share a room, they ignore the odd looks they get, the questions asking if they’re brothers or cousins or some sort of family. Jeonghan can’t ever hide the disgusted look on his face and Seungcheol ducks his head down to ignore such comments.)
“Do we have to?” Seungcheol asks, bony hands wringing together nervously as he slowly rocks back and forth on the thin cot they share.
“It would keep them from ganging up on you when I’m gone,” Jeonghan explains. He’s right and Seungcheol hates it.
“They won’t,” he tries anyway. He’s selfish with Jeonghan and their limited time together before he’s gone. The war has been bloody—brutal. He hears the updates on the radios, sees how Jeonghan’s fists clench at his sides or on his thighs, how he swallows roughly with a distant look in his eyes, more than aware that that is his future.
“They will,” Jeonghan insists. “Cheollie, they already question us every goddamn time we’re near them. Without me, they’ll hound you. You’ll break—”
“I’m not weak,” Seungcheol sneers, hating the way Jeonghan’s shoulders drop. He’s trying to protect him, that’s all. Seungcheol shouldn’t be so defensive.
“I know you’re not,” Jeonghan says immediately, lips pressed tight and brows knitted together. A strand of hair falls into his face as he sits beside Seungcheol, grabbing his thin wrist to thread their fingers together. “Look at me, Cheollie.” When Seungcheol’s gaze doesn’t move from the wood rotted floor, Jeonghan sighs. “Seungcheol.”
This time, Seungcheol turns his head, jaw twitching as he tries to hold back his tears. It shouldn’t feel so pathetic, especially not in front of Jeonghan who has seen him at his worst more often than not, but the feeling still crawls up his throat. “I want to spend the time we have left together.”
“We will,” Jeonghan promises in a whisper. “We’ll come back early, I promise.”
Jeonghan isn’t one to break his promises. So, Seungcheol sighs and gets up to dig through his clothes and find something decent to wear. Jeonghan gets dressed in his uniform—grey material, buttons up his chest, a hat perched on his dark hair. He looks handsome, like a soldier. Manly and beautiful all at once, such a juxtaposition that Seungcheol can’t help but blush. Jeonghan notices immediately, winking as he adjusts his sleeves.
The girls arrive half an hour later, the knocks sending Seungcheol’s heart plummeting into his stomach. Jeonghan must sense his anxiety, sense the way his shoulders drop and hear the wheezing inhale he sucks in, because he’s in Seungcheol’s space within the second, catching his mouth into a warm kiss that he feels from his face to his feet. They part with a soft sound, Jeonghan’s gaze fond as he thumbs at Seungcheol’s chin.
“Please don’t kiss her in front of me,” Seungcheol finds himself whispering.
Jeonghan clicks his tongue, kissing Seungcheol’s cheekbone, lips moving against the skin as he speaks. “Wouldn’t dream of it, baby.”
✪
When Seungcheol wakes up in a cold sweat, the ghost of Jeonghan’s kiss is still lingering on his lips and cheek even after all these years. He squeezes his eyes shut, the image of Jeonghan burned into his mind like a cursed blessing. Eventually, his heartbeat evens out, the lump in his throat goes away, and he gets up to start his routine to keep his mind occupied.
It’s easy to shower and get dressed on autopilot, body moving on its own, mind somewhere distant, out of reach. Before he knows it, he’s wearing a matching sweater and sweatpants and eating a pear on his way out of the apartments.
His journey finds him sprinting around the track, surroundings blurred as his shoes hit the floor, body pushing itself to limits that aren’t possible in average humans. His blood is rushing into his ears until he can hear his own heartbeat in his skull, air fresh on his sweat-free skin.
It shouldn’t be a surprise when Jihoon falls into step with him, Seungcheol slowing down to give him a chance. They jog in silence, Jihoon’s black hair (it’s getting longer, Seungcheol notes) bouncing with every step, his grey sweatshirt tucked into black sweatpants. He looks over at Seungcheol every now and then, obviously trying to get a read on his mood, but Seungcheol looks forward, lets the air hit his face and remind him that he is awake, that he is alive.
They slow down eventually, Seungcheol with his hands on his hips as he tilts his head up just as a cloud passes by and covers the sun. Jihoon’s breathing is a bit staggered, but still steady for the most part. He looks at Seungcheol up and down, tilts his head to the side and raises an eyebrow.
“What are you running from?” He asks bluntly.
Seungcheol huffs out a laugh that sounds more like a desperate exhale. There’s several answers to that. He’s not sure what he can say that won’t sound like a cry for help. “I’m still trying to figure that out.”
Jihoon nods slowly, bottom lip slightly pouted like he’s unconvinced. “Are you free after this?”
“Maybe,” Seungcheol says cautiously.
“Come to the VA meeting today,” Jihoon says. “We’d appreciate the company.”
Seungcheol sucks in a breath through his teeth, eyes squinting against the sun appearing from the parting clouds. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.” Not only does he know that he’d dread every second, but it would be a bit of a distraction. Captain Korea sitting in a dingy folding chair, surrounded by off-white walls and posters with slogans like: We Are Healing. He’d stick out like a sore thumb in the midst of veterans with their own struggles, ones that are more valid than his. After all, what does he have to complain about? He may not even be appreciated in such a space.
“Everyone will act normal, I promise,” Jihoon pushes. “And if not, I’ll buy us lunch.”
“I don’t know…” Seungcheol hesitates. “Do you really think anyone cares about what I have to say?”
“More than you think,” Jihoon responds immediately. His eyes are yet to leave Seungcheol’s, and it’s only then that he realizes no isn't an answer that is going to suffice.
“Fine,” Seungcheol agrees after a beat. “But you can’t complain about the lunch bill.”
Jihoon’s eyes go wide the slightest bit before he picks up on the joking tone. “You’re a bastard, you know that?”
Seungcheol’s laugh rings in the air.
✪
As predicted, it’s painfully awkward when Seungcheol steps foot in the VA meeting. Everyone’s head snaps toward him as he enters, his steps hesitant, back straight and shoulders back like he has something to prove. People pause from where they are filling up their paper cups with coffee or getting a pastry from the folding table set up against a wall. Eyes on Seungcheol, eyebrows raising in excitement as he slowly follows Jihoon further and further into the room.
“Hey, guys,” Jihoon says loudly, voice cutting through the silence. “I have a friend here that’s gonna be joining us.”
A few blinks, one nod, and several smiles are directed at Seungcheol. He waves bashfully, feeling a bit like a child on their first day of school. It’s not far from it, especially as Jihoon’s hand presses between Seungcheol’s shoulder blades in an effort to nudge him forward. Though, Seungcheol's feet are planted to the ground, an immovable, super-soldier force against Jihoon’s stubborn push and he doesn’t really move, causing Jihoon to slightly stumble forward, coughing to seemingly cover up his embarrassment.
“Uh—just,” Jihoon gestures vaguely to the chairs. “Take a seat. It’ll start in a second.”
Seungcheol nods, fitting himself in the rickety folding chair, the material groaning beneath his weight. He gets a smile from the man sitting next to him—he’s older than him. Or, younger, depending on how one approaches that topic. Seungcheol doesn’t like to think about that too much.
Eventually, Jihoon calls for everyone’s attention, a welcoming smileon his face as everyone greets him. “Again, thank you all for coming,” Jihoon starts with a nod. “It’s tough, but it’s how we take care of ourselves.” A chorus of agreements follows his words and Seungcheol looks around—everyone seems content. Genuine. Seungcheol feels a little sick. “How has everyone been doing? Is there anything anyone would like to share? Milestones? Tangents? Concerns? We’re here to listen and support, so feel free to take your time.”
There’s a silence as Seungcheol looks around. A hesitant hand shoots up, a younger male with a buzz cut, hair dyed a silver color that is stark against his all-black outfit.
Jihoon nods at him. “Yes, Kyungjae?”
“I’ve been trying to get out more,” the man—Kyungjae—says, eyes flickering around nervously. “Especially at—at night. There’s… There’s this fireworks show my girlfriend wants to go to in December and I… I think I want to do better for her. To be able to be present without… without the fear of losing myself.”
“That’s great, Kyungjae,” Jihoon says, voice careful and not at all condescending. “It’ll take time, but the most important thing right now is that you’re taking that first step.”
Kyungjae smiles bashfully and nods. “Yeah—yeah. You’re right, thank you.”
Others filter in with advice, suggestions on how to ease the transition, how to gradually get used to the loud noises and flashes—how to navigate crowds as a civilian and not a soldier. Seungcheol listens with twitching fingers, a clenched jaw.
The realization that he is, perhaps, not as adjusted as he had expected himself to be.
From there, it’s an amalgamation of advice and small milestones. Handling a crowded grocery store, going to a concert for the first time in years, feeling like the world has only barreled through time—feeling like an outsider.
By the time the meeting is wrapped up and everyone is standing up to mingle and get more food, Seungcheol is still planted in his chair, fists clenched and resting above his knees as he stares at the linoleum floors. He’s not sure how long it is, but eventually, someone stands in front of him. Based on the beat up and sun bleached Converse, he knows it’s not Jihoon. He’s even more surprised to snap his gaze up and find the guy speaking earlier—Kyungjae—looking back at him.
“Hey,” Kyungjae says after a beat. “I mean, um—hello? Captain—Captain Korea. It’s—It’s an honor to meet you.”
Seungcheol blinks, surroundings becoming much more real to him as he realizes that he’s been incredibly rude. He stands up, offering a smile he’s practiced a million times before, has aimed at cameras and crowds more often than not. “The honor is all mine,” he says and Kyungjae shakes his head with a laugh. “It’s okay, really. You don’t have to, like, put on an act or anything. It’s just… It’s nice seeing you here.”
“It… It is?” Seungcheol asks dumbly, words tumbling out before he can stop them.
“Yeah,” Kyungjae nods. “It’s like… You’re a human, too, you know? This isn’t… All these struggles we go through, they’re shared. We’re not alone, even the best of us have trouble adjusting.”
Seungcheol’s chest feels tight. Is he that obvious, does he carry himself like every breath is a burden mocking him? The panic starts to set in and Kyungjae is oblivious, still speaking and drowned out by the blood rushing into Seungcheol’s ear. Tinnitus—a ringing, everything becoming blurry, distant, like he’s watching himself through someone else’s lens.
“—think we’re gonna head out.”
Jihoon’s voice snaps him out of his head. Seungcheol comes to, watching Kyungjae give him another smile and a shy thank you like he’s done something worth being grateful for. Jihoon is standing in front of him now, lips pressed into a tight line, eyebrows knitted in concern. He doesn’t have to speak to convey what he’s trying to ask: are you okay?
“Lunch,” Seungcheol croaks weakly. “Are we still going?”
Jihoon’s eyes flicker between Seungcheol’s. With their height difference, his chin is slightly tilted up, eyes narrowed and mouth still stiff. Seungcheol waits for him to say something, to comment on the way his hands are slightly trembling at his sides, the way he’s swallowing roughly, mouth dry. But he doesn’t say anything regarding that. Instead, he nods. “Yeah, you pick.”
⍟
Jeonghan is holding hands with the girl. Seungcheol is trailing behind.
It’s obvious that her friend is just as uninterested in him as he is in her—they’ve hardly looked at each other, have kept a generous distance between their bodies. Even now, she is ahead of him, between him and Jeonghan and Seungcheol wants to laugh until he coughs up his heart and lungs on the asphalt, left to be clumsily stepped on or run over by a tank in the morning.
Even in the dimmed lighting offered by the streetlights, he can see Jeonghan look over his shoulder to check on him. His eyebrows crease the slightest bit, mouth opening seemingly to call out for Seungcheol only for him to be cut off by the girl on his arm exclaiming excitedly, pointing toward some bright lights in the distance. Seungcheol does his best to give him a smile that is believable, but he knows it’s not only unseen, but untrue.
But like always, Jeonghan is calling out, “Come on, Seungcheol!”
So, the girls are forced to acknowledge his existence, to regard him even if it’s with a pressed smile and a gaze that lasts half a second.
The attraction has a crowd surrounding it. Through the crowd almost towering over him in height, Seungcheol can see a small, makeshift stage, a man standing and holding a microphone with a cord taunt to a rickety power supply.
“Thank you to everyone that managed to make it to this through these unfortunate times,” the man standing on the stage starts. He’s well dressed, a trimmed mustache resting above his lip moving with every word. “My name is Hong Jongsoo—remember that, it’ll be important in a couple of years.” Everyone laughs and cheers. His confidence is obviously heightened, his back straighter, shoulders back as he smiles and gestures toward the middle of the stage, a light turning on. “Ladies and gentlemen, what if I told you in a few short years, our automobiles will never have to touch the ground at all?” The crowd gasps and Seungcheol’s eyes widen with fascination as he stares at the sleek and polished red car displayed.
Hong Jongsoo carefully places the microphone on the floor, working his way around the vehicle to remove the tires, rolling them off the stage and toward the abandoned side where they wobble and fall onto the floor gracefully. It takes several seconds, but eventually he makes his way back, picking up the microphone and wiping the sweat on his forehead with the back of the sleeve of his suit. He’s slightly out of breath as he continues. “With Hong Gravitic Reverse Technology, you’ll be able to do just that.”
A baited breath, silence. And then, Hong Jongsoo hits a button. The vehicle begins to rise into the air, only a few inches, but still apparent. Seungcheol gapes and Jeonghan turns to look at him, the same shock and wonder on his face. They meet eyes and smile—a moment between the two of them and the two of them only.
Then, a loud crash sounds and the vehicle noisily falls, faint sparks shooting out beneath it at the impact. Everyone jumps and the silence is still. Hong Jongsoo laughs charmingly, “Ah, well. I did say a few years, didn’t I?”
The crowd howls in laughter, and as Seungcheol goes to look at Jeonghan to share the moment, he finds the girl with her arm on his waist, her head on his shoulder. Something ugly and bitter flicks up from his stomach, ash turning to flames like an agitated tinderbox that has been waiting for a spark to burst its surroundings. He presses his lips together, thick, dark eyebrows furrowing distastefully before he turns and pushes through the crowd to get some air.
He lets his aching feet take him. The streets are littered, the sky dark with night and ash from the day. The buildings around are abandoned and quiet, a street light flickering helplessly as he passes beneath it. He finds a route on the sidewalk, the cracked edges leading him to a wall of propaganda. A poster with a Korean soldier stares back at him.
WE NEED YOU!
Seungcheol’s eyes barely reach the middle of the poster, his shoulders smaller than the built soldier printed on the material, his arms smaller, thinner. Lungs weaker, bones brittle. Everything about him contrasting with this ideal man—this soldier . Someone important, significant. At least, that’s what these men are being told.
Regardless, Seungcheol wants to be important and significant, too.
“Hey.” Seungcheol snaps out of his thoughts at the sound of Jeonghan’s voice—he could recognize it by the first syllable or letter spoken, could point him out blind folded and beaten. “Why are you running off? You left me alone.”
Seungcheol shrugs petulantly, shoulders dropping like weights. “It’s not like I was making a difference.”
Jeonghan sighs, fingers twitching at his sides. He wants to touch Seungcheol, that’s something that Seungcheol knows, can read on his body and face easily. But he doesn’t. Instead, his gaze flickers up at the poster previously catching Seungcheol’s attention. It doesn’t take long for him to pluck Seungcheol’s thoughts and flick them into the open air between them. “What are you doing, Cheollie?”
Seungcheol looks back up at the worn and torn edges. “Do you think I’d make a difference?”
“I think you and I both know that this war is bullshit,” Jeonghan says quickly. “It’s tearing everything apart, how—how would contributing to the mess possibly make a difference, Seungcheol?”
“I don’t know,” Seungcheol answers honestly. “But it wouldn’t hurt to try something.”
Jeonghan is quiet. Seungcheol looks over his shoulder, unsurprised to find his jaw tight, eyes casted toward the sidewalk. “What are you doing?” He asks again, voice cracking on the last word.
“What if I tried—”
“They wouldn’t let you,” Jeonghan says quickly, harshly. “You—Seungcheol. You’d die out there—”
“So will you.”
A silence bleeds around them and Jeonghan huffs out a bitter laugh. Seungcheol regrets his words immediately, wishes he could take them back, swallow them until Jeonghan forgets and forgives and pulls him into a risky kiss. But he doesn’t. He takes a step back. “I’ll see you at home.”
Seungcheol watches Jeonghan turn on his heel and walk away not once glance back. His heart is in his throat, blood in his ears as regret begins to seep into his bones. He’s about to call out and try again, try to be better and smarter, but Jeonghan’s silhouette has disappeared in the distance.
Leaves crunch behind Seungcheol as he inhales and his body stiffens when a deep voice comes through the still air. “That was a bit harsh.”
Their voice is aged, words drawn out. As they step forward with careful feet and into the light, Seungcheol can see why. The man is elderly, short, but not shorter than Seungcheol, hair grey and long, cracked glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose. He smiles at Seungcheol like he is an old friend and they are reuniting, wrinkles prominent as he does so, hands behind his back and not threatening in the slightest. Still, Seungcheol steps back clumsily, raises his fists and furrows his eyebrows in a way that he hopes looks intimidating.
“Stay back,” he warns and the old man laughs.
“Oh, you’re brave. Very admirable, Choi Seungcheol—”
Panic begins to flare up in Seungcheol’s chest. “How do you know my name?”
“I know a lot of things,” the man says, a chuckle turning into a cough that he hides in his fist. “Does your, ah… friend know that you had tried to enlist after he was drafted?”
Seungcheol freezes, fists tightening but not dropping. He swallows and shakes his head stubbornly. “It’s—that’s not true.”
“But it is. There’s nothing wrong with that—”
“Why does it matter?” Seungcheol snaps, finally dropping his hands at his sides. “And who are you?”
The man smiles again. “I am Doctor Kim Yeongsuk. And I care about you because, well. I think we can help one another.”
Seungcheol’s face scrunches into confusion, lungs starting to burn as he struggles to catch his breath. “I don’t need your help.”
“Maybe not,” Doctor Kim Yeongsuk shrugs. “But I need yours.”
There’s a pause, Seungcheol’s mouth parting, rose lips twitching in question. Doctor Kim Yeongsuk’s stare is looking past him and Seungcheol follows his line of sight, turning his head to look over his shoulder. The poster stares back at him again, street light flickering in the distance.
WE NEED YOU!
✪
A loud and sudden crash pierces the air just as Seungcheol’s fist drives into his punching bag in his spare room. He stills, hand wrapped in bandages pressed against the red leather as he halts his movements, eyebrows creasing at the center and eyes focused on the floor to try and make out the sound better. When nothing else comes after the disruption, he straightens up, hands coming up to hold the punching bag to keep it from swinging back and forth.
He’s careful as he steps out of his apartment, head turning back and forth to survey the hallway. Once he confirms that it is clear, he steps out carefully, quiet and cautious. There’s a click that sounds from down the hallway, and he finds Chan stepping out to do the same, the tips of his fingers glowing red like a subtle warning. His orange hair is soft and in his face, unstyled and untamed. Seungcheol nods at him, a silent conversation.
Follow my lead.
Chan gives him a trusting nod in response, lips pressed together, focused.
Seungcheol heads down the stairs first, not trusting the elevator at the moment. As they descend, he’s partially shocked to find Seokmin standing, silver hair freshly damp and washed, looking up at them with concern, obviously rattled by the unknown waiting for them.
“Did you check it out yet?” Seungcheol asks him and Seokmin shakes his head.
“I—I didn’t know if I should—”
“Don’t,” Chan says quickly. “Don’t risk yourself, hyung.”
Seokmin gives Chan a gentle smile. “Don’t worry, I won’t.”
“I’ll go,” Seungcheol offers without thinking twice. “Wait here, watch each other’s backs.”
Seokmin and Chan agree, staying put as Seungcheol carefully goes down the stairs. As he nears the door to the common room, he can hear the sound of voices, but no urgency in their tone. He’s got nothing but his fists and his mass on his side, but he’s willing to do whatever he can to defend everyone in this building with everything that he has. So, he takes a deep breath and a few steps back, finding his footing and slamming his shoulder into the door. It breaks off its hinges at the force and it’s all tunnel vision as he tackles the first body he sees only for a tanned and handsome man to blink up at him as they hit the floor.
“Captain,” Joshua says from behind him. “What are you doing to our dear guest?”
Seungcheol blinks and scrambles off the man. It takes all of ten seconds for him to realize that it’s Mingyu, God of Thunder.
Mingyu stands up, brushing his attire off as Seungcheol tries not to stare, but it’s hard not to when it’s a very…. Theatrical outfit. Black and rough material adorning his legs and torso and arms, a silver, metal like vest over his broad chest, and a red cape draped behind him, thick and heavy. He smiles at Seungcheol, canine teeth prominent as he does so. His hair is longer than the last time Seungcheol has seen him just a few years ago whilst fighting some creatures from his realm in Cheonguk. It’s sort of unnerving how attractive he is, even now as he looks around like he’s taking it all in.
It’s a nice surprise to have him here, but still a surprise nevertheless.
Glancing around, Seungcheol takes in the shattered glass dining table, the chairs all haphazardly spread through the common room. Joshua is holding a broom and dustpan in his hand, but doesn’t look as annoyed as he normally would be at the mess.
Mingyu seems to notice him looking at the disaster and smiles bashfully. “Sorry about that—the vessel led me here by mistake—though… Well, not mistake, I wanted to come here but, just… How must I put this…”
“Aw,” Joshua coos quickly, his cheeks pressed to the end of the broom. “Did you miss us, Mingyu-yah?”
Mingyu blinks before he smiles happily with a nod. “Ah, I believe I did.”
“Group dinner at seven,” Joshua declares without missing a beat. “We have to catch up!”
A sharp wind passes by them at an alarming speed, as well as a blurred figure before it comes to a still and Seokmin is standing in front of them, silver hair now dried. His eyebrows are furrowed as he takes in Mingyu and then looks at Seungcheol. Chan comes in a moment later, stepping over the splintered door in confusion.
“Hyung,” Chan whispers nervously, stepping behind Seungcheol. “Who… Who is this?”
“I am Mingyu,” Mingyu says loudly, a bit too loud making Chan and Seokmin jump as he raises his hammer— Aji, that’s what Mingyu had called it last time. “God of Thunder.”
Chan and Seokmin blink.
“Oh, the boys haven’t met Mingyu yet,” Joshua points out with an excited clap. “An even better reason to get together tonight! Seungcheol, invite your little friend—Jihoon, right? Cardinal—Hawk—what do we call him?”
“Falcon,” Seungcheol deadpans, a little offended on Jihoon’s behalf. They’ve met before. Multiple times, even if Jihoon doesn’t live here with them, he’s still around often enough to at least be remembered.
“Yes! Jihoon! Invite him, we can welcome Mingyu back and get to know each other outside of killing aliens or… or whatever he brought from his home.”
“Cheonguk,” Mingyu says with a nod. “That is my home, Joshua.”
“Right, yeah,” Joshua nods, patting Mingyu on the shoulder. “Why don’t you go to Cap’s apartment and borrow some clothes? You look about the same size.”
“He’s definitely taller than me,” Seungcheol points out, only to be hushed by Joshua. Right. Someone’s got to babysit Mingyu here on earth. Not that he’s stupid or incompetent, far from it, actually. Though, he tends to subtly cause disasters or distractions wherever he goes if he’s even a bit misguided by that pretty head of his. So, Seungcheol cocks his head to the side and beckons Mingyu to follow him. “Come on, let’s go.”
✪
Seungcheol watches partially amused and partially confused as Mingyu walks around his apartment with a newfound curiosity. They have a task—get Mingyu dressed—but Seungcheol is more interested in answering the questions that Mingyu comes up with about every object that sparks his interest.
“And this,” Mingyu says, grasping the remote to the TV Seungcheol rarely uses. “This device… What do you use it for?”
Seungcheol nods toward the television mounted onto the white wall. “It turns that on.”
Mingyu pauses, brown eyes looking up at Seungcheol, mouth partially opened in amazement. He turns clumsily, holds up the remote like some sort of beacon in this apartment. Then, he presses multiple buttons until finally the television turns on, displaying some sort of home renovation show. Mingyu gasps and beams. “Oh, they are building a kingdom.”
“Something like that,” Seungcheol nods as Mingyu starts to move toward the sofa. “Did you want something else to wear or…?”
“That can wait,” Mingyu says flippantly as he sits on the sofa, leaning back against the cushions like this is his home. “I would like to enjoy this humble man and his kingdom building tools.”
Seungcheol nods. It’s probably better to just pick out an outfit for the guy anyway. He moves on to his next task which is calling Jihoon and inviting him over.
Jihoon answers after the second ring, which shouldn’t really be all that surprising. The last time they spoke was when Seungcheol went to the VA meeting and they ate lunch together with timid glances and silence stretching thin in the space between them. So, really. Seungcheol should have expected the quick answer.
“Hey,” Jihoon says immediately. “Are you okay?”
Seungcheol tries not to roll his eyes. “I’m fine.”
“You sure?” Jihoon asks. It’s unspoken, but Seungcheol remembers how he left abruptly from their lunch, clammy and light headed with a heart beating quicker than a frightened rabbit’s. Jihoon had looked concerned then and sounds concerned now.
“Positive,” Seungcheol says easily. “Joshua wants you here for dinner.”
“Hm,” Jihoon hums curtly. “Didn’t even think he remembered my name if I’m being honest.”
Seungcheol bites back his smile. “He didn’t.”
He can hear Jihoon snort, can imagine him squeezing his eyes shut in amusement and embarrassment. “Yeah, of course he didn’t. I don’t know if—”
“Who are you speaking to, Captain?”
Seungcheol glances over at Mingyu who is standing now, looking his red-caped shoulder curiously with his hammer in his right hand sticking out like a sore thumb. “Jihoon,” Seungcheol answers after a beat with a pressed but genuine smile. “Joshua told me to invite him.”
Mingyu blinks, eyebrows furrowing slightly like he is doing his best to recall something. “I have not met him,” he finally says after a moment.
Seungcheol nods. “No, you haven’t. Not yet.”
Mingyu speaks louder this time, voice booming against all their surroundings as he makes himself known to Jihoon over the phone. “I look forward to meeting you, Jihoon!”
There’s no sound from Jihoon on the other end of the phone, and for a moment, Seungcheol is sure he hung up. Then, Jihoon’s voice is in his ear. “Who was that?”
“Mingyu.”
“Mingyu… God of Thunder Mingyu?”
“Who else?”
“Fuck, I don’t know,” Jihoon says through a huffed laugh. Seungcheol can picture him running a hand through his hair, head tilted back in exasperation as he tries to make sense of all this. Shit, Seungcheol was in the same boat not too long ago. It’s all so surreal. “Things are already so weird.”
“You’re telling me,” Seungcheol agrees with a small laugh, ducking his head down to stare at the well polished floors. If he looks hard enough, he can see his reflection staring back up at him. He looks away.
“Yeah, sorry,” Jihoon says quickly, like he can hear all of Seungcheol’s thoughts spilling over. “At the very least I’m not getting used to a whole new time era. I should be grateful.”
Seungcheol hums. The home renovation program reveals the finished product. A heated driveway to melt stubborn snow in the winter. A self opening refrigerator. A rotating closet. “Consider yourself lucky.”
There’s a silence that bleeds into the apartment. Mingyu has wandered off now and the television is nothing but background noise now. He can hear Jihoon inhale subtly. “I’ll be there, alright? Someone needs to keep you company.”
“Thanks,” Seungcheol says, a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth.
✪
It should be no surprise that Joshua tries to go all out with his plans. After managing to find a white t-shirt and some pants big enough to contain Mingyu’s mass and height, they make their way up to the roof where Joshua informed them of the location of the dinner. Though, dinner is a bit of a loose term—it’s more of a party than anything, but without the massive crowd of people Joshua usually has at the parties he hosts. The ice sculptures of Aji are a bit much, Seungcheol thinks as the delivery-men almost barrel into him in their rush to set it down. His head whips around to find Joshua typing away on his phone, eyes blinking and lips pressed together prettily as he frowns, a strand of neatly styled black his falling into his face.
“Something not going to plan?” Seungcheol finds himself asking, hands finding their way into the pocket of his blue jeans.
Joshua’s brown eyes flicker up, expression lighting up when he realizes who is speaking to him. “Oh! Cap—”
“Seungcheol is fine,” Seungcheol says quickly with a smile of his own. There was always been a bit of professionalism still lingering between them, even with Joshua’s playful nature. He has respect, doesn’t call Seungcheol anything other than Cap or Captain like he cannot separate Captain Korea from Choi Seungcheol. Though, it’s not like Seungcheol has ever given him an opportunity to.
Joshua’s eyes narrow playfully the slightest bit, lips parting with the hint of a smile starting to curve at the edges. He looks Seungcheol up and down slowly before cocking his head to the side. “Are you flirting with me, Seungcheol?”
Seungcheol’s eyes nearly bulge out of his head. “What? No! No—I’m just—I’m trying to make some conversation—”
“Hey—hey!” Joshua laughs, clapping a hand on Seungcheol’s shoulder to stop his rambling. “I’m just fucking with you. If we’re being honest with each other, you’re insanely hot but you’re not my type.”
“Oh,” Seungcheol says with a forced laugh. It’s his fault he ended up in this conversation to begin with. “That’s—uh. That’s good, I guess.”
“Seokmin, though,” Joshua winks, patting Seungcheol’s shoulder again. “That’s something I can get behind. Metaphorically and literally. Don’t think about that too much, your pretty head will pop off.”
He leaves Seungcheol somewhat stunted with his bluntness. Part of him wants to call back and say that he knows exactly what Joshua means, knows it too well, actually, but his words are stuck in his throat and Joshua is walking away and just like that, the moment is gone.
Chan finds him several minutes later sitting alone nursing a beer that tastes like shit and does nothing to his body. He’s wearing a red long sleeve shirt, black pants and boots as he sits next to Seungcheol on the small outdoor couch facing an artificial fireplace.
“Why so lonely?” Chan asks like he’s approaching a friend and not a timid animal. He’s come far, Seungcheol takes a moment to appreciate that.
“Not lonely,” Seungcheol answers, offering Chan a sip of his beer that he denies with a polite smile and shake of his head. “Just taking a moment before everyone comes up. It’s nice to be alone sometimes.”
“Yeah,” Chan agrees with a hum. “Seokmin hyung thinks it’s better to have company all the time.”
“Do you feel the same?”
Chan presses his lips together and shakes his head after a moment. “No, not really. Sometimes I feel like we’re more different than we are alike.”
“There’s nothing wrong with that,” Seungcheol says carefully, watching as Chan pulls at a loose thread on the material between them. “Sometimes you’ve gotta balance each other out.”
Chan tilts his head to the side, red hair touching the back of the couch as he does so. His eyes flicker between Seungcheol’s curiously, like he’s trying to figure out what words to use. “Seems like you’re speaking from experience.”
“Experience?” Seungcheol blinks.
“Did you have any siblings, hyung?”
“Wow,” Seungcheol finds himself saying with a small laugh. “You really don’t know anything about me, do you?”
“I don’t,” Chan confirms with a nod and amused look. “That’s why I’m asking.”
“You know you can look all of this up,” Seungcheol reminds him. “Or you can ask Wonwoo. I’m sure he can pull up every detail about my life and body and… and pretty much everything that’s ever happened to me.”
“But I don’t want to,” Chan tells him without missing a beat. “Who’s to say it’s all true? I can ask Wonwoo about Seokmin hyung and he can tell me all the facts—about his speed, about what they injected him with, about how long we were kept as prisoners. But you know what he can’t tell me? What his room looked like when we lived with our mother. How he befriended a stray dog that would bring us gifts—dead mice, trash, scraps. How much he cried when we watched that same dog get shot by a HYDRA worker—how that was the only time I saw him cry while we were captured.” He pauses, sitting up straighter and making sure to look Seungcheol in the eyes. “We are so much more than the statistics and the information they pry from us.”
Seungcheol’s mouth twitches into a soft smile. The sun is beginning to set, hidden behind some of the thick clouds still lingering in the sky. Everything is painted in a dusty orange and pink hue, and in the distance Seungcheol can hear Joshua greeting Seungkwan and Hansol excitedly. His skin doesn’t feel like it’s about to vibrate off of his body for once—it’s foreign, but it’s welcomed. He speaks. “I never had any siblings. My dad passed before I was born and my mother raised me by herself until she eventually died too. I was in an orphanage for most of my childhood, so I was alone of lot.” Until I wasn’t. Until Jeonghan came around, until Jeonghan slotted himself into my life and made it hard to be alone again. I’m still trying to get used to it. His heartbeat quickens, skin starting to feel like it’s trembling.
Chan stares at him, eyes unwavering even as Seokmin tries to call him over from across the roof. “There’s something you’re not sharing with me.”
Seungcheol swallows shakingly, covering it up with a noise as he clears his sticky throat. “Is there?”
The irises of Chan’s eyes glow red for a fleeting moment, the color growing before going back to the natural brown. “It’s weird—it’s like… I sense it. You’re not saying something that you want to say.”
“That is weird,” Seungcheol says nonchalantly, tilting his chin up in hopes to come across more confident than he feels and less like he’s lying naked on an operating table being observed under a microscope.
The silence stretches between them, Chan unmoving like he is waiting for Seungcheol to push down the walls desperate to crumble. Before Seungcheol can come up with some sort of excuse, Jihoon is coming in like some sort of humble savior. His black hair is tucked behind his ears, a graphic tee tucked into his jeans and some beat up Converse on his feet as he stills in front of them.
“Is there gonna be food or are we supposed to beg Joshua to feed us?” Jihoon asks, making Seungcheol snort and Chan snaps his head toward him.
“Should we go see?” Seungcheol offers, standing up and giving Chan a small wave just as Wonwoo occupies the empty space next to him instead, Chan’s expression softening as Wonwoo offers him a red drink.
As they step away, Jihoon keeps sending glances at Seungcheol, waiting for him to speak first. When he doesn’t, Jihoon sighs. “Do you wanna tell me why you’re trying to get away from Chan?”
“I’m not—”
“You are,” Jihoon says immediately. He reaches up and puts his pointer and middle finger against Seungcheol’s neck. “And your heart-rate is crazy—you don’t get like this when we’re running, so what could he have possibly said to make you run away with your tail between your legs?”
Like another saving grace, Mingyu is walking up to them holding flowers that most definitely are supposed to be in one of the fancy planters Joshua has out here.
“Seungcheol, would you like—” Mingyu pauses, having noticed Jihoon’s presence. Seungcheol is partially expecting him to barrel on, it’s not like he’s usually bashful about his loud presence being a God, but instead, Mingyu blinks down, hand tightening around the flowers in his grasp.
“You must be Mingyu,” Jihoon says, cutting through the silence. He raises an eyebrow when he’s met with silence, Mingyu’s mouth twitching like a fish out of water. “I’m Jihoon.”
Mingyu drops onto his knees in front of Jihoon. “Oh, so you are one of the Gods that walk this realm.”
Jihoon’s eyes widen and the apples of his cheeks turn pink as he blinks and looks at Seungcheol. “What the fuck is going on?”
“He’s just a normal guy, Mingyu,” Seungcheol says, watching as Mingyu’s eyebrows furrow, his gaze still on Jihoon. “He’s a part of the team—Lee Jihoon. Falcon.”
Mingyu blinks up at Jihoon, like he cannot fathom such a statement being true. “We have not met,” he says and Seungcheol takes a step back, suddenly aware that he is intruding on something.
Jihoon extends a hand out, urging Mingyu to stand, having to tilt his chin up to properly look at him. “Okay, now we have. So, no more of—of… that.”
“I gathered these for you,” Mingyu says, pushing the flowers toward Jihoon with a smile, the canine teeth in his mouth sharp against the softness of his expression.
Seungcheol turns away just as Jihoon stammers out a reply. He can see food starting to be set up at the long table where they’ll sit to eat, and Soonyoung is in his face within the second.
“Captain,” Soonyoung beams, eyes creased and teeth almost blinding. “I was thinking, the next time you get a mission, I can be your right hand man. There’s this thing I learned—parkour, if you will—that lets me go small and jump off your shield and then, hear me out, I go big.” He punctuates his sentence with his hands spread, eyebrows raised and mouth opened like he’s unveiling something extraordinary.
It takes Seungcheol a moment to process his words, but eventually he smiles politely. He’s still trying to figure out Soonyoung—he seems genuine and kind, but there’s something about him that makes him wonder how exactly he ended up in SHIELD. From what he remembers hearing, Soonyoung was in prison before this. That isn’t so hard to believe, though.
Soonyoung’s smile has yet to break, still in front of Seungcheol waiting for his response.
“We can talk about it with Seungkwan,” Seungcheol tells him, trying not to jump out of his skin when Soonyoung whoops loudly, fists pumping in the air.
Seungcheol takes it as his chance to rush toward where everyone is starting to find somewhere to sit. He chooses a seat at the end of the table, somewhere where he can blend in and go unnoticed even if it’s just for a few minutes. Chan sits on the other end between Seokmin and Wonwoo, Jihoon ends up being corralled to sit beside Mingyu at a distance. Seungcheol doesn’t notice Minghao and Junhui sitting beside him until a flash of red in his peripheral alerts him.
When he gets a proper look at Minghao, he has to do a double take. There’s a bruise beneath his left eye, a scabbing cut above his cheekbone. His lip is split and there are what looks like bruised outlines of fingers around his neck. When Seungcheol’s dark eyes are done flickering across the imperfections, Minghao’s lips quirk into a smile, one that pulls at the split in his lip, making it shine with blood.
“Something on my lip?” He jokes, earning an elbow to his side from Junhui and a bashful chuckle from Seungcheol.
“I’m sure you’ve noticed,” Seungcheol says. “What happened to you anyway?”
“Personal assignment,” Minghao says. “Just got back… thirty minutes ago? Something like that.”
Seungcheol recalls this personal assignment, knows that he’s spoken to Seungkwan about this after Minghao’s little stunt on their last mission together. He nods, looking Minghao up and down for a fleeting moment. “Care to share?”
Minghao huffs out a laugh, reaching out to grab the glass of water in front of him, bringing it up to his lips as he shakes his head. “No, actually. I don’t care to.”
The tension starting to form is broken by Junhui’s story about his latest, solo mission. A lot of guys in tracksuits who have had it out for him for the last several years; a dog with only one eye; some apartment complexes that he’s proud to say he saved from destruction and displacement.
The rest of the dinner passes by slowly, conversations bouncing all around, Seungcheol doing his best to keep up with everything and everyone. At one point, he can see Junhui willingly turn off his hearing aids, closing his eyes and falling asleep in the chair, oblivious to the envious stare Seungcheol sends his way.
Eventually, and unsurprisingly, the conversation turns its attention to him. He blinks, trying to process the words being spoken to him.
“ Is it all natural strength?” Joshua muses out loud, words a bit slurred and body moving loosely. “He—he was injected , that’s what made him strong! Sorry, Captain—but I mean, it’s true.”
“Strength comes from the heart,” Mingyu says with a confident nod directed toward Seungcheol. “It is why I can lift my dear Aji. It is understood that my strength is more than meets the eye.”
“Well,” Joshua says, gesturing toward Seungcheol. “Let’s see.”
Seungcheol blinks, straightening up so that he is no longer leaning back against his chair. “Let’s see?”
“Pick it up,” Joshua reiterates, nodding toward the hammer by the foot of Mingyu’s chair. “Unless you’re scared.”
Seungcheol can’t help the scoff that flutters past his lips, arms crossing over his chest. “Why would I be scared?”
Joshua shrugs smugly, taking a sip of the beer in his hand, a smile playing at his lips. “I don’t know, why would you?”
There’s a pause as Seungcheol tongues his cheek before he’s sighing, rolling his eyes because he knows that this is just Joshua’s way to tease him—a way to get some entertainment, to make Seungcheol feel included. He appreciates the sentiment, even if it makes him a bit nervous being the center of attention. His time for that has passed, but he tries not to think about that so much.
Seokmin lets out a loud, encouraging cheer, clapping his hands and urging the rest to join. Jihoon hesitates with an amused smile, glancing at Seungcheol like he’s trying to make sure that he’s really okay with this. Seungcheol gives him a subtle nod, if not to reassure him, then to at least ease the tension in his shoulders.
It works, so Seungcheol gets up, the legs of his chair noisily scraping against the concrete as it’s pushed back. He rolls up the sleeve of his blue, button up shirt, ignoring the hollar and borderline catcall Joshua lets out as he rounds the table. Mingyu stands as well, picking up his hammer with a smile and stepping away from the table to place it in an open area where everyone can see it. He does a bow, gesturing toward Aji and raising his eyebrows as if to say: good luck.
Seungcheol inhales, braces himself on his feet before leaning forward the slightest bit, wrapping his hand around the leather handle of the hammer. He adjusts his grip, grits his teeth and lifts with everything that he has. The force is indescribable, like the object is cemented to the floor, held down by millions of anchors to keep it from falling into the hands of someone unworthy.
The material groans, the sound vibrating in the air. Seungcheol pulls and the corner lifts the slightest bit. In the distance, Mingyu’s breath hitches, a hush falls over those watching. Seungcheol’s arm trembles before his body gives up, hand cramping as he lets go with grunt as he stumbles back.
“Whoa,” Soonyoung says, standing up with wide eyes looking back and forth between Seungcheol and Mingyu. “Does that mean anything?”
Mingyu’s wide eyed expression is quickly replaced by a forced smile and a laugh a bit too loud to be genuine. He snatches up the hammer with ease, a sharp noise ringing as he does so. “No! Of course not!”
From there, a chorus of half of the group insisting on having a turn fills the air. Joshua is the first to run inside before coming back with a piece of his Iron Man suit, the red and gold metallic material glinting in the low light as he puts it on his hand, grasping the handle of the hammer and pulling up with the help of power boosters.
The hammer doesn’t budge, not even when Soonyoung shrinks himself down to use his ant influenced strength to try and ramming into the side, resulting in his suit malfunctioning and reverting him back to his normal size, passed out in the middle of the roof pulling startled gasps from Chan and Seungkwan.
Everyone tries it at least once, but by the time Hansol is intricately wrapping webs around it in hopes to have physics on his side, Seungcheol is getting up to grab another beer that isn’t going to help with anything. It’s easy to slip away from the group when their attention is elsewhere and he finds himself leaning against the glass railing around the roof.
Seoul is busy, never resting, always so lively even in the dead of night. It’s a bit surreal, seeing how time continues to just… pass. Selfishly, uncaring of those around wishing that things could slow, even if it’s just for a moment. Seungcheol is living proof that time is selfish and cruel.
Time is never on your side, not even when you desperately want to cut it short, to give back seconds and minutes and hours that were only going to be wasted anyway.
Only then will time stop for you, will continue for everyone else. It will leave you to scramble for all the shattered pieces you so desperately ran from, hoping to piece some answers together only to find none.
Time is cruel.
Someone joins the empty space next to Seungcheol. He doesn’t have to wait before they’re speaking.
“Sorry,” Joshua says with a smile that could be considered bashful. “I didn’t mean to put you on the spot back there.”
Seungcheol shakes his head in a way that he hopes is nonchalant. “It’s fine, it was fun.”
“You know, for someone who was the main face of the war, you don’t seem to like attention,” Joshua points out, nudging Seungcheol’s shoulder with his own.
“It’s not that,” Seungcheol explains after a beat, eyes yet to properly look at Joshua. In the distance, traffic lights turn from green to yellow to red. “It’s not like I wanted to be the face of the war. It was an ugly thing. I wasn’t proud to be paraded around for something like that.”
It’s the most he’s said about his past, especially to Joshua. He isn’t sure where it came from or why he blurted it out, but it’s too late to take back. He lets the silence linger until he can feel guilt prickling at his skin.
“I heard stories from my grandfather,” Joshua says eventually. His fingers twitch against the glass of whisky he brings up to his lips. “He always said that it was worse than any book or story that could be told. That whatever I envisioned in my mind was a fraction of what was experienced. Sometimes… Sometimes I thought that maybe he was exaggerating, but when I got older, I could see how the memories started to eat him alive. I always wonder what he was like before… before everything.”
Seungcheol swallows and ducks his head down, focusing on the cracks in the cement, the scuffs on the toe of his shoes. “The first time I saw your grandfather, he was sweating enough to flood the shitty stage he was standing on.” Joshua perks up at this, eyes widening in interest. “He—he was speaking into this mic with the shortest cord I’d ever seen but he was charming. He knew how to capture an audience with his words first, to get them to care. He always knew what to say and how to say it in a way to make us laugh, to lighten the mood.” Seungcheol looks over at Joshua and gives him a gentle smile. “You have a lot of his traits.”
Joshua’s features flicker from shocked to soft, lips pressing together in a smile. “That’s… Thanks, Seungcheol.” Before Seungcheol can turn on his heel and walk away, Joshua is grabbing the crook of his arm to stop him. “You know, the corner of Aji actually left the ground for a second there.”
Seungcheol lets out a surprised huff of laughter, shaking his head. “I’m sure it was a trick of the light—”
Joshua squeezes his arms. “No, no. We all saw it. You know what that means, right?”
Seungcheol shrugs. “The serum worked?”
“No,” Joshua smiles. “It means that even if you don’t think so, some part of you is worthy.”
Seungcheol blinks, stunted as Joshua’s hand drops from his arm and he’s the first to walk away.
✪
The gathering bleeds into the darkest hours. They all filter back to their homes slowly but surely and Seungcheol makes a mental note to ask Jihoon why Mingyu was so persistent on seeing where he lives. For now, though, Seungcheol lets a warm breeze caress his face, basking in the solitude of the roof after everyone has dispersed. He promised Chan he’d go inside an hour ago, but he can’t bring himself to go back to his apartment. All there’s left to do is sleep and he can already feel the dreams crawling up his skin and into his mind, waiting for him to relive the best and worst days life has had to offer.
But time, as ever, continues to pass and he’s left with no choice but to succumb to the tiredness finally starting to take over his body. The walk to his apartment is a bit lonesome, his hands in the pockets of his now unbuttoned blue shirt that’s layered over a white shirt mostly for style and not for warmth against the July night. The elevator chimes with the arrival to his floor and as Seungcheol steps out, he finds Wonwoo lingering in front of Chan’s door, his head slowly lifting to meet Seungcheol’s eyes.
“Hello,” Seungcheol says after a beat, offering a wave and watching as Wonwoo slowly blinks before returning it. “Everything okay?”
Wonwoo turns his neck to look at Chan’s door before his eyebrows furrow, the lines in his face shifting the slightest bit at the motion. “He is having nightmares,” he answers eventually. The yellow stone in the middle of his forehead glows and then dims. “His heart rate is elevated. I am not sure if I should interfere.”
Seungcheol presses his lips together with a shrug. Something makes his skin prickle, like a feather being teased down his neck, unsettling, unknown. He pushes the thought back, back, back before it can take over. “You know him best,” Seungcheol tells him because it’s true. Somehow, someway, it’s been Wonwoo that has managed to weasel his way into Chan’s trust. If anyone knows what Chan wants through and through, it would be him.
Wonwoo blinks before nodding. Then, he’s walking through the wall and into Chan’s apartment without so much as a glance back.
Seungcheol sighs. He’s too tired for this. He’s too old for this.
The automatic lights turn on the moment he steps over the threshold. Within the second, Seungcheol is snapping up, standing straighter, eyebrows creased in focus. Particles of dust drift past his face, the light beams against the cleared kitchen counters. The remote control is resting on the arm of the sofa. There’s a half eaten apple on the dining table from this morning.
Everything is just as it was left, and yet.
Seungcheol slowly backs up, fingers reaching out for his shield hidden in a space just behind one of the abstract paintings hanging near the door. It falls into his hand with a small sound, one that seems to echo around him. He swallows as he brings it in front of him, steps cautiously on the polished floors, eyes flickering toward every surface he can make out as the lights turn off.
Then, from the corner of his eye, he sees a glint. Something silver, something almost insignificant. Almost.
It’s gone within a second and Seungcheol follows it, light flooding the apartment again, showing its false emptiness as he rushes toward one of the opened windows that was most definitely closed when he had left.
He sees again, the glint of silver, and all his inhibitions are tossed aside within the second. He barrels forward and out the window, airbound as he plummets toward the roof of a lower building, landing in a somersault before regaining his footing. The person is fast, already far ahead, running like their life depends on it, dressed in all black except for the silver on their left that seems to shine every time the light catches it just right. It’s enough for Seungcheol to keep from losing sight of them.
His legs are quick as he rushes to catch up, but they’re quick on their feet and in their mind, leaping from rooftop to rooftop, hiding for several seconds before reappearing farther than they had been before. Seungcheol grits his teeth, braces himself as he crashes through the walls of an office building, sprinting straight through the rubble beneath his shoes as he rushes through the floor and out the other side, his shield taking the brunt of the impact when the bricks crumble around him.
The person is above him now, running across a beam connecting the two infrastructures together, only to once again disappear onto another rooftop. Seungcheol lets his body push itself, barrels through another brick wall and through the hall of a corporate office, papers launched into the air against the wind of his speed and strength. He leaps onto a desk, uses the leverage to push himself harder, to accelerate until he can feel the muscles of his legs pulling against his will. A sharp turn leads him crashing into the wall for a split second, his shield denting the plaster and wood in a circular shape that goes ignored as his body breaks past locked double doors and he finally sees a window in sight, can hear footsteps just above him indicating that they are moving at the same speed.
Without a second thought, he launches himself through the window, the person doing the same from the rooftop, practically flying over his head in a graceful jump and landing several feet ahead of him again, catching themselves in a barrel roll that they find their footing from quickly, already gaining a distance. There’s no time to waste. Seungcheol grits his teeth, throws his shield with every fiber of strength bleeding into his bones. The vibranium object slices through the air with a harsh sound just as the person nears the edge, one hit and they’re down, in Seungcheol’s hands left to answer the question of what the hell they think they’re doing. The shield reaches them and—
They stop, silver and metal arm extending out easily in the fraction of a second, catching the shield in midair.
Seungcheol’s chest heaves, something cold rising in his veins as his eyes widen in shock.
The person stares back at him, long black hair in their face with the wind, black grease smeared across and around their brown eyes. The lower half of their face is hidden beneath a black mask molded around their nose and jaw.
Their gaze is cold, empty. Unwavering as they stare right through Seungcheol like he is nothing worth acknowledging.
Without warning, they’re stepping back, launching the shield back at Seungcheol with an alarming force, the vibranium crashing into his stomach and chest and knocking the wind out of him, sliding him back against the concrete with the impact. He barely has time to gather himself, lungs gasping for air as he rushes toward the edge of the building, the streets of Seoul busy and bright with yellow and white lights, cars rushing past left and right, a horn blaring in the distance. His eyes struggle to focus in the midst of everything, but even if he could focus, it would be no use.
The person is gone.
ART BY REV
Notes:
what did we think of mingyu as thor? i think i outdid myself with that. also with him flirting with jihoon. you know me... gotta add jigyu in there somewhere...
we meet jh! sort of! maybe! who knows?
anyway, i hope you enjoyed this update <3 kudos and comments most appreciated--a fairy (me) and her dust (comments and kudos and nice words)
Chapter 3: III. The Winter Soldier
Summary:
Notes:
the song from this chapter is from the soundtrack to the original move—i’ll link when u should listen to it in the fic for Effect if anyone is interested.
TW needles, car accident, blood, guns, violence, electrocution. that should be all.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Seungcheol inhales, the cold stethoscope pressed into the caving skin of his sternum. The breath is soft, a wheeze filtering into his mouth in a way that makes him clamp his mouth shut in embarrassment, rose lips flush together as the doctor—Kim Yeongsuk—jots down some notes on the file attached to the clipboard in his hands.
“Asthma, correct?” Yeongsuk says—it’s not a question. He knows, has to know by the way Seungcheol’s lungs practically rattle inside his body.
“Yeah,” Seungcheol answers with a stiff nod, staring down at his feet hanging just above the floor. The examining table is groaning with every one of his movements, fragile and on the brink of disintegrating. It’s all Yeongsuk has though, so he doesn’t complain.
“Scoliosis, anemia, heart palpitations, partial deafness—prominent in the left ear,” Yeongsuk lists through an inhale. “Potential stomach ulcers and arthritis. Does this all sound correct?”
Seungcheol nods, refusing to look him in the eye. It’s all mortifying, having all his flaws splayed out in front of him. A constant reminder that although he’s still sort of breathing, he’s still weak. Barely human. He can’t even get that right. “Sounds right.”
Yeongsuk looks up at him before jotting something else down. “Nothing to be ashamed of, Seungcheol. This isn’t a test.”
It still feels like I’m failing, Seungcheol thinks bitterly. He doesn’t say anything. Instead, he lets himself be poked by another needle, more blood drawn and filled into a small tube. “What’s that for?” He asks eventually.
“Just updating your chart before we send you to training.”
Seungcheol blinks, eyes becoming wider. “Training? For what?”
“The military,” Yeongsuk says casually, like he’s talking about the weather or what he ate for lunch. “You’ll have to do training before we can determine if you’re fit for the program.”
“I don’t think the military is gonna consider me ‘fit for the program’,” Seungcheol points out. He’s not gonna last a day—surely Yeongsuk knows this.
Yeongsuk raises an eyebrow at him. “Then why are you here?”
“Why am I here?” Seungcheol parrots back.
“If you think they’ll turn you away, Yeongsuk continues, “why did you let me bring you this far?”
Seungcheol presses his lips together, sitting up straight. “I want to make a difference. I know I don’t have much to give, but I at least want a chance to do something.”
Yeongsuk smiles. “And if you fail?”
“Then at least I can say I tried.”
Yeongsuk walks over to the desk littered with clutter. He picks up a green stamp, slapping it onto Seungcheol’s file. “Bootcamp is your chance. Try not to fuck it up.”
✪
With a gasp, Seungcheol opens his eyes, body stiff against the cushions of his sofa. He hadn’t made it to bed, had paced the floor of his apartment for hours trying to rationalize what he saw only a few hours ago.
This person, this being, matching his level of stamina, of strength. Someone that challenged him physically, someone that could stop the speed and strength of his shield with one arm, one metal arm.
It shouldn’t be a possibility, but it’s all too real and it happened whether he wants to believe it or not. Not only that, but they were in his apartment to begin with. An unsettling feeling creeps into his skin and lingers in his chest and his stomach. He needs answers.
From there, he’s quick to shower and throw on a white t-shirt and blue jeans and tennis shoes. With his thoughts racing in his head, he treads toward the elevator, pressing the button over and over again for the penthouse he’s only stepped foot in one time before.
Joshua answers halfway awake, a robe draped over his shirtless body, his silk pajama pants scrunched from sleep. He blinks sleepily, rubbing his eyes and frowning.
“Not that I don’t appreciate the company,” he starts with a yawn, “but why are you here?”
“I need to see the security footage from last night,” Seungcheol says calmly. There’s no need to cause any panic yet, but the only way to get access to the footage is through Joshua. He’s the one that developed the program used for their sensors and cameras, the only person that he trusts to have access is himself.
Joshua raises an eyebrow, looking Seungcheol up and down slowly with tight lips. “You know that I’m gonna ask why and I’m expecting a good answer, right?”
Partial truths are always good, it’s something Seungcheol has known for most of his life. “The window in my room was unlatched and I don’t remember unlocking it. I just want to make sure no one was snooping through my things.”
“Ah,” Joshua nods, moving aside to let Seungcheol step through. “You know, the same happened to me a few weeks ago. Turns out getting blackout drunk on a Thursday will make you do things you wouldn’t normally do—don’t ask Soonyoung about that, he’ll tell you more than I want you to know.”
Seungcheol nods, partially paying attention. The floors are wood, well cleaned and practically polished. He follows Joshua through the open layout, the windows reaching the ceiling, taking up most of the back wall and looking out toward the city, the sky blue and clouds thick with the sun peaking through every now and then.
Joshua leads him up a spiral staircase and into a room with a large table-like, grey structure in the middle. Before Seungcheol can ask, Joshua is pressing his palm onto the flat surface, a blue light scans his hand and chimes with a sound before turning green. Then, multiple holographic images are projected above the table—all different angles from around the building, inside the common room, in the hallways, the entrances of their apartments, pointed toward their windows.
“Not much privacy,” Seungcheol notes, hoping to come across as lighthearted but unable to shake the crack in his voice.
“Safety comes first, Captain,” Joshua says easily, eyes flickering up to give Seungcheol a teasing smile. “Don’t worry, I don’t spend my free time stalking you all. I get alerts when there’s suspicious activity, that’s the only time I check the cameras.”
“Good to know.”
Joshua hums, pulling up the footage from the previous night. “Alright, this is starting from just before you left—” A blaring ringtone comes from the other side of the table, a photo of an older woman projected into the air.
“Mr. Hong,” an artificial voice says. “You are receiving a call from your mother. Would you like to answer?”
“Fuck,” Joshua whispers, rubbing a hand over his face. “It’s her birthday—I should’ve called her an hour ago— ah, goddamn it. Sorry, Captain, this is a private matter and frankly I don’t want you to hear me get berated by her. Let me know if you find anything interesting.”
Seungcheol’s nod goes unnoticed as Joshua rushes out of the room to seemingly find his phone and attend to his personal matters. Seungcheol rounds the table, looking down at the blue, holographic buttons displayed and finding the fast forward one, pressing it to speed up the footage. He narrows his eyes, eyebrows furrowed as he focuses on the window he suspects to be the main point of entry. For sped up hours, there’s nothing, a typical timelapse, clouds moving quickly in the background, the sun setting, cars rushing down below.
Then, the window is unlatched.
Seungcheol’s eyebrows crease even further, lines between his eyebrows prominent as he slows the frame, rewinds the footage and leans forward to observe closely. It happens within a fraction of a second, the latch unlatches, and then, nothing for the rest of the night. No indication of entry or exit.
The security cameras were tampered with. Whoever this was, whoever Seungcheol saw, they managed to get into Joshua’s highly locked security cameras—they managed to freeze the feed, make it look like nothing happened, like they were never there. A chill runs up Seungcheol’s spine just as Joshua comes back into the room with a dramatic sigh.
“Well, now I’ve gotta spend my day making it up to her,” he huffs, slapping Seungcheol on the shoulder and nodding toward the hologram. “Anything?”
“No, it was unlocked to begin with,” Seungcheol lies easily with a smile he hopes is more bashful than anxious. “Guess my age is finally starting to catch up to me.”
Joshua barks out a laugh, head thrown back, a hand resting on the bare skin of his stomach. He settles with several staggered chuckles, dabbing at the corner of his eye with his middle finger. “Ah, I didn’t think you had any jokes in you, Cap. That was a good one, you should feel proud!”
“Thanks,” Seungcheol says through an empty laugh that seems to ring in his ears like a clumsy symphony.
“Why don’t you stay for breakfast?” Joshua offers suddenly, leaning his hip against the table, pressing a series of buttons, fingers coming up to pinch at the images to make them disappear in the air. “I can order us some American breakfast—have you tried that before? It’s gonna blow your fucking mind—”
A voice comes through the speakers in the ceiling. “Captain Choi, please report to Agent Boo for an assignment.”
A blessing and a curse. Seungcheol presses his lips together, dropping his head for a split second before resurfacing with a tight smile that Joshua seems to see right through. “Duty calls.”
“Consider this a rain check,” Joshua says, pointing a finger at Seungcheol. Then, with a pat to his arm and a more genuine tone, “Go be a hero, Cap.”
The corner of Seungcheol’s mouth twitches into a smile. “I’ll try.”
✪
According to Seungkwan, this assignment is a surprise to him as well, but apparently a SHIELD craft containing some fairly important weapons was shot down somewhere in the depths of Scotland. It should be an easy in and out—see if they can recover any sort of leads and if necessary, find whoever is responsible for this and make sure they are dealt with appropriately. Seungcheol can do that, he’s done far worse things with way less briefing.
“One more thing,” Seungkwan says just as Seungcheol is about to prepare to leave. “Hansol’s your partner for this one.”
Seungcheol blinks. He’s rarely worked with Hansol outside of group missions. It’s usually Minghao or Jihoon joining Seungcheol during these sort of things, so he tries not to act too surprised when receiving the news. “Oh—that’s—yeah. That’s… good.”
Seungkwan huffs out a laugh, rolling his eyes as he stands up, the navy, dry-fit shirt hugging his torso shifting as he straightens. “I know he’s not your ideal choice of partner, but he’s been proving himself to be reliable and useful. That, and Minghao is MIA.”
“MIA?” Seungcheol parrots. “We saw him yesterday—”
“And he left right after. Haven’t been able to track him or get a hold of him since,” Seungkwan explains. “He’s okay I’m sure. He tends to do this when he gets a lead on an assignment—”
“The personal one?” Seungcheol interrupts a bit bitterly.
“Yes,” Seungkwan answers bluntly, raising an eyebrow like he’s daring Seungcheol to challenge him. “The personal one, meaning that I don’t have to share any information with you and neither does Minghao.”
Seungcheol presses his lips together and nods. He does his best to shake the itching beneath his skin, walking out with a straight back and squared shoulders, but can’t seem to get past the feeling that something is off.
It lingers for more than he knows what to do with, stuck staring out the dash window of the quinjet with thoughts racing so quickly that he can’t quite pinpoint what he’s thinking about. He only comes to when he sees a shift of red to his left, head snapping to find Hansol awkwardly hovering, crossing and uncrossing his arms, huffing his cheeks out as he exhales, eyes looking up at the ceiling.
Seungcheol looks him up and down—the red and blue spandex suit with black, web-like patterns spread throughout and a black spider silhouette in the middle of chest doesn’t look so silly when it’s on his slender but muscular body—and raises a thick eyebrow. Hansol finally makes eye contact with him and freezes, blinking without saying a word.
“Everything okay?” Seungcheol asks after a beat of awkward silence.
Hansol shakes his head. “I’m good. Are you good?”
“I’m good,” Seungcheol answers. He looks down at the digital map on the dash—one hour until they begin to descend. He can hear Hansol’s mouth opening and closing as if trying to form some sort of sentence in the silence. “You sure you’re okay?”
“Can I call you hyung, or is that offensive?” Hansol blurts out, barreling on before Seungcheol can even think of what to say. “Or, do you prefer halabuji —”
“Hyung is fine,” Seungcheol says loudly over Hansol, giving him a pressed smile. “I’m not too much older than you.”
“You’re, like, over seventy years older than me.”
Seungcheol chuckles, tilting his chin down for a fleeting moment until it almost touches the red and blue taegeuk in the center of his stealth suit. It shouldn’t be as amusing as it is, but he should have expected this conversation from Hansol, especially since their interactions before this have been very short and few. “Do I look seventy years older than you?”
Hansol scrunches his nose and tilts his head back and forth like he’s trying to decide on an answer. “I don’t wanna think about that, Captain.”
Seungcheol laughs, shaking his head and sitting down in the leather chair, a second passing before Hansol does the same. A comfortable silence settles as the minutes count down and eventually, the quinjet begins to descend. Hansol puts on his mask with ease, sliding it over his auburn hair and letting it fit seamlessly against the rest of the Spider-Man suit. He blinks, the white eyes of the mask blinking animatedly with him.
When he realizes Seungcheol is watching him, he gives him two thumbs up. “Ready to make you proud, hyung.”
Seungcheol snorts, reaching down to grab his shield from where it was propped up against the seat, latching it into his back. “Best way to do that is to not die.”
Hansol’s eyes go wide and he nods as if he’s taking the advice to heart.
They land on hills of vibrant and green grass that flutters beneath the wind created by the quinjet. In the midst, a crashed quinjet. The clouds in the sky are thick and grey, threatening rain at any given moment. Seungcheol’s boots sink into the grass as he steps off the craft, his head tilted up at the sky and surveying their surroundings. Clusters of trees are strewn through the land, offering few high points.
“Can you get a view from up high?” Seungcheol asks as Hansol follows him.
Hansol nods animatedly. “Yeah, I can probably get some good height if I go in the trees.”
“You do that and I’ll scope out the ground, see if I can find any sort of leads.”
“Roger that,” Hansol salutes, already jogging toward a group of trees. He flexes his arm out, his middle and ring finger pressed to his palm as a web shoots out of the small, mechanical device embedded into the wrist of his suit that (according to Seungkwan) he designed and crafted himself. The web spirals out, latching onto a tree. Hansol uses it to swing into the air, doing an impressive and effortless flip as he practically floats through the air, catching himself with another web aimed toward a higher branch and repeating until he’s up in the highest tree.
Seungcheol watches, impressed, before focusing on his own task. The grass is dewy as he takes each step, the now abandoned quinjet lying crookedly and starkly in the middle of all the green surrounding them. When he nears it, there’s no indications of tampering. No bullet holes, no scorched marks, but the inside is tarnished, missing weapons and ammo. Nothing else of importance was taken, which is good. He notes that quickly as Hansol swings back toward him, landing in front of him gracefully with his feet on the floor and his knees bent, facing outward.
“Anything?” Seungcheol asks and Hansol shakes his head.
“It’s vacant for miles,” he says with a sigh, standing up. “I’m sure whoever did this had enough time to get away. What about you? Anything?”
“Nothing that gives us any useful leads,” Seungcheol says, eyes surveying the land around them again in hopes that maybe something will change. “Maybe we can walk around, see if we can find anything.”
The whites of Hansol’s mask blink as he tilts his head to the side with a laugh that dies on his throat when he realizes that Seungcheol is being serious. “Wait—you… Are we actually gonna search between every blade of grass for some sort of clue?”
Seungcheol shrugs, unclipping his helmet from his head and attaching it to his belt, black hair wavy and tousling in the subtle breeze that joins them. It starts to sprinkle rain within the second, water droplets beading off his dark blue suit. “We have to try something.”
Hansol drops his head dramatically. “ You know, I’m not a super soldier, I get tired fast and I need a snack and a nap every four hours. We’re on hour three, just so you know.”
Seungcheol hums as he starts to walk in the opposite direction. “You can take a nap on the way back.”
After an hour and a half of searching for nothing, Seungcheol checks in with Seungkwan, a little irritated at the time wasted, time that could’ve been spent on something better.
He speaks into the comm on his wrist. “Open secure line. Four-four-two-one. Captain Choi reporting from the inlands of Scotland.”
“This is Agent Boo.”
“Seungkwan,” Seungcheol greets quickly. “There’s nothing out here.”
“Nothing?”
“Just the quinjet. There’s no signs of forced entry or tampering—everything is intact, the doors, the engines. No one in sight either.”
“That’s impossible,” Seungkwan mutters with a sigh. “The sensors indicated someone inside the craft—it went off course and it’s missing weapons. That didn’t just happen magically.”
“I’m just telling you what I see, Seungkwan-ah.”
There’s a pause, the sound of Seungkwan drumming his fingers against his desk. He sighs again, this time louder. “Fuck. I think I might know…”
Seungcheol waits for him to clarify but gets no answer. “Care to share?”
“Not if it’s gonna piss you off.”
“Is that Seungkwan?” Hansol calls as he nears Seungcheol. “Hey, Seungkwan! How’s your day going so far—”
“Tell me,” Seungcheol demands over Hansol’s attempt at conversation.
The line crackles through the silence. “… Minghao had a tracker attached to him by one of the suspects of his personal assignment. I’m assuming he wanted to throw them off track and didn’t anticipate that our guns would be all that important to them.”
Seungcheol squeezes his eyes shut in frustration, inhaling slowly to not do something stupid like punch a hole through one of the quinjets. “You know,” he starts slowly, “I’m getting really tired of this personal assignment interfering with my work.”
“And I’m getting tired of you thinking a personal assignment revolves around you,” Seungkwan says back, nipping Seungcheol’s attitude with some of his own. “You can load up the rest of the weapons left behind and come back to Seoul.”
The line disconnects and Seungcheol is left staring at the ground with rain pelting his hair and shoulders, something stronger than annoyance prickling at his skin.
“So,” Hansol chuckles awkwardly behind him. “Did Seungkwan—ah, uh— Agent Boo mention me or anything?”
Seungcheol shakes his head. “Maybe next time, kid.”
⍟
The lights above Seungcheol are bright, almost blinding. He squints against the harshness, his lips dry and cracking as he grimaces. He didn’t think he’d make it this far, if he’s being completely honest, but apparently throwing yourself on a grenade to make yourself useful, to hope your bony body will shield everyone from a potential blast in an attempt to give yourself some kind of purpose is considered heroic.
Worthy.
Rectangular, metal pads with holes for needles to pierce through are placed on his chest, arms, stomach, shoulders, legs. Nearly every inch of him, about to be subjected to a serum they’re only partially sure works. Someone’s got to be the lab-rat, someone that can die without making much of a dent in the world. Though, he was told not to say that. Yeongsuk likes to say that he’s more important than he realizes.
“Five…” Yeongsuk begins to count down. The metal pads press into Seungcheol’s skin further, cold as he takes in a deep breath and puts on a brave face. “Four… Three… Two…” He touches Seungcheol’s shoulder, giving him a gentle smile, like he’s trying to reassure him that everything is going to be okay. “One.”
Someone flips a switch. The needles plunge into Seungcheol’s skin, through what little muscles he has until they’re almost reaching the bone. The blue serum rushes through the needles and into his body, the pain searing, burning every single cell in his body until he feels like he’s going to combust. He squeezes his eyes shut to try and bear the pain, gritting his teeth but it’s amplified within the second, skin starting to ache. His brown eyes shoot open, mouth dropping in a pained groan that is drowned out by the sound of mumbled chatter from the few people watching.
“Now, Hong!” Yeongsuk calls.
Jongsoo nods, pulling a lever that begins to elevate the chamber Seungcheol is lying in. The doors to the chamber begin to close when Seungcheol is upright, a panic flaring in his chest when the faces begin to disappear, replaced by a black darkness that nearly brings tears to his eyes.
“Jeonghan,” he whimpers, knowing it’s a bit pathetic but unable to help the way his lips tremble out the name. He has to do this, if not for himself, then for Jeonghan. For the chance to live a long life together, to see each other grow old. To tell stories about their youth, to retire in the countryside and share affection on the comfort of their porch. It’s all for Jeonghan—everything he does is for Jeonghan. He needs to survive this.
A knock sounds on the outside of the chamber and Yeongsuk’s voice follows it. “Seungcheol? Can you hear me?”
“I can hear you,” Seungcheol says back.
“We’ll be proceeding,” Yeongsuk informs him.
It’s eerily quiet, a series of sounds coming from the outside. Someone counting a percentage rate, calling out his blood pressure and heart rate.
Then, comes the pain, something unlike anything Seungcheol has ever experienced before. His bones feel like they’re shattering slowly, muscles contracting as if they’re being pulled apart and gripped between bladed fingers. The scream that rips from Seungcheol’s throat rings in his ears as a blinding white light floods around him.
“Turn it off!” He hears between his screams. “Turn it off!”
“No!’ Seungcheol yells above it, voice hoarse, an image of Jeonghan flashing in his mind. He has to survive this. For Jeonghan. “I can do this!”
This seems to be the right thing to say. The pain comes back almost instantly, his tongue tasting of blood, fingers flexing in agony and everything slowly becoming distorted, reality fading away.
The light dims and it’s silent. His chest is heaving, lungs filling with air in a way they never did before. The doors to the chamber open and his head lolls back as Yeongsuk is in his space.
“Seungcheol-ah? Seungcheol-ah! How do you feel?”
Seungcheol blinks his eyes open, forcing his neck up to look at the room. Everything is clearer, more defined. Everyone is staring at him in awe. “I feel… I feel okay.” A nurse looks him up and down with a blush. He turns to look at Yeongsuk, his damp, black hair falling into his face. “How do I look?”
Yeongsuk laughs, hand coming out to pat his stomach, toned and defined. “You look like a soldier.”
✪
Immediately after returning from the (failed) assignment, Hansol is told to meet Seungkwan for details on another mission, this time in New York. Seungcheol hovers just in case he’s needed as well, but is told to go home and take a rest. He doesn’t argue, glad to get some time to himself and not tear the walls around him down in frustration. Sure, it’s a bit dramatic but he’s tired. He’s been tired for so long. He wonders when he’ll feel well rested again, if ever at all.
Seungcheol takes his time showering and changing into his civilian clothes before he leaves the SHIELD building, straddling his motorcycle, the wind whipping through his black hair and the white t-shirt he’s wearing. The apartments are silent when he returns, most of the lights off. He runs into Chan in the hallway as he’s unlocking his door, thumb pressed into the pad that scans the print. Chan is holding a basket of laundry and something about the way his hair is freshly washed and how his pajama pants are pooling at his ankles makes it look like he’s a normal kid in college—something he’ll never get the chance to experience.
“Your thoughts feel… sad ,” Chan says suddenly, causing Seungcheol to pause.
“You can feel them?”
“It’s been happening more often than not,” Chan says with a bashful shrug and furrowed eyebrows, like he himself isn’t sure why he mentioned it. “I don’t know. But it’s mostly with you—there’s always something on your mind.”
Seungcheol breathes out what could pass as a laugh. “Yeah, well. I can’t really argue with that.”
Chan gives him a sympathetic smile. “If you ever need someone to talk to, I’m always here.”
“Thanks,” Seungcheol says, already knowing he will not be taking Chan up on that offer. He’s been through more than the rest of them combined, it would be selfish of him to expect Chan to listen to him pity his own past. “Have a goodnight, Chan.”
“You too,” Chan says. Then he speaks again. “Oh, hyung, you left your stereo on.”
Seungcheol’s eyebrows twitch in confusion, but he schools his expression easily so as to not worry Chan. He hasn’t turned his stereo on in weeks, but he can hear it clearly now that it’s been pointed out. “Ah, right. Thank you.”
Chan smiles at him before disappearing into his apartment. Seungcheol waits until the door locks with a click and then he pushes into his own home, all the lights turned off, not even the automatic ones flickering on at his motions. He steps carefully, presses his back against the wall and cranes his neck to peek into the living room. There is a figure sitting on his armchair.
Minghao’s voice pierces the air. “Welcome back.”
Seungcheol rolls his eyes, keeping his guard up but fully stepping into the living room. “I don’t want to hear anything from you.”
Minghao raises a sharp eyebrow, his red hair styled neatly and out of his face, his black, combat uniform on his slender body. “How was I supposed to know that Seungkwan would send you to investigate?”
An annoyance begins to spread through Seungcheol’s skin. He tongues his cheek in an attempt to not do something stupid like throw a punch. “Maybe communicate more and we wouldn’t be in this position—I mean, God , Minghao. All of this for some—some personal assignment. Is it really worth it?”
“Yes,” Minghao answers without missing a beat, eyes unmoving from Seungcheol’s face. “But that’s not what I’m here for.”
Seungcheol straightens his shoulders. “What are you here for, then?”
“Is there something you’re not telling me?”
Seungcheol pauses, tilting his head to the side with a neutral expression. What’s Minghao’s game here? “Why would there be?”
“You were looking through the surveillance cameras this morning,” Minghao explains, uncrossing his legs and leaning forward as he lowers his voice. “They were wiped—no one knows that except for you and me. I’m gonna ask you again, Seungcheol. Is there something you’re not telling me?”
“How do you know—”
“I’m not here to bullshit,” Minghao snaps standing up. His eyes are wider than normal, borderline frantic. His jaw is tight and neck tense. He’s stressed in a way Seungcheol has never seen from him. He moves his hand to the gun on his hip. “What do you know?”
Seungcheol swallows, eyes flickering down to the way Minghao’s finger twitch against the material of the gun.
Seungcheol inhales, the memory etched into his brain, an unnerving feeling crawling through his skin. “Nothing,” Seungcheol answers honestly. Minghao isn’t the enemy here. “He was in my apartment. I followed him out onto a rooftop miles from here. I threw my shield to demobilize him and he—he caught it. His arm was metal. That’s all I remember.”
The tension in Minghao dissipates. He drops his stance, inhaling a breath that seems to barely fill his lungs. His eyes fall to the floor, eyebrows furrowing, mouth twitching around empty words for seconds that seem to pass slowly. “You—” He sighs. “You really don’t know anything.”
Seungcheol takes a hesitant step forward, hand out like he’s approaching a wounded animal. “Who was that, Minghao?”
“He was looking for me—”
“Who?”
Minghao’s lip trembles, his gaze distant, aimed at the floor. His voice is quiet, paranoid, as he whispers over the music still playing. “The Winter Soldier.”
Something flashes in Seungcheol’s mind—the mission from all those weeks ago. The bot’s words ringing around in his head like a broken symphony. Winter is coming. “The… The Winter—?”
“He’s a ghost,” Minghao quickly starts over him. “Untraceable. No known name or identity, no known origin. I’ve thought he was a myth for most of my career, but he… He exists. He exists and I’m trying to find him before he finds me.”
“What’s going on?” Seungcheol asks almost desperately. He’s sick of vague sentences, of riddles. If he can help in some way, he wants to. “Why is he trying to find you?”
“He works for the Red Room,” Minghao says after a moment. The Red Room. The name is familiar, has been mentioned here and there, mostly from Minghao or Junhui in passing. Seungcheol knows just enough about it to know that it is a hellhole—a Soviet training facility made to create spies, assassins, killers. Minghao was tortured by them for most of his youth, made to endure unspeakable training. There are scars littered throughout his body as proof of his time there. “I have something he wants.”
Seungcheol says nothing, waits for Minghao to be the one to break the silence thickening by the second.
“I have files, data, all sorts of evidence,” Minghao continues. “Evidence that could put away every person affiliated with the Red Room. Politicians, doctors, lawyers, anyone that’s even breathed near a training facility. I have videos of the torture they made us endure, files on their production of assassins, names of people who called hits on world leaders or anyone even remotely important.” He swallows, tongue flicking out nervously to dampen his dry lips. “I know it’s what I was made for, but I was lucky enough to escape. They’ve been trying to find me ever since but I’m not going down without a fight.”
“That’s—Minghao, that’s a lot to handle by yourself,” Seungcheol says, tone barely audible over the music.
“I’m managing,” Minghao says bluntly.
There are a million questions rattling in Seungcheol’s skull, but one stands out the most. “What was he doing in my apartment, then? If he’s looking for you?”
“He wasn’t just in your apartment,” Minghao says. “Junhui’s too. Joshua’s. Wonwoo, Chan’s, Seokmin’s—he was searching the building. I’m assuming he saw me coming from this building more than once and thought I’d be stupid enough to leave some files or evidence behind. He’s covering his bases—or at least whoever he’s working for is covering their bases. That’s why I’ve been unavailable—I found a tracker attached to my combat suit and put it in the quinjet to get him off my trail. I didn’t think it would be in use.”
“Well it was,” Seungcheol informs him, a hint of bitterness seeping into his tone, “and weapons were stolen.”
Minghao presses his lips together, breaking eye contact. “I’ll fix it.”
“There’s nothing to fix now,” Seungcheol tells him. “But if you need any back up, I’m here, Minghao. You don’t have to do this alone.”
The ghost of a smile graces Minghao’s lips for a fraction of a second. “I’ll be sure to remember that.”
⍟
Somehow, someway, Seungcheol proves to be useless after the serum. Not that he has any say in what he can or can’t do, of course. He’s under the orders of the military, can only do or say as they tell him.
Captain Korea, that’s what they call him.
A symbol of hope, of a brighter future.
One filled with separation, locked borders.
Seungcheol doesn’t like the idea all that much when it is presented to him along with a costume—a suit, they call it, his super-soldier suit, but he calls it what it is which is a fucking costume with cheap fabric of blue and red stitched together clumsily and a shield that is made of scrapped metal.
There’s choreography, fireworks that barely reach the sky, a speech that is empty with no real emotion or meaning poured into it. He’s used as a pretty thing to flaunt for this side and not someone of importance and it’s… it’s frustrating. He knows he can do so much more than this if someone just trusted him.
“Baby steps,” one of the higher ups from a different country tells him. “First we sell the idea, get everyone on this side, kill some communists, and boom. You’re a Korean hero.”
He travels from small town to small town, performing for groups of soldiers and civilians. No one takes him seriously—it’s all a big fucking joke and he knows it, too. It doesn’t make it any less embarrassing.
Above all, he misses Jeonghan. The thought of seeing him again, hopefully soon, outweighs everything else. That’s the only thing keeping him going at this point, tolerating the new bullshit each day has to offer.
It’s raining and he’s sitting on the edge of a rickety, empty stage. His costume is soaked, his black and wet hair is hanging in his face as he watches the puddles in the chipped asphalt ripple with every raindrop. Someone takes a seat in the empty space next to him and he doesn’t look up, too scared to be seen in such a vulnerable state.
Jongsoo raises an eyebrow when he goes unacknowledged. “You put on a hell of a performance.”
Seungcheol huffs out a laugh, wringing his fingers together. “I’m used to the crowds being twelve and not… not grown men already putting up with enough bullshit as it is.”
“Yeah, well. You’re a symbol of hope, aren’t you?” Jongsoo asks, though it’s not much of a question, especially as he pokes at the red fabric on Seungcheol’s torso. “At least, that’s what they’re calling you. Have you read the newspapers?”
“I can’t bring myself to,” Seungcheol answers honestly. “But all I know is that people are on… on this side. Whatever this side is.”
“Is that what they’re telling you?”
“It was either this or they stick me in a lab to be poked and prodded for however long this war lasts” Seungcheol shrugs helplessly, his thick eyelashes clumped together with rain. “I want to help in any way I can.”
Jongsoo presses his lips together distastefully. “And you think that this is helping?”
Seungcheol sighs. He can’t expect Jongsoo to understand—he can’t expect anyone here to understand, really. “When you live your whole life searching for something that will make you useful, something that will guarantee you some worth… This is better than I could’ve hoped for, if we’re speaking realistically. From being treated like I was nothing to… to being thanked and called a hero… It’s… All I ever dreamed about was meaning something— to be on the end of something greater, something that could help people. But now I’m parading myself around on stage like a fucking idiot. I don’t know if it’s helping, but fuck, I’m trying.”
A truck filled with infirmary cots passes by, wounded soldiers splayed out on the cheap fabric. They’re taken to a medical tent nearby and he can taste the bile on his tongue.
“Jesus,” he whispers, shaking his head. “It’s—God. I’m here complaining and they’re been through so much worse.”
Jongsoo follows where his line of sight had previously been and nods agreeingly. “Yeah, especially them.”
“Especially?”
“HYDRA,” Jongsoo says like it explains everything, and it does. HYDRA—an organization that’s been around since the second world war. Nazis in hiding—people who are determined to rewrite history for worse. Somehow they’ve found a way to involve themselves in this, too. Seungcheol is tired of everyone shoving their noses where they don’t belong. “They’ve infiltrated the other side. Rumor has it they have a fuck-ton of labs set up up north and are using our guys and the west’s guys as lab rats. The guys you saw today, half of their unit was captured while they were up north.”
Something in Seungcheol’s blood runs cold. He finally looks up at Jongsoo, hair wet across his forehead, droplets dripping from his cupid’s bow. “What unit?”
Jongsoo shrugs. “What does it matter—?”
“What. Fucking. Unit,” Seungcheol grits, fists clenched now. Jongsoo swallows nervously.
“The 107th.”
Seungcheol is up without warning, storming toward the tent belonging to the higher ups. Jongsoo follows behind him clumsily, words falling out of his mouth all saying the same thing: Seungcheol, think this through. He’s done with thinking things through.
He barges in without much thought, the sergeant snapping his head up at the sudden shift. He raises an eyebrow and speaks in the broken Korean he made a partial attempt to learn to communicate with Seungcheol. From the other side of the tent, his translator stands up, but he gestures for her to have a seat.
Sergeant Smith smiles at Seungcheol. “Well, if it isn’t our symbol of hope.”
“Let me see the casualty list.” There’s a pause as it’s translated. Seungcheol’s jaw twitches in anger.
Sergeant Smith sighs, pointing to the ranking on his own uniform. “You don’t give me orders, Choi. Know your place.”
“One name,” Seungcheol says in English. He’s picked up a few things here and there, knows that it’s better to do that instead of expecting everyone else to be respectful of the region they’re in, especially being around bastards like this. “One name. That’s it. Yoon Jeonghan.”
Smith looks over Seungcheol’s shoulder and at Jongsoo. “Get his superiors—”
“Is he alive? Or dead? Yoon Jeonghan. Y-O-O-N—”
“Stop—don’t spell at me, son or I’ll get your ass sent back—”
Jongsoo finally speaks up. “Sergeant, I don’t think you’d want him as an enemy.”
Somehow, this seems to tame Smith. He presses his lips together and narrows his eyes. “Yoon Jeonghan?” Seungcheol nods, fingertips trembling as Smith begins to go through the files in front of him. “A lot of condolence letters have been signed and sent—the names start to blur together when you’ve seen them so many times. I will say, the name sounds familiar.”
Something heavy hits Seungcheol’s chest, knocking the wind out of him. His lip trembles around his words as he tries to inhale but can feel everything slowly start to crumble, to fade. “That—Is there a rescue mission in the works?”
“The best we can hope for is winning the war—”
“But you know where they are—”
“It’s thirty miles past where the north is currently occupying,” Smith snaps. “We’d kill more men than we’d end up saving—listen, I don’t expect you to understand the complexity of the situation considering you’re nothing more than a show boy.”
Jeonghan is worth more than most men, Seungcheol almost says, a rage crawling up his skin at the lack of urgency. He’s not losing Jeonghan, not like this. “I understand more than you think.”
He storms out, can hear the mumbled annoyance and make out more than a few profanities thrown his way. It’s all irrelevant, though—he needs to find Jeonghan.
✪
Seungcheol’s plan is that he doesn’t have a plan. Well, that’s a lie. His plan is Find Jeonghan, everything after that is uncertain, unknown, and frankly he doesn’t care all that much. Not as long as he gets the chance to hold Jeonghan again, to kiss him and apologize for letting him leave on shaky terms.
He leaves an hour later, stealing one of the blue hats from girls that adorns a capital C in the middle of the area covering the forehead and the dainty shield they give him for stage performances. He works by himself, untrusting of anyone around him—no one can understand how reckless this is and be willing to walk into possible death without a second thought.
He’s careful, quick. Precise in all his planning, in everyone that he hurts or kills—maybe he’s become a bit of a monster, but all of that is pushed to the back of his mind. He needs to find Jeonghan now, whether it kills him or everyone around him.
The days are long and the nights are even longer. With his body and energy enhanced by the serum, he doesn’t require as much rest as he used to, and meals become almost foreign to him as he continues to push north. Every scrape and bruise he acquires are healed within the minute if not second and he quickly realizes that he has more strength than he knows what to do with.
It’s raining when he makes it to Jeonghan.
The droplets are like bullets beating against his helmet, every inch of him is soaked as he grits his teeth, dodging a bullet with the tattered shield and flinging it toward the shooter without a second thought, taking them down easily. He retrieves his shield from the muddy floor and huffs out a breath when he notices another group of northern soldiers heading toward him. These, though, have a pin on the collar of their uniforms—a red skull with six tentacle-like objects branching out from the bottom. HYDRA.
He sees them before they see him, and he’s quick with his strategy. He charges forward without much care of what weapons they’re currently in possession of, body working faster than his mind. He’s not proud of it, but he blacks out, comes to as his hands are gripping one of their necks, face turning purple as the life flickers from their eyes and they go limp in Seungcheol’s grasp. He’s shaking as he lets go, plucking the set of keys from their pocket and stumbling toward the facility that is barely hanging on against the wind whipping around him.
From there, it’s all instinct. He takes down every soldier standing in his way without a second glass, pushes and pushes and pushes until he can feel his lungs and bones straining in ways he hasn’t felt since before the serum.
The first group of hostages are sitting in a dingy cell with dirt on their faces and hope lost from their eyes. The gasp is like a clumsy chorus in a silent church and Seungcheol salutes them even though every part of his body feels numb.
“It’s you,” one of them says, straightening up from where they were leaning against the rusted bars. “Captain Korea.”
Seungcheol’s eyebrows crease as he catches his breath. “You know me?”
“We’ve seen you in the papers,” a younger one says. gripping at the bars to get closer. He looks Seungcheol up and down with a shrug. “Some choir boy.”
Seungcheol huffs out a bitter laugh, arms spread. “Do I look like a choir boy?”
“No,” the first soldier says quickly. “Yoon was right about you.”
The entirety of Seungcheol’s body goes cold. “Yoon?” He whispers, hoping he didn’t hear wrong.
“Yoon Jeonghan—he said he knows you,” the younger one says. “That you’d find us eventually. We thought he was going crazy because, well. They’ve put him through the wringer—”
“Where is he?” Seungcheol asks over him, body vibrating. He has to find Jeonghan.
“We don't know,” a soldier sitting on the floor says. “We haven't seen him in a few days.”
It’s the last answer Seungcheol wants to hear—if Jeonghan hasn’t returned in days, he’s as good as dead.
Seungcheol tosses them the keys, bile rising in his throat as he tries to keep himself from doing something stupid. “Get yourselves out of here and get yourself some weapons.”
They nod without question and Seungcheol is on foot within the second.
The hallways are dark, barely an ounce of light from the outside bleeding through, and he turns every corner with a prayer on his tongue—please, God, take me to Jeonghan. Let me see him one more time, I promise to be a better person just bring me to him.
It seems to work—he turns another corner and finds a. a heavy door propped open, and laying there, on a cold, metal table, is Jeonghan.
Somehow, he still looks beautiful, even like this—greasy hair, dirt on his face, his eyes half-lidded as he mumbles over and over and over again, his dried lips parting with every rasped word leaving his mouth. As Seungcheol stumbles closer, he can make out Jeonghan reciting numbers—his military serial number assigned to him when he was drafted.
“Jeonghan,” Seungcheol chokes out, knees weakening the closer he gets, a warmth seeping down his cheeks as he finally stands in front of Jeonghan’s body. He’s barely aware of the newfound presence, eyes glossy and focused on the ceiling above them, mouth quiet but still moving around unsaid numbers. “God— ” Seungcheol chokes out, pressing his lips together to keep himself from sobbing. The cuts on Jeonghan’s cheekbones and lip are scabbed already, but there are bruises on his arms and temples. “Baby—it’s me. Jeonghan, it’s me.”
Seungcheol frantically begins to unstrap Jeonghan from the table, fingers trembling as he does so even as he does his best to keep his composure. Jeonghan doesn’t move, honey eyes still staring upward. He only budges when the strap around his chest is ripped off, a stuttered inhale almost choking him as his gaze flickers and finally lands on Seungcheol’s face.
“It’s me,” Seungcheol tries again, trying his best to smile. “It’s Seungcheol, Hannie.”
Jeonghan smiles lazily. It’s like a divine prayer answered. “Cheollie,” he mutters and Seungcheol nods as he pulls him upright to sit.
“I—baby,” Seungcheol chokes out, pressing his forehead to Jeonghan’s. “I thought you were dead.”
Jeonghan’s eyebrows furrow as he looks Seungcheol up and down, eyes becoming more and more focused by the second. His mouth twitches and his tongue darts out to moisten his dry lips. “I—I thought you were smaller.”
It makes Seungcheol laugh, unable to help the way he dips down to kiss Jeonghan’s dirt tainted cheek and the lone freckle beneath his eye. Jeonghan’s hands grasp at Seungcheol’s biceps as he breathes out, but the bliss is short-lived as commotion starts to break out in the hallway.
“What’s that?” Jeonghan asks, words a bit slurred.
“Our way out,” Seungcheol tells him. He drapes Jeonghan’s arm over his shoulder, slots the other arm around his waist and pulls him to his feet. “Let’s go.”
”Home?” Jeonghan asks and Seungcheol’s heart aches.
“Almost.”
✪
When Seungcheol wakes up there are hot tears track down his face, tickling his ear as he shoots up in a panic. It takes him a moment to gather his surroundings, swallowing roughly and wiping the wetness with the back of his hand. He’s sure his heart is about to beat out of his chest, and the anxiety is only amplified as his phone begins to ring abruptly. He curses under his breath, fumbles for the device on his nightstand and answers with more of a grunt than an actual greeting.
Jihoon’s voice comes in with a bit of static. “I thought you’d be more of a morning person.”
Seungcheol tries to laugh but can only manage an exhale. “Some mornings are better than others.”
Jihoon hums. “Nightmare?”
Seungcheol nods even though he knows Jihoon can’t see him. “Yeah, nightmare.”
There’s a silence, and for a moment Seungcheol is sure that Jihoon hung up, unable to join his pity party. But instead, he’s greeted with an offer. “Would it be too much to ask you to come to another VA meeting today?”
Seungcheol squeezes his eyes shut. As much as he doesn’t want to, he can’t think of anything better to do. “No. I can go.”
✪
It’s not as bad as last time. Well, it couldn’t get much worse than last time, really.
Seungcheol hides himself beneath a navy blue baseball cap, crossing his arms to make himself look smaller and laying low, not saying a word even as Jihoon shoots him these looks like he wants Seungcheol to speak.
Why should he? It’s not like he has anything important to say. He still wakes up trembling, for fucks sake, still latches onto the ghosts of his past like a lifeline and…
It’s pathetic, really. But he doesn’t say that. Not out loud, at least.
He waits for everyone to leave first, watching as Jihoon personally talks to every single one of them before they leave. As shy as he can be, he’s in his element here, willing to be an open ear for those that need it. Seungcheol envies him a bit.
“Ready?” Jihoon asks, snapping him out of his thoughts.
Seungcheol nods, adjusting the cap on his head so that his black hair is pushed back neatly beneath the garment. He stands and tries to ignore the way Jihoon is trying to read his expression. “You walking back to your place?”
“Probably,” Jihoon answers as they exit the building, a breeze fluttering past them. The sky is grey with heavy clouds, the smell of rain fresh in the air as they walk in step with one another. “What’s a little rain?”
“I can take you,” Seungcheol offers, nodding toward his motorcycle parked on the side of the road. “You can take the helmet.”
“Yeah, like you need it,” Jihoon says with a huff of laughter. “But, sure. I could use a ride.”
Once they’re settled and the motorcycle turns on with a rumble, Jihoon grips onto Seungcheol’s waist. “Don’t fucking kill me,” he says and Seungcheol chuckles.
“Wasn’t planning on it. Unless you’re gonna force me to attend more of these things.”
“It wasn’t that bad.”
“Yeah, well it wasn’t great.”
“It was fine,” Jihoon insists as Seungcheol pulls into the road, his words a bit muffled by the black helmet perched on his head. “Though, I didn’t know you still got stage fright.”
“Sometimes I just don’t want to talk about myself,” Seungcheol says, a bit defensively despite himself. Jihoon’s just trying to crack the dam that Seungcheol has built, that’s all. But some things are meant to stay clumsily patched—it’s better that way.
“Well, you’ve gotta open up sometime—”
Seungcheol drowns out the rest of Jihoon’s words, anxiety beginning to claw at his skin and up his throat. Then, like a leak in a dam, his phone begins to ring. He jumps at the sudden vibration in his pocket, vaguely hearing Jihoon’s words trail off through the ringing in his ears. He speeds up the motorcycle, curving along with the rode as the phone continues to ring. They slow down at a red light before coming to a complete stop and Jihoon taps his fingers on Seungcheol’s arm.
“You should probably answer that.”
Seungcheol shrugs. “I can guarantee it’s not important.”
The streets around them are empty, too empty for the middle of a weekday. The breeze drifts past them and Seungcheol’s ears perk up as the engine of a vehicle comes closer.
An all black SUV pulls up beside them, the window rolling down and revealing Minghao with panicked eyes, chest heaving as he comes into view. Seungcheol’s skin goes cold, an uneasiness flooding his veins.
“Minghao—?”
“Seungkwan is in trouble,” Minghao says after a beat, voice cracking between his words. “I need your help—you —you said if I needed help you’d be there. I need your help, Seungcheol.”
The light turns green and Minghao is stepping on the gas without another word. Seungcheol grips onto the handlebars of his motorcycle. “Hang on,” he warns Jihoon and the engine revs just as Jihoon’s fingers tighten on his waist. He barely catches up to Minghao, a million questions racing through his head as he watches as Minghao recklessly— frantically— swerves between cars and trucks. Seungcheol curses under his breath and Jihoon yelps as he barely misses hitting a minivan and nearly loses Minghao in the slowing traffic. Before he has time to question if this level of recklessness is necessary, Minghao is stepping on the breaks, the car swerving and parking in front of a tattered vehicle, freshly crashed, its hood all bent out of shape and missing pieces.
Seungcheol swallows.
It’s Seungkwan’s personal vehicle.
“Oh, shit,” Jihoon mutters from behind him, piecing it together as well.
Seungcheol is stopping his motorcycle, dropping it beneath him and Jihoon, grateful that Jihoon picks up on the urgency and is stepping off at the same time. They both run toward the car, vehicles swerving around the scene on the side of the lane. By the time they reach the mangled car in their short and few strides, Minghao is already sticking his arm through the shattered driver’s side window to unlock it. He yanks the busted door open with the help of Jihoon and Seungcheol gets a good view of the damage.
Seungkwan’s body is limp as Minghao pushes him back and off of the deflated airbag sitting on the steering wheel that is tainted with crimson blood. He’s bleeding out of a gash on his temple, his nose, and a cut on his lip.
His eyelashes flutter as he inhales shakily, the only sign of him being alive, and his lips begin to move around air before any sound comes out. It’s small, wheezing and broken, but it’s clear enough for Seungcheol to understand. “M-Minghao—”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Minghao whispers desperately as his hands shake, hovering over Seungkwan like he isn’t sure how to touch him but wants to at least try. He turns his head to look over his shoulder at Seungcheol, teeth clenched as he screams gutturally. “Don’t just stand there— fucking help me—!”
Seungcheol’s breath hitches as he comes to, noise coming back to his ears, everything clearer instead of the distance, hazy blur that everything seemed to have for a moment. He kicks into gear, tearing the seatbelt that is still trapping Seungkwan with his bare hands. He’s gentle even through the adrenaline racing through him, carefully sliding a hand beneath his thighs and around his waist to carry him out through the door. Seungkwan is as good as deadweight in his arms, the only thing that reassures Seungcheol is the graceless rise and fall of his chest and the pained gasp that falls from his lips with every inhale and exhale.
“We can’t stay here,” Minghao says before Seungcheol can ask any sort of question. “We have to go. Get in the car.”
Seungcheol and Jihoon comply without argument. The motorcycle could burst into flames for all Seungcheol cares, he thinks vaguely as Seungkwan lets out a whimpered pain when he’s adjusted in an effort to not be dropped as he’s put into the back seat.
“Watch his neck,” Jihoon says urgently, pale hand coming up to ease Seungkwan’s head against the headrest.
The leather stains with blood quickly and Seungcheol uses the back of his hand to clean Seungkwan’s face as gently as he can. A thin sheen of red paints Seungkwan’s face as he does so and Seungcheol forces himself to stop only when Jihoon places a hand on his shoulder to get his attention, a worried look on his face. There are no words exchanged, but Seungcheol knows what Jihoon is trying to say. He’s not helping in the way that he thinks he is.
The vehicle speeds off, Minghao behind the wheel more frantic than he had been before.
“What the fuck is going on Minghao?” Seungcheol asks, voice barely coming out as strong as he wishes it would. He keeps an arm around Seungkwan to prevent him from jostling around. That, and so that he can make sure his heart is still beating.
Minghao doesn’t say anything. Instead, he shakes his head, words lost as his mouth opens and closes clumsity, head shaking like he can’t stand to speak.
“Minghao!” Seungcheol barks, finally finding his volume only to be stopped by Jihoon’s hand on his shoulder again. He turns, anger dissipating when he sees Jihoon’s eyes warning him to take it easy.
“He’s in shock,” Jihoon whispers.
“I’m not in shock,” Minghao chokes out. “It’s—This is my fault—”
Jihoon shakes his head, so desperate to be the voice of reason in this situation. “You couldn’t control this—”
“He’s looking for me!” Minghao chokes out a breath, teeth sinking into his lower lip as he clutches the steering wheel. “He’s looking for me.”
“ Who ?” Jihoon asks, starting to sound more desperate than before.
Seungcheol sighs, jaw tightening when he realizes. “The Winter Soldier,” he answers before Minghao can. “He did this, didn’t he?”
In the rear view mirror, Minghao’s teary eyes meet Seungcheol’s. His lips press together and he nods clumsily, throat bobbing. His lips part with a sound. “Y-yes.”
The silence sticks to their skin like tained tar. Seungcheol ducks his head down to squeeze his eyes shut, hoping that maybe this is one of his dreams. But it’s not, he knows it’s not.
A thud sounds from the car roof.
The shattering of the back window is sudden. With a loud, piercing sound, a metal arm crashes through the window, the shards of glass bursting onto Seungkwan, Seungcheol, and Jihoon. Minghao curses loudly, whipping the car to the left in an attempt to shake the intruder off, but it’s no use. Seungcheol acts without thinking, throwing his upper body back onto Jihoon and kicking both of his legs against the arm, unlatching it from where it’s trying to reach in toward Seungkwan.
Even with the arm gone, Seungcheol can see the figure move toward a different approach, the roof of the vehicle groaning as they shift. A bullet pierces through, coming down between Seungcheol’s legs, barely missing him. He’s quick, throwing himself over Seungkwan’s body as another bullet comes down, grazing his back, burning the skin there. He can feel it start to heal quickly, the pain forgotten as Minghao slams on the breaks, the tires squealing, the smell of burning rubber filling the air as the body is launched off the top of the SUV.
They slide against the road on their back before easy maneuvering themselves into their side, sliding against the force easily, like being thrown off a vehicle going a hundred miles an hour isn’t anything new, and then slowing down by digging their feet into the ground, metal hand pressed down to stop their momentum. Orange flies from their fingertips at the friction, an ugly noise sounding as he comes to a stop.
Their fingers flex, metal plates shifting back into place as they unlatches their grip from the road. Slowly, they rise off of their knees, head ducked down, black hair in their face, hiding every feature.
The SUV stays at a standstill, Minghao’s breathing labored and Jihoon swallowing nervously. Seungcheol cannot take his eyes off the Winter Soldier.
His hair whips in the wind as he properly straightens up. He looks slightly different from the last time Seungcheol saw him—black, matte goggles protecting his eyes, a bullet proof vest over his black attire. The mask is still the same, covering the lower half of his face leaving little room for speculation about his appearance. He takes a step toward them, and without any sort of warning, a grey Humvee is slamming into the back of the SUV, sending them right into the Winter Soldier.
Seungcheol keeps his body around Seungkwan, trying to guard him from the glass and the impact of being pushed toward the man standing in the middle of the road. But the crash never comes, instead the Winter Soldier is jumping on the hood of the vehicle, climbing up to the top and smashing through the windshield to tear off the steering wheel and toss it carelessly into the road.
“Fuck— fuck!” Minghao screams, pulling on the emergency break in an attempt to do something. It’s useless, though, as they’re steered only by the vehicle still pushing them along. Minghao settles for opening the center console, grabbing a gun. “Stay still you fucking bastard—”
“We’ve got bigger things to worry about right now,” Jihoon says over him, eyes following the Winter Soldier’s movements as Minghao begins to shoot aimlessly at the roof.
The Winter Soldier leaps, landing on the vehicle still pressed to their tail. It slows down, creating some distance that makes Seungcheol feel sick to his stomach. “Minghao,” he says carefully. “Where’s my shield?”
“I put it in the back,” Minghao tells him. He squints, eyes focused on the rearview mirror as Seungcheol carefully reaches in the back, still covering Seungkwan’s body with his own. “W-what are they…?”
Minghao’s question is answered as they ram into the corner of the SUV causing it to swerve, the wheels catching on the barricade separating the other side of the freeway. It doesn’t take long for the entire vehicle to lose balance, the entirety of it starting to flip over.
Seungcheol moves quickly with his shield, clutching Seungkwan to his body, calling for Jihoon and Minghao to hold onto him as he breaks the hinges on the door in time for it to crash onto the road, all of them piled on in a mass of limbs. The abandoned SUV flips and flips and flips, pieces flying in the air, rims tattered and body torn.
Seungcheol’s back takes the brunt of the force in order to keep Seungkwan’s body from experiencing any more trauma—they can’t lose him. They won’t.
The car door slides noisily until coming to a halt. Minghao and Jihoon are thrown off the door by the sheer force, Jihoon rolling to a stop, elbows bloody and ashy and Minghao catching himself in a somersault that he recovers from easily.
“Seungkwan—” Minghao calls, running toward Seungcheol. “Is he—”
Seungkwan’s pulse twitches against Seungcheol’s hand. “He’s okay, but we need to get him out of here.”
“We’ve got no car,” Jihoon says, chest panting most likely with adrenaline. There’s blood starting to drip from his elbows, staining the grey road. “I don’t have my wings—”
Minghao tosses him a compact, metal cube. “Prototype from Joshua.”
Jihoon’s eyes go wide. “Where did you—?”
“Stole it from his lab. I had a feeling I’d need it,” Minghao explains.
Jihoon presses the button on the cube and it expands into a lightweight vest with wings spanning out. “Oh, shit,” Jihoon mutters before putting it on quickly. He gestures for Seungcheol to hand him Seungkwan.
In the distance, several men dressed in tactical gear exit the Humvee, taking out a large weapon—SHIELD’s weapon, Seungcheol realizes quickly—and handing it to the Winter Soldier.
“Hurry,” he rushes, quickly and carefully putting Seungkwan’s limp body in Jihoon’s arms. “Go— go, go, go!”
Jihoon mutters a curse before he’s taking off into the air, barely missing a blast that is aimed for him. Instead, it launches at Seungcheol, the only thing standing between him and getting blown into pieces being his quick instincts and his shield that takes the brunt of the force. His body is launched back into the air, over the edge of the freeway, the air stinging his skin at the force of his plummet. He crashes through the window of a city bus that flips twice, blocking the flow of the street, the pedestrian’s screams muffled against his ears as he blinks, pulling himself up from the shattered glass and bent metal. He can hear the gunshots above him through his ringing ears. He can hear people asking him if he’s okay, like they haven’t pieced together that it’s Captain Korea sitting in a pile of ash, trying to ease the trembling in his hands as he grabs his shield and dusts it off.
In the distance, he can see a flash of red, recognizing Minghao easily. He’s beneath the bridge of the freeway, two guns in hands as he stares intently at the ground. Seungcheol follows his gaze and finds a shadow peering over the edge of the bridge.
The Winter Soldier waits, a large weapon pointed down as he waits for Minghao to make the first move. But Minghao is smart, stealthy . He hides in the darkness, finds protection in the shadows casted by the bridge and the vehicles abandoned in the face of chaos.
Minghao waits and then strikes. He shoots with both guns, aiming precisely and striking the Winter Soldier in the left corner of his goggles, the glass cracking like a spiderweb. He disappears for a moment, a silence suspended as Minghao turns to meet Seungcheol’s eyes, quickly rushing toward him and pulling him down to hide behind the bus.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” Seungcheol says quickly. “Are you?”
Minghao shrugs just as bullets begin to rain down, the sound of windows shattering almost deafening. “He’s angry,” Minghao says with a dry chuckle. “Fuck. I thought I killed him.”
A shot passes just above Seungcheol’s hair and he drops his head with a huff. “We’re gonna have to run.”
“Nothing we haven’t done before.”
Seungcheol raises an eyebrow, waiting for Minghao’s cue and then taking off in a sprint when the bullets cease for a moment. They run without any sort of direction, legs working as fast as their bodies can manage. Minghao keeps up easily, only a few steps behind Seungcheol as they near the busy streets.
“Go!” Minghao begins to shout as they near pedestrians. “Get out of the way! Go! Go!”
The panicked crowd clears without much question, especially when they realize that it’s SHIELD’s Black Widow and Captain Korea warning them to clear the area. Through the bustling bodies, they end up diverging paths, and as Seungcheol whips his head around to look for Minghao, he hears a bullet pierce the air, watches helplessly as it plunges into Minghao’s shoulder. He yelps in pain, disappearing behind a vehicle. Seungcheol ducks the best he can, hidden by a delivery truck as he scans his surroundings in an attempt to find a way to Minghao.
Seungcheol peeks over the hood just as the Winter Soldier jumps onto a crashed car, spotting Minghao easily, his rifle at his side. Seungcheol jumps into action as the Winter Soldier aims at Minghao, his legs starting to burn at the exertion as he nears him quickly.
The Winter Soldier’s stare is shifted from Minghao to Seungcheol, his piercing eyes locked in on the newfound threat. His eyebrows furrow with tension, metal fist driving into Seungcheol’s shield as they meet with a harsh clash. They both push, strength matched and arms trembling as they try to catch the other off balance. No one has come close to matching Seungcheol’s strength like this, and the thought is terrifying. From this close, Seungcheol can see the Winter Soldier’s build up close, surprised to find that while he does hold muscle, he’s more slender than Seungcheol, not as bulky or thick in his chest, torso, and legs. The strength is there nevertheless, so it’s not like it matters anyway. He’s a threat.
Seungcheol slips through his thoughts, a moment of weakness rising as the Winter Soldier kicks at his shield, knocking it to the side and kicking Seungcheol in the chest with enough force to launch him back into the street. His head hits the road with a crack, his lungs sucking in a breath of air at the pain that blossoms at the base of his skull. He recovers quickly, managing to make himself small behind his shield as he’s shot at multiple times.
The Winter Soldier jumps off the car and Seungcheol takes it as an opportunity to charge him, gritting his teeth as he rams into him when he’s reloading one of the many weapons on his hips. They collide with a heavy force, Seungcheol driving his foot into the soldier’s arm, loose bullets scattering from the Winter Soldier’s palm. He’s quick, though, his other hand already pointing a gun at Seungcheol and shooting. The rounds ricochet off Seungcheol’s shield as he blocks the blasts. He keeps it up as he rounds the soldier, fast enough to get behind him and send a fist into the side of his head.
The Winter Soldier grabs Seungcheol’s shield with his metal arm, blocking the hit about to come and giving one of his own, his flesh hand colliding with Seungcheol’s cheekbone. The soldier uses his strength to hold the shield with both hands, flipping it over and sending Seungcheol’s body into the air. He keeps himself balanced, turns with the shield and lands on his feet only for the shield to be ripped out of his hands, used to block a punch he sends. It catches him off guard, so much so that he doesn’t realize the Winter Soldier is driving an open palm into his chest until he’s sent flying back against the asphalt. He catches himself in a flip, standing up and being met with the Winter Soldier staring at him, eyes visible over the shield he’s holding like it belongs to him.
Anger flares in Seungcheol’s chest. His breathing gets harsher, teeth clenching as he stands and rushes forward without a second thought. The soldier throws the shield with amplified force, Seungcheol barely ducking his head as the shield slices past him and becomes lodged in an abandoned van behind him.
The Winter Soldier pulls a knife out of his belt, gracefully flipping it in his hand with a nonchalance that makes Seungcheol seeth as he runs headfirst into the fight. For every punch Seungcheol sends, the Winter Soldier has one of his own. They block, dodge, weave at the same velocity, barely missing one another.
Seungcheol steps back as the soldier steps forward, knife slicing through the air with a sharp sound, blocked by Seungcheol’s wrist against his fist. The moves become desperate, almost sloppy if it wasn’t for the way he tosses his knife into the air, catching it and popping the zipper off of Seungcheol’s jacket as he tries to stab his chest.
The Winter Soldier is relentless, aiming for Seungcheol’s face, his chest, his neck, all of it barely missing as Seungcheol punches, blocks, and counters every movement. Eventually, the soldier begins to swing, his punches desperate, as if hoping to get at least one, proper hit in. Seungcheol focuses on staying in the moment, in not losing himself to the anger and frustration.
He finds his chance quickly, smacking the soldier with enough force to send his head whipping to the side. While he’s unfocused, Seungcheol jumps to gain momentum, driving his foot into the soldier’s waist. It’s enough to shove him back until he’s clumsily hitting his back against a truck. Seungcheol goes to finish the job, charging forward and driving his knee into the soldier’s chest. He has him against the truck, fist ready to make contact with that stupid mask of him when the soldier gains his strength back, coming back with two hits of his own. He tries for a third, but Seungcheol catches him by the waist, picking him up and slamming him onto the ground.
The Winter Soldier gets up with impressive speed, his metal hand gripping Seungcheol’s throat and squeezing with no mercy. The air is forced out of Seungcheol’s lungs simultaneously as his airways close, his hands coming up to claw at the metal in hopes of loosening the grip. When his lungs begin to burn and panic begins to set in, the soldier pulls Seungcheol close, nose against mask, his brown eyes narrowed and cold as they flicker across Seungcheol’s face.
For a moment, he almost seems human.
Then, he grips Seungcheol’s throat harder before throwing him across the road.
Seungcheol hits the hard surface as he gasps for air, vision clearing up in time to see the soldier jumping down from the hood of the car. He rolls away quickly, just barely avoiding a metal punch to the skull.
They stand almost in sync, already dodging and hitting on instinct. This time, though, the soldier is quicker, more aggressive. He punches Seungcheol in the stomach, kicks him back against the van, denting the vehicle in the process. His knife is back in his hand, eyes determined as he goes to embed it between Seungcheol’s eyes, only for it to be stopped as Seungcheol blocks it with his arm and his hand to add to his force, the mechanics of the soldier’s arm whirring close to his ear. He’s shaking at the exertion, gritting his teeth as the knife comes closer and closer to his skin. The soldier shoves the knife with an impressive burst of strength, but Seungcheol is quick, moving his head to the side in time for the knife to plunge into the van. He braces his feet on the floor, pulls himself and the soldier until they’re moving along the van, the knife slicing a clean line into the thick metal until finally Seungcheol is able to break free, grabbing the soldier by the waist and hauling him up and over his head, crushing him down onto the street. Seungcheol lurches up toward where his shield is still embedded in the van, yanking it from its place and turning in time to shield himself from a potential knife to the eye. However, the soldier manages to get a good punch directly in Seungcheol’s face. He follows it up with a kick deflected by Seungcheol’s shield, and another hit that barely misses as Seungcheol ducks, coming back up to shove the edge of the shield between the plates of the soldier’s metal arm.
It leaves him stunted, silver fingers twitching as he remains frozen. Seungcheol takes the opportunity to uppercut him with the shield, the soldier’s head thrown back, his back turned to Seungcheol’s back from the sheer force. Seungcheol reaches behind himself, grabs the Winter Soldier beneath the chin and flips him over his shoulder and onto the ground.
The masks falls off, abandoned between them.
The Winter Soldier stands slowly, his back to Seungcheol, shoulders tense. Seungcheol waits, fingers tightening around the strap of his shield. The air is thick, a rumble in the distance present, the skies somehow greyer than before.
Then, the soldier turns, looking over his metal shoulder.
Seungcheol’s heart stills, breath knocked out of his lungs. He blinks once and then twice, knees buckling as his mouth dries.
Crooked, flesh fingers. A lone freckle beneath an eye. Honey eyes.
This must be another nightmare.
“Jeonghan?”
The Winter Soldier doesn’t blink, turning his body toward Seungcheol, completely unfazed by the name. “Who the hell is Jeonghan?”
Before Seungcheol can feel his heart plummeting into the depths of his stomach, something falls from the sky, taking the soldier— Jeonghan—down with it.
Jihoon is yelling something, suspending the thrashing body of the Winter Soldier in the air. Everything around Seungcheol is nothing but a blur, voices and sounds distance as his mouth twitches dryly, looking up at Jeonghan’s straining face, waiting to wake up, to be pulled away from Jeonghan like he is every single night.
But the morning never comes.
Jihoon drops Jeonghan and he hits the ground with a crack, somehow landing on his feet. His eyes are panicked, flickering around as if trying to gauge his options. He pulls a handgun out and aims it at Seungcheol. All Seungcheol can do is watch, Jeonghan’s name on the tip of his tongue but unsaid as he freezes, waiting for the bullet to tear through his chest.
The pain never comes.
A grenade is thrown, hitting the soldier’s leg and rolling onto the floor without a pin. Seungcheol screams, runs forward to throw his body on it, but before he can think of it, he’s being held back, Minghao’s voice in his ear. “Don’t! Are you fucking stupid?!”
Seungcheol doesn't get to answer.
The smoke clears and Jeonghan is gone.
⍟
It’s relieving and odd all at once to have Jeonghan at arms length again. In a way, it’s a bit of a problem, too—all Seungcheol wants to do is stare at Jeonghan, and judging by the way Jeonghan is looking at him over the rim of the beer he is drinking, the feeling must be mutual.
“What?” Seungcheol asks shyly, trying to feign a confidence that he’s never had before in his life. “You like what you see?”
“I’ve always liked what I’ve seen,” Jeonghan says immediately. Their knees touch as he shifts his bar stool and Seungcheol blushes, looking around to see if anyone in this dingy bar is paying attention to them. It’s a partial relief and disappointment when he sees that everyone is preoccupied in their own ways. But maybe it’s better that way. “It’s just… I’m still getting used to it.”
“In a good way or a bad way?” Seungcheol asks, hoping that he doesn’t come across as insecure as he feels. He just wants Jeonghan to want him, to love him. He doesn’t think that’s so much to ask for.
“In a good way,” Jeonghan assures him with a smile, eyes curving delicately, the crooked tips of his fingers touching the rim of his glass.
“On the bright side,” Seungcheol tries joking, “I’m not weak anymore.”
It doesn’t land how he wants it to. Jeonghan frowns, eyebrows creasing as he shakes his head. “You were never weak, Seungcheol. I wish you saw what I saw in you before… Before this.”
Something heavy sinks into the depths of Seungcheol’s stomach. He swallows, looking down and picking at the skin around his cuticles until it bleeds. “I’m sorry.”
“Cheollie—baby,” Jeonghan whispers, reaching over to brush his fingers over Seungcheol’s thigh. “You don’t need to be sorry, that’s not what I’m asking for. I’m asking you to see your worth with or without all the muscle and serum or whatever the fuck they put in you.”
It makes Seungcheol feel better instantly. Jeonghan has always been good at doing that. “You’d tell me if I looked stupid, right?”
Jeonghan laughs, head thrown back, his straight teeth on display. The laughter settles into a few chuckles as he tilts his head, staring at Seungcheol prettily. “Do you think I’d let you fail?”
Seungcheol tries to push down his smile. “No, not at all.”
⍟
Now, Seungcheol is reliable—useful to the military.
Take out all the HYDRA bases. It’s an easy task, even easier when Jeonghan gets to be his right hand man, right hand sniper watching Seungcheol’s back through every movement. It’s all so easy. It’s all too easy.
Seungcheol should have expected everything to come crashing down sooner than later.
The train is curving around its track attached to the side of a mountain. There’s a HYDRA base located at the top, hidden away from the shame that comes with being something so ugly. It’s snowing, the flakes sticking to Jeonghan’s lashes as he blinks, loading his sniper with pouted lips. Seungcheol wants to kiss him, but he’d like to consider himself a professional at this point.
That doesn’t stop him from reaching out and brushing away a stray hair that is hanging on Jeonghan’s forehead. He’s rewarded with regard, Jeonghan’s honey eyes finding his, softening almost immediately with a smile.
“Thank you, doll,” he whispers and Seungcheol winks at him.
The moment is cut short quickly, a loud crash sounding from the other side of the train. Seungcheol shoots up, already rushing head first toward the danger. Jeonghan follows behind him without question. A HYDRA agent comes out from behind one of the many boxes stored on the train, shooting at Seungcheol. The bullets miss, piercing the walls and boxes instead. Jeonghan is quick, firing his own shot and hitting the agent in the chest, dropping him to the ground in a pool of blood.
Before Seungcheol can thank him, the door between them is hissing shut, separating them without warning. Seungcheol hears a rustle, whipping around in time to dodge a punch sent to his face. He drives his shield into their neck, demobilizing them immediately so that he can turn his attention back to Jeonghan.
Luckily, he’s fending for himself pretty well, hiding behind a stack of containers, sniper pressed against the corner as he aims and shoots, getting the shot without a problem. Seungcheol punches the button to the door, opening it and reuniting them.
“Thought I lost you,” Jeonghan jokes with that pretty smile of his and Seungcheol rolls his eyes.
“You’re stuck with me for a while.”
Before Jeonghan can reply, there’s another HYDRA agent storming in.
They work in perfect harmony, Seungcheol pulling Jeonghan down with him to cover them from the bullets. Jeonghan crawls several steps back, hides behind some boxes and waits for Seungcheol to throw his shield, distracting the agent for enough time for Jeonghan to shoot him in the head. It’s too easy.
Jeonghan stands straighter, lightly punching Seungcheol in the back as he nears him. “Show off.”
Seungcheol’s laughter dies on his tongue when he sees a flash out of the corner of his eye. He barely manages to scream, “Get down!”, pulling Jeonghan behind him as a blast is aimed at them. The heat is instant and soon replaced by the coldness of the snow outside as a chunk of the train is obliterated and it takes Seungcheol a full three seconds to realize he’s been thrown back, his shield clattering on the floor. Jeonghan crawls for it, grabbing it and stumbling up, holding it in front of him with a handgun from his belt aimed in front of him. He shoots one, two, three times.
Seungcheol shakes his head desperately, pulling himself up when he sees another blast about to breach. “Jeonghan, Jeonghan—no!”
The sound rumbles the entirety of the plane and the shield is hit brutally, knocking Jeonghan back, his back hitting the corner of the open hole in the train wall, the shield falling from his grasp as he tries to catch himself. He disappears from Seungcheol’s view and Seungcheol rushes to grab his shield, flinging it toward the HYDRA agent with enough force to break their bones. They drop like dead weight but Seungcheol doesn’t fucking care. He takes off his helmet, black hair matted to his forehead as he treads to the open hole, holding onto the edge, heart falling out of his chest as he finds Jeonghan holding on a yard away from the impact. “Jeonghan!” He calls, reaching his arm out.
Jeonghan grits his teeth, both of his hands hanging onto a bent, iron bar, the only thing keeping him from plummeting a thousand feet down into the trenches of the mountains. If he lets go, he’s as good as gone.
Seungcheol throws all his logic out of the window in favor of desperation, pressing his body to the outside of the train, balancing his foot on a chunk of bent metal in hopes to maneuver himself closer to Jeonghan. The snow is falling recklessly, the cold and bitter wind whipping around them.
”Grab my hand!” Seungcheol calls, stretching his body out as much as he can. If he can get a little closer, he can grab Jeonghan, he can. He shuffles the slightest bit, the metal groaning around him. “Jeonghan—grab my hand!”
He can see the panic flaring in Jeonghan’s eyes, hand twitching as Seungcheol comes closer. The metal groans again, and the iron rod snaps without warning.
Jeonghan’s scream echoes in Seungcheol’s ears and around the mountains, his flailing body disappearing down, down, down into the depths of the snow.
Jeonghan’s name leaves Seungcheol’s mouth one last time, snowflakes melting on his tongue and sticking to his tears.
✪
SHIELD arranges for them to be picked up and questioned about Seungkwan’s injuries after patching Minghao’s shoulder up. Minor injury, nothing serious. At least, that’s what Seungcheol thinks he heard.
“Can we visit him?” Minghao asks as they are placed in the back of a military vehicle, like they’re some sort of precious cargo worth protecting.
The SHIELD agent shrugs. “It depends.”
Minghao’s jaw twitches. “On what?”
“On if he lives.”
Minghao presses his lips together, throwing his head back until he’s hitting the leather seat. Seungcheol doesn’t look over at him, can’t bring himself to do anything other than stare helplessly at his hands wringing together between his knees. The image of Jeonghan is seared into his mind, but instead of the images he had before, of Jeonghan before the war, of Jeonghan during the war, it’s an image of Jeonghan now. Jeonghan with a little more muscle, Jeonghan with a cold gaze and longer, unkempt hair. Jeonghan with a metal arm. Jeonghan with a gun aimed at Seungcheol.
“This is all my fault,” Minghao says after a stretch of silence. He’s holding his injured shoulder, fingers digging into the bandages like he’s trying to punish himself.
Jihoon sighs, shaking his head and pinching the bridge of his nose. He’s gone through a lot today, too. “How is it your fault that Seungkwan was targeted?”
Seungcheol swallows, mouth parting with a sound that seems to be amplified. “It’s his personal mission,” he says. He glances up to find Jihoon turning his head back and forth between him and Minghao, like he’s trying to connect dots that are not laid out for him. “That’s why they went for him, right? It has to do with your personal assignment?”
“Seungkwan assured me that I could keep the flash drive safe with him,” Minghao whispers, voice cracking and eyes distant. “He—he said he’d be able to keep it within SHIELD but I—I shouldn’t have let him. It was too dangerous.”
“He only wanted to help,” Jihoon says and Minghao shakes his head. “He’ll be okay. He’s stronger than he looks.”
In the silence that follows, Minghao stares at Seungcheol. He can feel the holes practically being burnt into the side of his head, but ignores it, trying to find a way to hide the way his hands are shaking.
”Seungcheol,” Minghao says suddenly. “You recognized him.”
Jihoon’s eyebrows furrow in confusion. “Recognized who? The fucking lunatic that almost killed us?”
This time, Minghao is louder, more confrontational as he sits up straight. “Say something, Seungcheol. I heard you say his name.”
Everything in Seungcheol’s body begins to tremble, his saliva feeling like glue as he tries to find his words, everything drowned out by a chorus of Jeonghan, Jeonghan, Jeonghan. “It—that was my—that was Jeonghan.”
”Jeonghan,” Jihoon repeats after a beat. “ Yoon Jeonghan? The sniper from your troop in the war? How is that even possible, he’s supposed to be dead.”
It feels like a wound splitting Seungcheol open, like he’s bleeding out for everyone to watch. The tears well in his eyes as he shakes his head, dark hair falling in his face, unable to meet their gazes. “He—he is. I thought—I thought he died but… Jihoon-ah, that’s him. He… He was captured by HYDRA before he died—the soldiers captured with him said they would take him away for days and—and experiment on him. He must have done something that made Jeonghan survive the fall. They must have found him there—oh God.” He feels sick, mouth heavy as he speaks, chest heaving as his heart threatens to beat out of his skin. “He—he was alive. He was alive when he fell— fuck—”
Jihoon’s hand on his shoulder keeps him from spiraling. “You couldn’t have known.”
”I should’ve looked for him.” Seungcheol lets the tears fall. “Even… Even when I had nothing, I had Jeonghan.”
Jihoon and Minghao exchange a glance and the silence settles again.
The Winter Soldier stares into the distance.
There are scientists fixing his arm where the plates have gotten bent and where the electric signals have been cut off.
They recalibrate it, sending a jolt through his collarbone.
There are scars littering the flesh between his skin and the metal.
He is not blinking, mouth slightly open as he inhales and exhales.
Someone speaks in Russian, voice sharp against the still air. “Mission report, soldier.”
The Winter Soldier says nothing. He is slapped with an opened hand, his head whipping to the side at the force.
He faces forward again.
“Mission report.”
The Winter Soldier’s voice is raspy as he speaks. “The man,” he answers in Korean blankly. “The man on the bridge. Who was he?”
“He tried to kill you on a rooftop when you were attempting to find the stolen files.”
The answer is short. Simple. Missing something.
“No,” the Winter Soldier says, eyebrows furrowing. “I… I knew him.”
“He is unstable,” one of the scientists interrupts. “Erratic.”
“Prep him.”
“He’s been out of cryo-freeze for too long—”
“Wipe him and start over.”
The Winter Soldier exhales, mouth opening in submission as a rubber mouth guard is placed between his straight teeth.
He leans back, hands strapped to the stiff seat. The whirring of the machine above is loud as it lowers. His chest heaves in anticipation of the torturous pain, every part of him trembling as electricity jolts in the metal pads that encapsulate his head.
He screams.
And screams.
And screams.
ART BY MARTI
Notes:
kudos and comments very very much appreciated! pls share ur thoughts, i love reading them <3
Chapter 4: IV. Dreams I've Dreamed About You
Summary:
It's Been A Long, Long Time - Harry James and His Orchestra
Notes:
TW: blood, bones breaking (nothing detailed, but sounds mentioned), death, mentions of torture, guns, violence.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
You'll never know how many dreams
I've dreamed about you
Or just how empty they all seemed without you
The fluorescent lights of the private SHIELD hospital are harsh against the white flooring and walls. Seungcheol stares at Seungkwan lying in the hospital bed, watching as his heart rate beats steadily on the monitor. In the reflection of the window they’re peering into the room with, Seungcheol can make out Minghao’s stoic expression. His jaw is tight, eyes fixed on Seungkwan. Seungcheol can see all the gears in his head turning, all the scenarios and drafted ideas racing through in desperation.
Whatever the plan is, Seungcheol is beside him—after all, he made a promise to help Minghao when needed. He’s not one to break a promise.
He tries not to think about how Jeonghan might change that.
A nurse enters the room to check on Seungkwan, to change out the fluids and replace a bandage on the stitches in his forehead. Seungcheol notes the way Minghao inhales shakily, the only sign that he hasn’t drifted off mentally. At the very least, Seungkwan is stable albeit his rough state. That’s the best they could have hoped for given the situation (though, Seungcheol could argue that this situation should not have happened in the first place).
A sudden weight drops in Seungcheol’s stomach when he comes to the realization that the only ones who know of this situation, of Seungkwan’s condition, are the three standing worryingly, watching as he’s cared for.
The rest of the team is in the dark. Seungcheol pushes down the thought of Hansol who is still in New York, who is unaware of the chaos that awaits him back in Seoul. He’s going to lose his fucking mind and Seungcheol would be a hypocrite if he casted any sort of judgement.
Even through these thoughts racing hastily, there is only one thing at the forefront of Seungcheol’s mind. It’s greedy and it’s selfish but it’s true and most important to him, even now, even after everything that’s happened in the last twenty-four hours.
Minghao’s voice cuts through the still and sterile air. “Meet me at my place in thirty minutes.”
Jihoon turns to look at him, his eyebrows creasing, eyes flickering to look at Seungcheol like he expects him to know what’s going on. Seungcheol shrugs. He doesn’t even know where Minghao lives. “Why?”
“Fuck SHIELD. We’re handling this my way now,” Minghao says, lips tight.
“How were you handling it before?” Seungcheol finds himself asking through a cracked voice.
For a moment, Minghao meets his eyes. He turns away quickly, already walking away. His quiet voice still reaches their eager ears. “I was playing nice.”
Seungcheol swallows, a distant ringing in his ears.
✪
Somehow, someway, Seungcheol finds Minghao’s residence.
It’s exactly what he had expected it to be, in a rundown neighborhood, almost abandoned. There’s trash on the streets, orange street lights flickering eerily as Seungcheol’s knuckles rap on the swollen, wooden door. There’s a series of clicking—locks unlocking—before Minghao’s red hair and narrow, dark eyes greet Seungcheol through the cracked open door. There are no words exchanged as Seungcheol ushers inside, the door closing behind him.
The interior is a pleasant surprise and a complete juxtaposition to the outside. Everything is newly renovated—dark wood floors, marble countertops in the kitchen, black cabinets and decor scattered throughout in a purposeful manner.
Seungcheol walks slowly, taking in the small details. It doesn’t look much like a home. Instead, it looks like someone else designed it, like it’s meant to be in a magazine ad instead of lived in by an actual person.
There’s a few things that makes Seungcheol believe that Minghao actually spends some time here and isn’t just trying to be an enigma. A quilted blanket hangs on the back of the black, leather sofa. There’s two pairs of different sized combat boots kicked off down the hallway in front of one of the bedroom doors. A single, red rose is wilting in a vase next to the kitchen sink. A polaroid of Minghao and Junhui with their heads tilted together is stuck to the fridge along with a photobooth strip of the two of them, the last photo showing them caught in a kiss, Junhui’s hand on the back of Minghao’s head, Minghao’s fingertips on Junhui’s jaw.
It’s intimate in a way that makes Seungcheol feel like he’s intruding. With that comes a bitterness that makes him finally turn away, finding Jihoon hovering awkwardly near the sofa.
“First time?” Seungcheol tries to joke to ease the tension.
It works for a moment as Jihoon huffs out a laugh that seems more forced than genuine. He turns his head and looks around, finding Seungcheol again a few seconds later and shrugging. “Yeah, can you tell? I don’t really get invited to these sorts of… things. The life of an unimportant hero.”
“You’re not unimportant,” Seungcheol says. Jihoon has helped him the most out of anyone, has been there for him even when he didn’t know he needed it. The sincerity is still a bit much, so he follows it up with: “This is my first time here too.”
Jihoon’s mouth turns down as he hums, seemingly content with Seungcheol’s answer. The conversation ends there as Minghao joins them and gestures for them to sit on the sofa. After a beat of silence, Jihoon is the first to move and Seungcheol follows. It’s not hard to feel incredibly out of place as the leather sofa squeaks beneath him every time he adjusts himself.
“Not to be ungrateful,” Jihoon starts awkwardly, “I’m glad you invited us into your home and everything but, ah… why… why here?”
“This is the only place that I trust right now,” Minghao says, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow like he’s expecting one of them to try and argue with him.
Seungcheol stays quiet. It makes sense. Yes, SHIELD is reliable, but with Seungkwan being injured at the hands of a mission Minghao is responsible for, it wouldn’t be unexpected if their trust in him has faltered. Seungcheol still says nothing, hands clasped between his legs and the blunt edge of his nail digging into his cuticle. He watches as a drop of blood blooms from the new wound.
“So,” Jihoon says after a beat, the first to break the silence again. “What’s the plan? Is there a plan?”
“The Winter Soldier wants the flashdrive,” Minghao explains, one foot in front of the other as he paces the small space of his living room. “And you both saw those HYDRA agents that were working with him. It’s not gonna be easy keeping that flash drive to ourselves—he has a mission and they’re gonna do everything in their power to make sure that it’s completed.”
A bitterness crawls up Seungcheol’s throat. He swallows, a cracking loud in his ears and voice sounding foreign even to himself as he manages to rasp out a sentence. “I thought you said he worked for the Red Room.”
“Red Room, HYDRA,” Minghao list bluntly before his eyes harden on Seungcheol, stepping forward slightly in a way that makes Seungcheol’s jaw clench. “He’s a killing machine that is convenient to both of them. They’re more intertwined than you think.”
The words feel like a slap in the face. Seungcheol ignores the stinging in favor of pressing his lips together and nodding. This isn’t about him right now. “How can we keep the file safe, then? If Jeonghan—the… The Winter Soldier is constantly surrounded by HYDRA guards and Red Room agents waiting for anyone to raise a finger at him, how can we even try standing against him when he has more support than we do? Even if HYDRA or the Red Room somehow do decide to let him do this by himself and he works alone, he’s… He’s fast, Minghao. Strong. As strong as me, if not stronger. We need a structured plan.”
“I know the soldier better than you do,” Minghao snaps. Seungcheol swallows his tongue and all the malicious words threatening to come up and spill out onto the floor. “This isn’t my first run in with him.” Minghao’s fingers twitch at his sides before rising to pull up the hem of his shirt. A long, thick and ugly scar stretches from the middle of his chest, wrapping around his abdomen and to his lower back. Jihoon sucks in a breath and Seungcheol stares. “I could match his skill pretty well, but I’m still human.”
“Yet you survived that,” Jihoon mumbles in partial amazement and horror.
“Barely,” Minghao says quietly, dropping his shirt and avoiding their eyes. “I fought him before this but it wasn’t as… brutal. I almost bled out. Seungkwan sent in Junhui to check on me after not hearing a report for an hour and… I was on my last breath. I thought that was the end for me.” He looks at Seungcheol. “The Winter Soldier is merciless. He was made to kill and he’ll find a way to kill each of us if we’re not careful. That’s why I think we need to get everything I have on the Red Room released as soon as possible.”
“How?” Seungcheol asks. It’s too vague. If Minghao is as determined as he’s making himself out to be, there should be more to this. “Who’s to say the soldier won’t show up right now? Tonight? Who’s to say he won’t kill us and get it over with?”
“The flash drive is somewhere safe,” Minghao says. “And at the very least he needs me alive to find it.”
Jihoon huffs out a humorless laugh. “That doesn’t sound encouraging at all.”
“It’s the truth,” Minghao says simply. “But that’s not the point. I’ll need to upload the files onto a secured SHIELD program. From there it’ll take one click and there’ll be enough evidence to dismantle the Red Room from the inside out. Until then, we need to buy time.”
Seungcheol’s eyebrows furrow curiously. “Buy time?”
Minghao walks to the small kitchen, grabbing a duffle bag from the floor and throwing it onto the sofa in the empty space between Jihoon and Seungcheol. “Go change. We leave in ten.”
✪
Dust billows into the air as Seungcheol flickers on the lamp, illuminating the dusty and outdated motel room in an orangey, yellow glow. From behind him, Jihoon coughs dryly as Minghao shuts the door, leaving them in this small town two hours away from Seoul. There’s two beds and a pull out couch. The bathroom is small and cramped, the sink and bathtub yellowing with age. When Jihoon turns on the sink to wash his hands, it sputters loudly before shooting out scalding water that makes him retract his hands with a hiss.
“This was the best you could do?” Seungcheol asks, annoyance already seeping into his bones. Minghao insisted on driving and Jihoon called shotgun, leaving Seungcheol to squeeze in the backseat with his knees uncomfortably digging into the stiff passenger seat.
“It’s low-key,” Minghao answers, raising an amused eyebrow at Seungcheol. “Didn’t take you for someone so high maintenance.”
“I’m not,” Seungcheol says. There’s a water stain on the ceiling that looks like it’s swollen. “But this is shittier than my first apartment.
It pulls a laugh out of Minghao, his head tilted down as he smiles once it dwindles down to a few chuckles. “Yeah, it’s… It’s not the best option, but, hey. I doubt anyone will want to be anywhere near this place.”
And that’s true. They’re not known for camping out in dingy areas like this. The sun is starting to rise through the blinds and a wave of exhaustion begins to crash over Seungcheol. He hasn’t slept in a while. He can tell the other two are on the same boat. “Let’s rest,” he suggests. “Even if it’s just for a few hours. We can figure out our next step when we wake up.”
Minghao presses his lips together, seemingly unsatisfied with this plan. “We’ll take turns. Keeping watch.”
“Okay,” Seungcheol agrees, sitting on the sofa. The material is scratchy beneath his hands and he curls his fingers into his palms to save himself from the texture. “You two sleep first.”
Neither of them argue. The sun continues to rise.
⍟
“Thought I lost you.”
Seungcheol blinks, smile faltering. Jeonghan is joking, he can tell. This is familiar and yet…
Jeonghan’s hair is longer, unkempt in a way he never had it during the war. His eyes don’t hold the same warmth, the same love that has been at the forefront of every glance he’s on the receiving end of.
“You’re stuck with me for a while,” Seungcheol says like a habit.
A HYDRA agent storms in. Seungcheol knows what is going to happen, can see it play out like he’s outside of his own body. They work in perfect harmony. Jeonghan hides behind boxes. A shot rings. The HYDRA agent falls.
Jeonghan stands straighter. “Show off.”
Seungcheol’s mouth feels heavy and dry.
A blast, a bang. A hole in the side of the train. Jeonghan hangs from an iron rod. He’s staring at Seungcheol, eyebrows knitted in desparation. “Aren’t you gonna help me?”
“I’m trying!” Seungcheol chokes out, body pressed to the cold exterior of the train. He can feel the snow on his cheeks, the cold wind tousling his hair. “Grab my hand—”
“Help me, Seungcheol!” Jeonghan begs, voice tearing out of his throat, hysterical. “Help me—why won’t you help me?”
Seungcheol’s mouth is numb, twitching around empty words.
Jeonghan’s pleas twist into laughter. There’s a smile on his face, all of his teeth on display as he cackles.
He lets go.
⍟
Jihoon’s hand is on Seungcheol’s chest when he wakes up with a choked gasp, lurching up into a sitting position, back against the wooden headboard. His eyes are blearily, tears hanging from his thick eyelashes as his eyes dart around to get a grip on his surroundings. Yellow lighting, dusty nightstands, worn carpet.
It is no longer 1950.
He inhales heavily, focusing on the way the air properly fills his lungs without any sort of wheezing or coughing. Even as heavy as his heart is beating, there is no stutter, no pain.
Jeonghan is…
Jeonghan is out there somewhere. Jeonghan is looking for them, but not for reasons that Seungcheol had always hoped for.
He doesn’t notice the way his body is trembling until Jihoon is applying more pressure to his chest, like that will somehow keep all the splitting seams together, like it’ll keep him from turning into dust beneath his fingertips. When Seungcheol wills himself to meet Jihoon’s eyes, he finds concern etched onto Jihoon’s features. His eyes flicker around the details of Seungcheol’s face and he doesn’t have to get a glimpse of himself to know what he looks like. Bloodshot eyes. Sweat beaded around his hairline. Mouth a harsh pink, lips cracked and parted as he breathes.
“Sorry,” he manages to say after a moment. Minghao is looking at him, too. Less sympathetic and more curious, legs crossed as he sits on the couch with a laptop perched on his thighs. "I’m fine.”
“You’re crying,” Jihoon points out, voice barely loud enough through the clumsy sound of the dated air conditioning,
“I just—” Seungcheol closes his mouth, wills himself to swallow to regain some moisture. It doesn’t work and he’s left with a sharp pain in his throat as he shakes his head. “It was just a nightmare.”
“You said his name.”
Seungcheol snaps his head toward Minghao. “I—what?”
“Jeonghan,” Minghao clarifies, expression yet to shift. “You were screaming it before you woke up.”
“Oh.” Seungcheol shifts his gaze to look at the fraying edges of the blanket.
“Were you dreaming about him?” Jihoon asks carefully. He’s given Seungcheol space, sitting on the other bed.
Seungcheol shakes his head before giving up, settling for a pathetic shrug instead. “All I do is dream about him.”
Jihoon hums, neither condescending nor sympathetic. It’s a simple noise, one that lets Seungcheol know that he is listening and willing to listen some more. “Good or bad dreams?”
“Both,” Seungcheol says. “Sometimes… Sometimes I dream about him before the war. Those ones… They’re not so bad.” It’s easy to forget about the attention on him as he speaks, falling into the memories easily. “It’s always the same thing—we’re young and it’s summer. We have our hands in our pockets because if we didn’t we’d… We’d do something stupid. Our shoulders are bumping every time we take a step and we buy some melon popsicles and listen to the radio. I’m sweaty and I feel gross but Jeonghan is still looking at me. Still smiling at me.”
Jihoon’s lips twitch into a smile. “Those are the good ones?”
“Yeah,” Seungcheol breathes out. “The bad ones… It depends. There’s a lot. Him getting drafted. The night he left. When he was captured. When he fell. It’s like… It’s like they take turns haunting me.” It’s like he’s still haunting me. But now, he’s not a ghost.
Minghao looks like he wants to say something, but he stays quiet. A sound chimes from the laptop and he sighs. “The connection’s shit in here.”
“What did you expect?” Jihoon retorts. “I’m pretty sure I saw a bird snipping one of the wired posts outside.”
“I don’t know, I thought we’d have something to work with,” Minghao grumbles, fingers tapping aggressively at the keys before he sighs, throwing his head against the back of the sofa. He closes his eyes, the darkness on the skin beneath prominent as he inhales and exhales a few times. Eventually, he opens his eyes and blinks at the ceiling and then says: “It would be easier to think if I wasn’t starving.”
“Well, did you pack anything to eat?”
“Food wasn’t on my list of things that mattered,” Minghao deadpans and Jihoon blinks.
“You—listen. You both might be used to living off of scraps and minimal water for days but us normal people need at least two meals a day. At least.”
“I’ll go pick something up,” Seungcheol offers quickly. The air inside of the motel room is becoming stiffer by the second and it seems like, somehow, the space is smaller than it had been in the early morning. “Any requests?”
“Anything,” Minghao answers. “Whatever you can get your hands on. There’s a convenience store across the street, I think.”
“Ramyun,” Jihoon says. “Spicy, sweet, I don’t care.”
Seungcheol nods, getting up and rummaging through the duffle bag at the foot of the bed. The clothes Minghao packed them are simple and discreet, neutral colored to not draw any attention. He replaces his current shirt with a plain, navy blue t-shirt and a corduroy jacket. He tugs an all black baseball cap over his hair and Minghao looks him up and down with pursed lips.
“Check the side pocket,” he says and Seungcheol blinks before complying, leaning over to unzip the pocket and finding some thick framed glasses.
“I don’t need these,” Seungcheol says, unfolding them and looking through the clear lenses. No prescription—even more useless.
Minghao rolls his eyes and Jihoon snorts from where he’s lying back on the bed like a starfish. “Yeah, I know that. That’s all the more reason you should put them on. Captain Korea doesn’t need glasses and you don’t want people recognizing you, right?”
While Seungcheol could argue that these glasses don’t provide some sort of magical invisibility cloak, he knows that Minghao is just trying to ensure that they’re not found out and as safe as possible. “Alright,” he agrees, reluctantly sliding them onto his nose and feeling ridiculous. He hasn’t worn glasses in so long, and even then he rarely wore them out, always the odd one out. By the time the war rolled around, he hardly tried to put them on, the thin frames held together by tape after multiple scuffles with local drunks. He never won, but he always tried his best.
The sun is setting beneath the horizon when Seungcheol exits the motel room. It smells like cigarettes and gasoline as he makes his way down the metal, rusted stairs leading to an open parking lot that is more abandoned than anything, their undercover vehicle fitting in seamlessly with it’s duct taped side mirror and a dent in the back door.
The convenience store is fairly close like Minghao said it would be and Seungcheol walks across the street, shoes kicking the chipped asphalt in the process as he picks up his pace into a light jog when a car in the distance nears. He tilts his chin toward his chest, making sure the brim of the cap is tilted down to further hide his eyes. One hand is shoved in the pocket of his jacket as he pushes the entrance door open. The bell’s chime lingers in the air as he steps in and the owner, an elderly man reading a newspaper at the register, regards Seungcheol with a nod that he returns.
The lights in the ceiling and between the displays and aisles flicker harshly before returning to their normal state. Seungcheol’s shoes scuff against the floor as he takes his time looking at the snacks, searching for something that will pique his interest. He makes sure to grab some variety of chips for Minghao, several instant ramyun packs for Jihoon, and some drinks, clumsily dropping them into one of the plastic baskets at the end of the aisle.
His fingertips drag over several of the price stickers plastered on the edge of the shelves as something heavy begins to settle in his stomach. The pads of his fingers cease their task, his eyes flickering up. The door chimes shortly after and the air falters as it makes its way into Seungcheol’s lungs.
“Hey,” the owner scolds when he looks up. “You can’t—”
A gunshot bursts in the air.
Instinct takes over quickly. Seungcheol’s body drops to the floor, glasses falling and chest heaving as he stares down at the stained linoleum beneath his nose. He turns his head shakingly, the view of black combat boots visible beneath the shelves of snacks.
The Winter Soldier walks slowly, one foot in front of the other. His boots are heavy against the floor, nearing the end of the aisle. Seungcheol begins to crawl on his belly, elbows and forearms digging into the ground as he pulls his body around to the next row of shelves. The soldier is occupying the space Seungcheol was previously standing in, kicking at the items discarded on the floor. Seungcheol holds his breath, fingers inching toward a metal rod abandoned beneath the shelf beside him. The item is cold as the tip of his pointer finger reaches it and he grits his teeth, sweat beading at his hairline as he gently maneuvers it toward him. It scrapes against the floor with a stark and ugly sound.
The shelf beside Seungcheol is sent crashing into the opposite wall, an eruption of chips, ramyun, candy, and drinks covering the floor. Jeonghan stares back at him, emotionless, black hair hanging in his face, honey eyes empty.
It takes no time for the soldier to aim his gun at Seungcheol, bullets piercing the ground as Seungcheol rolls his body forcefully to escape injury. He finds his footing in time to block the way the soldier runs towards him, throwing his body in an attempt to tackle Seungcheol. It dawns on him quickly that in order for him to make it out of this, he’s going to need to disarm the soldier. It’s easier said than done he thinks as he dives behind another display of snacks, the sound of gunshots ringing around him.
Seungcheol sits back and uses all the force in his body to kick the display. It flies into the soldier with enough power to knock his balance. He stumbles, his gun dropping onto the floor. It gives Seungcheol enough time to rush forward, kicking the gun to the other side of the small store. The soldier doesn’t regard the gun’s absence. Instead, he reaches into his pocket for a knife, the same knife Seungcheol almost had embedded in his skull all those hours ago.
He’s quick with it, in Seungcheol’s space within the second, eyes narrowed and focused as he flips his knife in his hand, plunging it towards Seungcheol’s ribs, chest, stomach, every attempt blocked as Seungcheol matches his pace. The soldier thrusts his hand up backwards, the blunt tip of the knife slicing the brim of Seungcheol’s cap, the impact sending it falling onto the floor. Seungcheol’s hair hangs in his face for a moment before he’s bending backwards to dodge several potential lacerations to his face. He takes a chance, kicking at the soldier’s leg. It renders him onto his knees and Seungcheol uses the opportunity to drive his foot into the soldier’s chest, causing him to collapse onto his back. Seungcheol jumps on him, knees bracketing the soldier’s hips, driving his knuckles into the soldier’s wrist, flesh hand seizing and dropping the knife with a sharp clatter.
The metal hand hits Seungcheol’s side and a sharp pain shoots through the entirety of his body. His breath is knocked out of his lungs for a fleeting moment. The soldier tries to do it again, but Seungcheol catches his fist, trembling as he tries to keep it from making contact with any part of him. The soldier’s face twitches beneath Seungcheol, and then, his knee is cracking against Seungcheol’s spine with enough force to send him crashing over the soldier’s head and onto the floor. He catches himself, stumbling up and jumping over one of the displays knocked over. Behind him, the soldier catches him with an arm latched around his neck, Seungcheol’s fingers dig into the metal, slipping against the shiny material in an attempt to pry it off.
It’s no use. The soldier tightens his grip and Seungcheol’s airways begin to close. He grits his teeth, feet digging into the floor, using all the strength in his body to make the both of them stumble back roughly until they’re colliding into an empty wall, the thin material crumbling against their weight as they fall back into the new hole created. The soldier’s grip loosens for a split second and Seungcheol manages to break free.
He tries to run, to get back to the motel and make sure that Jihoon and Minghao are safe, but his plans are forgotten as a weight hits his back. He falls onto the floor with a heavy thud, turning onto his back in time to cover his face from a punch. The soldier goes for his throat again with his metal arm, the plates shifting and whirring as his fingers dig into Seungcheol’s skin.
Seungcheol writhes beneath the weight, a choked sound escaping past his lips as he tries to get his own fingers between the pressure and his own skin. He let’s himself look up, lets himself realize that this is the closest he’s been in so long. The warmth from the soldier’s skin is radiating onto his own, his breath in Seungcheol’s face, his lips pressed together in a way that is all too familiar and—
And it’s Jeonghan . It aches all the way into Seungcheol’s bones, worse than the air leaving his body.
The edges of his vision begin to blur. Seungcheol reaches up with a shaking hand, the back of his knuckles meeting the skin on Jeonghan’s face, right where the freckle beneath his eye lies.
The soldier blinks. Jeonghan blinks. Something unknown and familiar flashes in his eyes. They soften, his eyebrows furrow and his mouth parts with a sound that seems amplified in this tattered and torn store. His grip doesn’t loosen.
“J-Jeonghannie,” Seungcheol manages to wheeze out, mouth dry.
Jeonghan’s eyes widen like a startled animal. A noise leaves him and Seungcheol waits for more, waits for it like a prayer whispered into empty air, begging to be answered and—
A loud thud sounds and Jeonghan is falling to the side, his touch suddenly gone. Seungcheol gasps for air, lurching up and reaching out towards Jeonghan’s body lying on the floor, legs moving like he’s trying to pull himself up.
Minghao stands above Seungcheol, holding a fire extinguisher as he breathes heavily, letting it drop onto the floor. His red hair is disheveled, lip and nose bleeding. Before Seungcheol can question anything, Jihoon is at his side, pulling him up from the floor.
Every sound is distant, a constant ringing in Seungcheol’s ear as he stumbles out of the convenience store with Jihoon at his side and Minghao right behind them. He tries to look over his shoulder, tries to make out Jeonghan stumbling back up, but he’s being shoved into the small car and they’re driving away.
It seems like time is moving quickly and slowly all at once. He can hear Jihoon and Minghao’s panicked voices, can feel the way his hands are still shaking, can taste copper in his mouth—
“Seungcheol! Fucking focus!”
Seungcheol inhales sharply, the blurred edges fading away. “Sorry,” he says, throat aching. “Sorry—I’m… What’s… What’s going on?”
“They found us,” Minghao spits out. “After you left there was—there were ten guys rushing into the room. We managed to get out but I can’t get a fucking hold of Junhui and—” He shakes his head, hands gripping the steering wheel until his knuckles are white. “We’re gonna have to get those files out into the public now.”
“Now?” Seungcheol repeats, shaking his head. “We can’t—”
“As soon as we can,” Minghao pushes. “Was that not obvious by everything that just happened? I mean—fuck. Did you even realize you were about to die, Seungcheol? It didn’t look like you were putting up much of a fucking fight.”
“I was,” Seungcheol defends lamely. It’s part of the truth, he had put up a good fight. Up until the end. He doesn’t know what to make of it, either.
“He had no weapons, no shield, no back-up, no warning ,” Jihoon defends. Seungcheol gets a proper look at him, notes the cut almost hidden at the end of his eyebrow and the blood staining the corner of his mouth. “Go easy on him, Minghao.”
Minghao visibly slumps against the seat, dropping his head back. “Sorry, I’m sorry, this is just… It’s not how I pictured this mission going.”
“It’s not how I pictured my life going,” Jihoon mumbles from beside Seungcheol. As much as it comes across a joke, a sharp pain flares in Seungcheol’s chests. He can say the same, that’s for damn sure.
From beneath the drivers seat, the heavy sound of a device vibrating fills the empty spaces around them. Minghao reaches down, plucking it from the floor and answering with a simple: “Go.”
Junhui’s voice comes in through the cracking line. “Before you panic, I’m fine,” he says and Seungcheol can see the way Minghao’s shoulders drop the tension they had been holding. He doesn’t respond, doesn’t get a chance to as Junhui barrels on. “Red Room assassins came looking for you. I managed to get out of my place before they could notice me—”
“Okay, that’s—that’s good,” Minghao says through a breath. The car swerves before straightening back out and Minghao runs an agitated hand through his hair.
“Not really,” Junhui informs him. “There’s kind of a problem—”
“Junhui,” Minghao says sharply. “Just tell me.”
“They managed to find out where the file is and they’re enroute. My hearing aids could only pick up so much but there were talks of destroying it by feeding it into a program they have .They never said when or where, though.”
“How much time do we have?” Seungcheol finds himself asking when Minghao doesn’t respond.
“Oh, hey Cap!” Junhui answers.
“Junhui,” Minghao snaps quickly.
“Sorry, Hao. If the Red Room is smart with their moves and weren’t bluffing, than you probably have… I don’t know. I’d guess you’d have to intercept by tomorrow afternoon.”
“And the chances of them getting to the file sooner?” Minghao asks.
Silence bleeds through the line. For a moment, Seungcheol is sure that the line has disconnected, but then Junhui exhales heavily. “I don’t know, but I would move fast, Minghao.”
With that, Minghao hangs up. Seungcheol’s hands still tremble.
✪
They travel for an hour and a half before finally stopping again. This time, it’s Jihoon’s doing, having coerced Minghao into pulling into another unkempt motel parking lot. Minghao had been reluctant to stop, but after enough complaining and a promise from Jihoon that once they all get four hours of sleep they can get back on the road, Minghao agreed.
Seungcheol keeps himself from asking Minghao where they’re going, knowing that whatever the answer is, he trusts him and will follow him, even through his stubbornness.
The motel is a bit nicer than the previous one. This time, there’s only one bed, freshly washed sheets tucked in neatly and a heavy comforter billowing when Jihoon flops onto the mattress. Seungcheol offers to take the sofa, unwilling to selfishly occupy such a large space on the bed. Minghao shoots him a tired but grateful look, excusing himself onto the small balcony outside.
Unable to sit in his solitude with only his thoughts as company, Seungcheol follows Minghao out after a few minutes. He’s unsurprised to find him leaning back against the rail of the balcony, feet crossed, one arm bent and holding the inner elbow of his other arm that is bringing a cigarette up to his lips.
The smell transports Seungcheol back to a cramped apartment, back to simple days and memories that begin to crash over him before he can shove them to the back of his mind. He tries not to feel sick, but Minghao looks him up and down like he can see right through him, like he’s going to shove a fist into Seungcheol’s chest and force him to bleed out every memory choking him.
Instead, Minghao extends his arm, the smoke from the cigarette floating up into the air. “You want some? Or I can get you your own, I have more.”
“My lungs could never handle cigarettes,” Seungcheol explains lamely, closing the small distance between them and standing at Minghao’s side, looking down into the parking lot of the motel and a laundromat across the road. He runs a hand through his black hair, pink lips twitching around words he’s searching for but can’t seem to find. “It’s—I never smoked.”
Minghao offers again, bringing the cigarette closer to Seungcheol’s face. “You wanna try it now? You’re never too young to start chain smoking out of stress.”
“No, no,” Seungcheol laughs, leaning forward and resting his arms on the iron railing. It creaks beneath the added weight and he swallows, looking down at his fingers picking at the chipping paint. “Jeonghan… Jeonghan used to smoke all the time. He’d go outside to do it because it really messed me up if he did it inside, I’d cough for hours and my chest would hurt for the rest of the night. Brittle lungs and brittle bones, you know? When he would come back inside…” He would try kissing me, he would remember that I hated the taste. He would rinse his mouth out and come back to me. He always came back to me. “He would come back inside and I would complain about it.”
Minghao stares at him like he knows there’s a chunk of the story missing, his red hair moving against the subtle breezes joining them. He tongues his cheek, sniffling a bit and breaking their eye contact, humming in response instead of pushing. The air is still and quiet as Seungcheol pulls his lip between his teeth nervously, the skin going white. Eventually, Minghao flicks the cherry red ash from the cigarette and it falls onto the concrete beneath them, the embers dimming and turning grey. “Don’t confuse the past with the present, Captain,” he says.
Seungcheol blinks, thick eyebrows furrowing and mouth opening with a heavy sound in an attempt to reply, but Minghao is gone, cigarette on the ground, smell stuck to his clothes.
✪
They don’t talk for the rest of the night.
Seungcheol eventually succumbs to his exhaustion, and this time his dreams are blurred together, so vague that he can barely make out what is going on. In the center of it all, Jeonghan.
Jeonghan, Jeonghan, Jeonghan. Stuck to him like honey, plaguing his every thought like some sort of cruel joke the earth is playing on him. Seungcheol tries his damndest not to think about him, not to let himself get stuck in the past like he has been since being pulled out of the ice but it’s hard to when this is all he wanted. Maybe not in these circumstances, but it still holds up.
All he’s ever wanted is Jeonghan, through and through.
The jostling of a particularly rough patch of road is enough to shake Seungcheol out of his thoughts. They’ve been driving for almost two hours now, Minghao still driving and unwilling to share where there destination is. They don’t ask, knowing all to well that their curiosity is useless.
He watches as Jihoon reaches between the driver’s and passenger seat from the middle backseat to turn up the radio playing an older song. The horns are sudden and gentle and Seungcheol’s lips quirk up into a smile as he leans his head back, closing his eyes. He hums along to the parts he remembers, English words a bit lost on him with time.
“You know this song?” Jihoon asks, hands on the side of the seats to balance himself against the aging roads.
“It’s been a while since I heard it,” Seungcheol answers honestly. He takes a glance at Minghao who seems more focused on driving rather than entertaining this conversation. He let’s himself be honest one last time and sits in the past selfishly. “It played in a bar once during the war. We—” Jeonghan “—tried so hard to find it again. It took singing it to every soldier we met to finally get a name from some enthusiastic drunk guy.”
Jihoon hums in interest. “And what’s the name?”
Seungcheol turns his face to look out the window at the vast land stretching for miles and miles. “It’s Been a Long, Long Time.”
✪
Forty minutes pass before they arrive at their destination. Minghao parks the car carelessly, throwing it into park and exiting without taking the keys out of the ignition. Seungcheol takes them just in case and rushes to follow Minghao and Jihoon out of the vehicle.
He looks at the abandoned warehouse located in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by grass grown over a chipped and worn road. Minghao walks toward one of the rusted entrances with confidence, shoulders and chin straight, leaving Seungcheol and Jihoon to exchange a look. They follow anyway, quickening their pace to match Minghao’s.
The inside is cold, the sound of water dripping echoing in the solitude. Dust kicks into the air as they walk through the open space, concrete floors and walls unkempt and worn down. Minghao keeps his head forward, treading to an elevator located in a hallway after a sharp turn. There’s a sign and caution tape decorating the steel doors, letters spelling OUT OF SERVICE in Hanguel, English, and Cyrillic.
Before either of them can ask Minghao any questions, he’s gracefully pressing the buttons with a sequence Seungcheol quickly memorizes—up, down, up, up down, up. For a moment, nothing happens and Seungcheol is convinced that all Minghao is doing is trying his luck. Then, the buttons flash and the elevator chimes, opening with a harsh squealing sound.
Minghao says nothing and ducks beneath the caution tape to enter the space. Seungcheol follows easily, blinking as he takes in the cramped interior. Meanwhile, Jihoon still stands outside.
“Is this safe?” he asks and Minghao shrugs.
“You’ve got five seconds to decide.”
Jihoon hesitates before cursing under his breath and ducking inside as well.
The doors shut with a heavy sound and the light above begins to flicker. Their descend starts with a lurch that makes Seungcheol stiffen, but eventually the ride smooths out. It takes them down, down, down into the depths of the building. Seungcheol loses count of the amount of floors after seven, and after some time, it stops with a harsh noise.
There’s red light bleeding through the cracks in the elevator doors, and when they part open, the entire room greeting them is doused in dark red lighting. From behind, Seungcheol watches as Minghao’s jaw twitches.
His steps are slow and heavy as he walks, graceful, back straight and head turning to take in the surroundings. It’s a large, open space area. There are square mats spaced out in one area, weapons mounted against the left wall, a LED timer mounted against the opposing wall. The floors are stained in various spots of reds and blacks. Seungcheol tries not to think about it, about what these four walls have seen, but he doesn’t have to do much thinking. Minghao’s voice breaks through the silence.
“I trained here as a child and teenager,” he starts with a small smile on his face, void of any sort of happiness. Empty, hollow, like everything that made him up was lost right where they stand. “I remember my first fight. It was right there.” He points to the mats. “I was eleven and I was terrified. I barely knew Russian or Korean, but they trained me. I couldn’t eat until I could shoot a bullet through the opening of a beer bottle. I couldn’t sleep until I could hurl a throwing knife dead center of a target across the entire room. Then one day… I get to sleep, right? I pretty much pass out on the floor of the room we were all crammed into with these cots that were all mangled and… and it feels like I’ve only had my eyes closed for a few minutes when I’m getting cold water poured all over me. I wake up choking and I’m being pulled up before I can even remember where I’m at. They bring me here, shove me into the middle. I get a knife and that’s it. The blade is all rusted and dull, but I can’t complain. I’m shaking so hard I almost drop it and then there’s someone in front of me. He’s older than me and he’s scared, too. Just two scared shitless kids in the middle of this mat fighting for their lives to prove themselves to monsters.”
Minghao closes his eyes, swaying a bit as he swallows. He ducks his head down and continues. “I killed him. We fought for almost an hour—at least, it felt like an hour, like time couldn’t pass fast enough and the entire time I was just hoping he would kill me first. But he ran at me and—and instinct kicked in. Instinct that had only come to me because of all of… this. Instinct that came from trauma I never wanted. I killed him and I watched the life leave his eyes. There was praise that came after, I understood it decently. He is different from the others. He will be useful.
“The guilt never really went away. I learned to ignore it and numb it. The pain, too. All the mental and physical pain was easy to forget about when I shut it out and didn’t let myself think about anything other than what I was tasked to do.”
He looks over his shoulder, eyes meeting Seungcheol’s. “The Winter Soldier would come with HYDRA agents every so often. They liked to scout Red Room assassins—we were useful, made to kill. They would hand pick who to take and would put us up against the soldier to see if we could hold our own, if we were good enough. I was never good enough.”
Seungcheol’s nose burns and he swallows through the thickness in his throat. “Why did you bring us here?” he whispers in the silence.
Minghao doesn’t respond as he walks toward the wall of weapons—knives, emptied guns, blades, batons. He stops, fingertips sliding over the dusty blade of a katana, pulling back to examine the now brown pads of his fingers. He rubs his pointer finger and thumb together to rid his skin of the filth and presses his lips together, turning his head to look at Seungcheol. “There’s more than just memories here,” he says and turns on his heel.
They follow him back into a maze of hallways. There are dead ends, ones that seem like they loop and circle, leading back to the same place, but Minghao is navigating them carefully, naturally, familiar with every twist and turn that is meant to confuse the average person. Eventually, they make it to a slightly ajar, thick and heavy door.
The room is filled with thin, fraying cots all lines up against an empty and water stained wall. Minghao gestures toward the area with a sweeping arm, theatrical and stiff. “Childhood bedroom. Nostalgic, right?” Minghao jokes but Seungcheol doesn’t laugh. Neither does Jihoon, his eyebrows creased, corners of his mouth turned down and twitching as his eyes flicker around their surroundings like he’s trying to make sense of it all in the way that Seungcheol is, too.
Thick and rusted chains are welded onto the beds at the head and the foot. Blood stains decorate the concrete in various patterms and sizes ranging from drops to puddles. Tally marks are etched into the wall, thousand upon thousand carved into the concrete walls until they spread out, fading the closer they get to the floor. In the corner, a small toilet and bucket occupy the small space. There’s a spout built into the wall, nearly falling off in its worn state. Seungcheol imagines Minghao hunched over in the corner trying to wash himself in a room full of others. He can feel the ghosts of everyone trying not to stare.
“Fuck,” Jihoon mumbles under his breath. Seungcheol doesn’t doubt that he’s thinking the same things. “Minghao, you—”
Minghao hushes him, a straight hand raised. “I don’t need sympathy. That’s not what we’re here for.”
“Then what are we here for?” Jihoon asks, voice cracking slightly.
Minghao presses his ear to the wall near the spout, his red hair stark against their dull surroundings. He begins to knock, sliding sideways and repeating the action until there’s a hollow sound filling the air. He digs his finger into a crack before the concrete caves the slightest bit.
He pulls out the flash drive pinched between his fingers. “This.” He pockets it, inhaling heavily as he tilts his head back, blinking up at the ceiling and smiling with a bitter laugh. “Let’s… Let’s get the fuck out of here, yeah?”
Seungcheol and Jihoon agree wordlessly, following as Minghao exits the room. He shuts the door, the screeching sound bouncing off the empty walls of the hallway. Seungcheol blindly trusts that Minghao knows the way out as well as he knows the way in, but that trust falters when Minghao stops suddenly, Jihoon running into his back with a grunt.
“Yah,” Jihoon scolds, rubbing at his own chest. “What are you—”
“Be quiet,” Minghao hushes quickly and sharply. He turns his head to the side, eyes focused on the floor, eyebrows slowly furrowing.
Seungcheol hears it, too. A shift, a click in the depths of the maze. An inhale, a whisper. “Get down,” he warns.
Neither Minghao or Jihoon move. Another click.
Seungcheol lurches forward, tackling them both onto the ground just as bullets whiz in the air now above them.
“Fuck,” Minghao hisses beneath Seungcheol’s weight. “Red Room—”
The sentence is cut off by several people, all wearing the same black clothing fitted to their bodies, appearing at the end of the hall. There’s no time to come up with a plan, no time to think about what to do or how to do it. More bullets slice through the air and the three of them individually react with instinct. Seungcheol rolls, body hitting the wall of the narrow area, getting a braze to his shoulder blade. He stumbles up in time to see Minghao and Jihoon doing the same, rushing toward a left opening that is unventured.
“Where does this take us?” Jihoon asks, easily keeping up with both Seungcheol and Minghao’s running pace.
“I don’t know,” Minghao answers. “It’s—it’s either gonna be a dead end or we’re gonna end up right where we left off.”
“We can work with a loop,” Seungcheol reasons.
Their attempt at a plan is cut off by six Red Room assassins. An electrical noise cracks from the baton-like weapons they’re holding. Seungcheol squares his shoulders.
“I can handle them.”
Minghao looks at him incredulously. “By yourself? Are you fucking insane—”
“I’ve dealt with worse,” Seungcheol says, nodding confidently. “You guys go. I’ll deal with them.”
Jihoon opens his mouth like he’s going to argue, but Seungcheol is already planting his feet to the ground, stretching his neck and waiting for the first blow. Like a tinderbox sparking, the agents burst. Minghao and Jihoon run and Seungcheol goes for the agents that dive for them first. They’re quick, too. He knows they can match his speed without trouble—this is what they were trained for. This is what Minghao was trained for.
The first baton hits his ribcage, the electricity jolting through his body in a way that makes the tips of his fingers tremble and his teeth clench. He forces himself through the pain, fist tight as he uppercuts the agent hard enough to split their jaw. They fall to the floor, withering in pain just as another one is planting their knee into
Seungcheol’s stomach. He grabs it without hesitation, fingers digging into the bones in their kneecap. Something snaps as he turns them so forcefully that they flip in the air, landing on the ground with a heavy thud.
Three more enter his space at once, batons bludgeoning his arms, legs, arms, torso, anything they can reach. He deflects more than half of them, movements quick and precise. His palm burns as he grabs one of the weapons, grip tightening through the pain as he yanks it from the grasp of its previous owner. It’s light in his hand, but it’s a weapon nevertheless. He throws his arm out, the baton colliding with a neck, chest, and torso within a second. He tosses it into the air, catching it with his other hand and kicking another Red Room assassin in the chest, sending them crashing into the wall hard enough to crumble the structure. They get up sloppily, a throwing knife piercing the air. Seungcheol ducks in time for it to penetrate the space above him, and on his knees he flips onto his back, avoiding a boot to his spine.
He uses the baton to demobilize the assassin nearest to him, whacking it against their ankles hard enough to get them on their knees beside his shoulder. He’s quick, reaching up to grab the back of their neck and drive them into the floor. He rolls into a backward flip, finding his footing only to be rushed backward against the wall by two agents. His wrists are forced against the wall, even with his effort to keep them free, with special grade cuffs that seem to withstand his amplified strength. He manages to free one of his arms, yanking it toward the ground and kicking one of the assassins. The other locks an arm around his neck, pulling back until he’s struggling to breathe. In the midst of him trying to one handedly pry the assassin off, the other one goes to strike him again, missing when he manages to kick off the wall enough to loosen the grip on him and crash his body into theirs. He throws a blind elbow until he hears a loud crack and one of the assassins drops. The other regains their footing as Seungcheol tries to wedge his fingers between the cuff and the wall. They swing a fist at his face and he catches it easily, pulling them into him and jumping up at the same time, kicking them hard enough to send them flying up into the opposing wall. Their head snaps back, eyes dead as they drop.
With no one coming at him anymore, he focuses on freeing himself, springing up to plant his feet onto the wall, free hand coming up to hold his wrist as he pulls with everything his body has to offer. His teeth clench, body trembling with force until finally he’s free. He catches himself with a flip, standing upright and running to where Jihoon and Minghao had been heading before.
There’s a wake of unmoving Red Room agents and blood in the hallway that Seungcheol finds himself in. He steps around them carefully, hyper-focused on every one of his movements and the sounds around him. There has to be more, he thinks as he takes a right turn, body stiffening in self defense when he catches a movement.
Jihoon lets out a breath, dropping the gun he must have found in the midst of a brawl. “Fuck,” he curses, running a hand through his black and disheveled hair. “You scared the shit out of me.”
“Where’s Minghao?” Seungcheol asks, looking around and finding more bodies.
“Lost him,” Jihoon explains, the tension still evident in his shoulders even as they start moving again. “They chased him out of here, I don’t know which way he went.”
Seungcheol catches his lip between his teeth in thought, eyes scanning every crevice of the hall. Minghao wouldn’t let himself leave unnoticed if he didn’t want to. He’s smarter than that, can play any cards he’s dealt with precision and ease. Surely, he’s done his part, but it’s up to them to find him.
He finds his answer quickly in a nearly hidden space— along the small dip of where the floors meet the walls. Drops of blood are spaced evenly, carefully as intended.
“Follow the trail of blood,” he says, quickening his pace.
Jihoon’s head snaps to the floor, eyes darting around at the smeared and messy blood beneath them. “What trail—oh. Oh. Damn, you guys are smart.”
The more they follow the trail, the heavier the blood gets. Seungcheol tries not to think about it too much, about what may be waiting for them when the trail ends, but he pushes it to the back of his mind, focuses on getting to Minghao.
Eventually, they find themselves back in the vast room where Minghao had first brought them to. There’s an eerie silence, one that makes everything seem more amplified.
A hitched breath makes Seungcheol whip his head around, ready to fight.
Minghao blinks up at them from where he’s leaning against the wall, bloodied hand pressed to his shoulder where his stitches are located. He huffs out a laugh, the split on his lip bright red with fresh blood. “Oh, good. You’re both alive. We need to get out of here.”
“Yeah, no shit,” Jihoon hisses, rushing over to help Minghao up.
Seungcheol stands guard, making note of all their surroundings. “How long do we have?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Minghao says, urging him to start moving. “They’re coming.”
“And the flash drive?”
Minghao’s mouth turns to a straight line, curved down at the edges. His free hand reaches into his front pocket and he winces before pulling it out. “I have it. I don’t know for how long I’ll be able to hold onto it, but I have it.” When Seungcheol goes to answer, he shakes his head. “Don’t—I have a plan. But right now we need to focus on getting out of here.”
Seungcheol doesn’t argue, answering with a curt nod.
They file into the car in a rush, Jihoon taking the drivers seat and Seungcheol squeezing into the back with Minghao despite his protests. The car starts with a stutter and a series of lights flashes on the dashboard. Jihoon curses.
“The tires are low on air.”
“Slashed tires,” Minghao says with a hum, like he’s impressed. “Good detail. I never slashed anyone’s tires—”
" Minghao.”
“Just drive,” Minghao tells Jihoon, exhaling as he shifts against the seat. “We’ll be fine. Head toward Seoul.”
“Seoul,” Jihoon mumbles, turning the wheel left and then right. “Seoul… Sorry but I don’t know where the fuck we are, Minghao.”
“Go west.”
This time, the vehicle actually starts moving. “Alright, I can work with that.”
With that, Jihoon is flooring the vehicle, so much so that Seungcheol has to keep himself from hitting the window as they turn onto the road. The flat tires make the ride rough, car clumsily rolling along at a speed that will have them driving on pure metal instead of rubber in just a few minutes.
“How’s your shoulder?” Seungcheol asks as Minghao winces against a particularly rough patch of road.
“Fine,” Minghao answers simply. The blood on his hands is starting to dry a brown-ish red, prominent as his fingers curl against the stained fabric of his shirt. “The doctor said it would take two weeks to heal and now I’m a little pissed, if I’m being honest.”
Before Seungcheol can answer, something snaps his attention toward the back window.
Multiple black vehicles are gaining on them, speeding up to surround them.
“Fuck, fuck— fuck!” Jihoon hisses, panicked. “Where the fuck do I go—”
“Brake as hard as you can, turn the wheel to the left and then cut through the field,” Minghao instructs quickly.
Jihoon listens without question, the smell of burning rubber filling the air as the car comes to a jolting stop, turning in time to miss the vehicle nearly tailgating them. Then, the car is peeling straight through the field of grass, the blades whipping against the exterior with a harsh noise.
Seungcheol searches beneath the seats for any sort of object or weapon that can help them, but comes up short. “It’d be useful if we had our fucking weapons,” he finds himself saying out of annoyance and frustration.
Minghao laughs loudly. “Like your shield could help us right now.”
Seungcheol grits his teeth. “Glad you feel good enough to crack some jokes.”
“Thanks—”
“Hello?!” Jihoon nearly shouts. “I need help. Where the fuck do I go?”
“Do a U-turn and then step on the gas,” Minghao answers, only to be cut off by Jihoon.
“Directions, I need directions.”
“Go south.”
“Where’s that leading us?”
“You ask a lot of questions—”
Loud cracks sound, shots fired directly at them. Bullets shatter the tail lights and the side mirror, nothing but a web of broken glass left behind. Without warning, Jihoon is whipping the vehicle around, gravity lost as Seungcheol crashes into the window, Minghao’s weight pressed up against him, too. In the chaos, Jihoon is apologizing over and over again until the vehicle is balanced. Behind them, the assassins are keeping up with ease and Seungcheol can’t help but worry. Their odds aren’t great and he knows that Minghao is all too aware as well.
“Dead end,” Jihoon reads as they pass by a sign. “It says dead end—”
“Keep going,” Minghao answers without hesitance.
“Minghao,” Seungcheol says. It’s not a warning, but it’s close.
“Trust me,” Minghao says, voice quieter than before. He looks Seungcheol in the eye. “Do you trust me?”
Seungcheol presses his lips together and nods.
In the distance, the road seems to diminish, like it bleeds into the horizon. Jihoon seems to realize this at the same time, tone stiff as he calls Minghao’s name. Minghao says nothing, eyes narrowed, looking out of the windshield. Jihoon tries again, “Minghao—”
“I’ll tell you what to do.”
The distance lessens and Seungcheol can see the edge of the road, the start of a cliff and what seems like a bottomless fall. They’re diving head first. “ Minghao—!”
“Turn!” Minghao shouts. “Now— now!”
Jihoon’s eyes are squeezed shut as he sharply turns the wheel, the vehicle whipping through the air, squeals and sparks erupting from the rubber-less tires bursting into the air. Seungcheol swears he feels his heart lurch up into his throat, breath lost on him as their car grazes the cliff but doesn’t fall, now parallel to the edge. Behind, a different fate greets the Red Room assassins as they drive off the cliff in a mess of collisions.
Jihoon sags against the seat, his hands trembling as he runs them through his hair and over his face, shock etched onto every part of him. “What the fuck?” he whispers.
Minghao sits up, huffing out a breath, tonguing at his split lip nonchalantly. “Well, that was a shit-show. Let’s get going?”
“The tires are fucked,” Jihoon says blandly, eyes unfocused toward the radio. “And we have no gas.”
Minghao groans, head falling back against the seat dramatically.
✪
The door to the quinjet hisses open, revealing a very smug Junhui, arms crossed and eyebrow raised with a close mouthed smile on his face.
“Well, well, well,” he says as Seungcheol, Jihoon, and Minghao walk up the ramp and onto the craft. “Good to see you guys alive.”
None of them answer, exhaustion crashing over them at the same time. Seungcheol slumps into one of the seats near the front of the quinjet, eyes burning as he blinks. He’s tired in a way that he hasn’t felt in a long time. Usually, it’s mental exhaustion that has him passing out on the sofa or his bed. Right now, it’s physical exhaustion, bleeding into his bones, rendering him almost useless. With the serum, it’s only a matter of time before he feels fine, but right now, he lets himself bask in this almost foreign feeling.
His peace is disrupted by Junhui’s whisper in his ear. “You hungry?”
Seungcheol cracks a brown eye open. “What are you offering?”
Junhui wordlessly hands him a bowl of noodles with meat and various toppings. It smells delicious and Seungcheol’s stomach grumbles as he takes the offering. He opens his mouth to thank Junhui but is shushed instead. “Don’t thank me, just eat well.”
Seungcheol smiles and nods, doing just that.
As he’s slurping down the broth, he can hear Junhui and Minghao bickering about the open wound on Minghao’s back. He turns just as Junhui gets louder.
“Let me take care of you—”
“It can wait.”
“We have another forty minutes,” Junhui says, hand on Minghao’s wrist to keep him from going anywhere. “I have the first aid kit ready. Let me do this for you. Please.”
The tension in Minghao’s body dissipates and Junhui pulls him closer, running a careful hand down his spine before leading him to a bench attached to one of the walls where the first aid kit is waiting. Seungcheol turns his attention away, the scene too intimate for his envious eyes.
He finds Jihoon looking at him from the seat beside his, eyes flickering around Seungcheol’s features like he’s trying to figure him out. “Everything okay?”
Something in Seungcheol’s stomach lurches, but he nods. “Yeah, everything’s good.”
Jihoon leaves it at that. Seungcheol lets him.
✪
Five minutes before they land, Junhui informs them that he did, in fact, remember to grab their gear before he left. Seungcheol is grateful to have his shield back, the weight comforting in his hand as he attaches it onto his back. What he isn’t so grateful for is the suit that Junhui chose to grab.
Seungcheol picks at the lighter blue material on his chest, frowning at the way the taegeuk sits on a white, circle patch. He hadn’t been a fan of it then and he isn’t a fan of it now. Not only that, but it’s still a bit stained and he’s almost certain it hasn’t been washed since they plucked him out of the ice with it on his body.
“Did you break into the museum or something?” he asks, mostly to be a dick but also because he can’t think of any other way for Junhui to have morally acquired this.
Junhui looks up from where he is polishing the tip of one of his arrows. He turns his hearing aid up, only answering when Seungcheol repeats himself. “Oh! Yeah, why?”
Seungcheol blinks. “Because… I think that’s not legal, Junhui.”
“I’m returning it to its rightful owner,” Junhui says matter of factly. “They can take it up with you, I was just trying to do you a favor.”
“What about my stealth suit—”
“You look fine, pretty boy,” Minghao says, walking in the space between the two of them to track their location, body adorned in his typical, all black, dry fit uniform with the clip of his tactical belt shining with its red metal accent. He looks over his shoulder with a raised eyebrow and a smirk. “At least you don’t have goggles.”
Jihoon snaps his head up, fingers caught in his thigh holster as he tightens the strap, eyes wide behind the red lenses of his glasses. “Hey, what the hell? They protect my eyes!”
“You look good,” Seungcheol assures him as he clips his own helmet on. While his gear might be more bulky than theirs—thick shoulder pads and a chest piece, heavy wings folded into a backpack, belt loaded with hand guns and bullets—it keeps him safe. At least his wasn’t made in the fucking 1900s.
The artificial voice Joshua created for the quinjets informs them of their descent to Seoul in five minutes. Seungcheol glances at Minghao, waiting for orders. When a full minute passes and he doesn’t speak, Seungcheol breaks the silence.
“Is there a plan or are we going into this blindly, too?”
Minghao straightens up, tilting his head at Seungcheol, expression blank. “The plan is for the four of you to cover for me while I get this flash drive into SHIELD without getting killed. Were you expecting something else?”
Seungcheol bites his tongue. “I’m used to order, Minghao. Not recklessness.”
“Well,” Minghao says with a shrug, “sorry to disappoint, but this is my assignment, not yours.”
Seungcheol tongues his cheek. He supposes Minghao has a point.
✪
The quinjet lands on a runway surrounded by others like its kind. They’re quick to exit, forming around Minghao to protect him from any outside force. SHIELD agents are waiting on standby as well, courtesy of Junhui calling in and explaining the dire situation— Agent Boo requested for this assignment to be completed under any circumstance. SHIELD hadn’t asked questions, promising to offer the backup needed.
Agent Park greets them, falling into step as they rush Minghao into the building through the back. “What do we need to know?” he asks.
Seungcheol answers out of habit. “Red Room assassins will be coming at any moment—”
“Thanks, Cap,” Minghao says over him. “Park, all you need to know is that they’ll do quite literally anything for this stupid file. They’re fast and stealthy—don’t let your guard down. Cover all your bases.”
“Roger,” Agent Park answers, falling back.
Seungcheol doesn’t let his distaste show as they step into the elevator. This is Minghao’s assignment after all, it’s not about him. It’s never been about him.
Getting Minghao into the building is by far the easiest task they’ll complete today. The day is passing quickly and slowly, the sun has begun to sink down toward the horizon. Seungcheol tries not to think about what the future has in store as his comm pings with a voice.
The Red Room has arrived.
Seungcheol grabs his shield. Junhui is quick to pluck an arrow from the carrier on his back and Minghao and Jihoon are equipped with their own handguns. There’s no doubt that when the elevator doors chime open, a fight awaits them.
Seconds slow down as the steel doors part. Seungcheol watches with quick reflexes as a grenade is thrown into the opening gap. He deflects it with an open palm and it flies back to where it came from, detonating in the air, a mixture of smoke and debris erupting as bodies are thrown into the air. By the time the doors are fully opened, Seungcheol is out of the elevator, shield thrown straight into a crowd of assassins desperate for some bloodshed. In the same second that his shield leaves his grasp, he is being tackled onto the floor, a leg around his neck cutting off his air. He digs his fingers into the flesh of their calf, extending his arm out in time to catch his shield and slam it into their shin with a jarring sound that causes them to let go. When he gets up, an arrow flies over his shoulder, piercing the neck of someone about to drive a knife into his spine.
He catches Junhui’s eye, sending him a grateful nod before he’s being pulled back to the task at hand. The dodging and weaving is second nature, and while the assassins are trained, they aren’t entirely difficult to keep up with. Every knife sent his way clatters off his shield; every kick and punch is intercepted by his arm or leg and returned with a hit of his own with twice the force.
Outside, a series of explosions sound, flames and black smoke filling the air. There are quinjets torn apart and on their sides, SHIELD pilots being tossed into the air in the midst of the chaos. And there, rising from the ashes, is The Winter Soldier. Seungcheol watches helplessly as the soldier catches a rolling grenade off the floor, running past a quinjet and throwing it into the closing ramp. It goes up in flames and pieces as the soldier continues his havoc, metal arm in front of his face to deflect the bullets being aimed at him. He runs, jumping onto the top of an armed jet. The pilot looks up, right into the barrel of the gun the soldier is arming down at him. He shoots without hesitation, using his metal arm to rip the window off.
“Seungcheol—the fucking flashdrive—Seungcheol!”
The ringing in Seungcheol’s ears goes quiet as he comes back to. Minghao is on the floor withering. Junhui is above him, protecting his body. An assassin is running into the floor to wall window, body shattering the glass as they jump, clinging onto a cable wire hanging down.
Seungcheol acts quickly, shield thrown at the wire, severing it in an attempt to slow down. It’s no use. They’re already almost near the ground, catching themselves in a roll and finding their footing as they dash into the jet with the soldier. Before Seungcheol can think twice about it, he’s sprinting toward the opening left behind from the previous impact. He can vaguely hear Jihoon scream his name as he plummets toward the ground, curling his body and bringing his shield beneath him to break his fall. He lands with a sharp, grating sound as his shield slides against the concrete floor, surely scratching the paint but also saving him in the process. He doesn’t have time to think things through, rushing to grab onto the jet engine right before it leaves the ground. His feet dangle beneath him pathetically as he tries to lift himself up, only for the jet to suddenly shoot into the sky and then nosedive right after.
The force is enough to loosen Seungcheol’s grip and he’s free falling. For a moment, he’s sure this is it and braces for the impact of his body becoming dust against the earth below.
Then, like some sort of angel called down from heaven, Jihoon is swooping in, mechanical wings extended behind him as he clutches onto Seungcheol’s hand, the weight making his momentum falter until he’s balancing again with a pained shout. His nails dig into the back of Seungcheol’s hand as he navigates them onto the helicarrier where the jet has landed.
He drops Seungcheol when they reach safety, both of them falling into step as they head toward the now empty jet. The flash drive has to be around here somewhere, especially if they’re desperate to get rid of it as soon as possible.
From beside him, Jihoon mumbles, “I knew you were big, but fuck. You’re heavy.”
Seungcheol can’t help but chuckle. “Yeah, you can blame that on the serum—”
His sentence is interrupted as he’s tackled suddenly, sent crashing into a railing that gives against the force of his weight. He falls over the edge, unable to stop himself. The air whips through his hair as his body struggles to keep himself flat, legs and arms still desperate to find something to hang on to.
In the distance, he can see Jihoon try to grab him, can see him get tossed like a rag doll away from the edge, left wing getting ripped off in the process. He watches him start to plummet, too. Helpless, all for Seungcheol’s viewing.
The landing is abrupt as his body crashes into the metal of one of the helicarrier’s lower wings in a way that knocks the air out of his lungs and surely breaks a few of his ribs. He gasps in a breath, dragging himself onto his knees as his bones begin to mend themselves.
Eventually, Jihoon's voice is filling his ear. “Cap! Cap—Seungcheol! Are you okay?”
“I’m okay,” Seungcheol says, breathless still. “I’m still on the helicarrier—where are you? Are you alright?”
“I’m good, I’m on the ground,” Jihoon answers. “The Winter Soldier—my suit is—he ripped the fucking wing off. I can’t do anything, ah. I’m sorry, hyung.”
Seungcheol stands up straight. “I can handle it.”
He looks up and sees the soldier staring back down from the very top of the helicarrier. He blinks and suddenly, the soldier is gone.
From there, Seungcheol is quick. He pulls himself up the walls, grips the edge of the first level to haul himself up, breaking out into a run and doing his best to locate any sort of entry into the middle of the helicarrier where the computers are found.
Somehow, someway, Seungcheol finds a way in, tearing through railings and metal until he’s on a walkway with guarding rails. Yet, it doesn’t feel like a success. Not quite yet.
At the end of the walkway, a Red Room assassin is hurriedly trying to destroy the file. Standing in the way is The Winter Soldier.
Standing in the way is Jeonghan.
His black hair is hanging in his face, eyes cold as they bore into Seungcheol’s. His upper lip is jutted out the slightest bit in a way that is natural, but instead of the charming smile that came along with it, it’s a heavy twitch. Almost feral, animalistic. Like he can smell and taste the bloodshed before it has begun.
“People need to know what the Red Room is doing, Jeonghan,” Seungcheol finds himself saying. It’s stupid. It’s selfish. But he’s always been stupidly selfish when it comes to Jeonghan. The Winter Soldier—Jeonghan—says nothing. Unmoving. “I can’t turn a blind eye.”
Again, Seungcheol is met with silence, Jeonghan’s gaze unwavering. The seconds stretch thin and Seungcheol knows he has to do this, knows that there’s only so much time he can waste. He shakes his head, eyes and nose burning as his throat thickens. His eyes glimmer with tears. “Please,” he whispers. “Please, Hannie. Don’t make me do this.”
Jeonghan lowers his chin, narrows his eyes. His metal arm clenches into a fist. Seungcheol sighs shakingly.
He throws his shield with every ounce of strength he has. It slices through the air between them, caught by Jeonghan and thrown back in the fraction of a second. Jeonghan whips a gun out, pulling the trigger one, two, three times, all the bullets bouncing off Seungcheol’s shield as he covers himself, rushing toward Jeonghan. Seungcheol swings back with his shield, the vibranium clashing against Jeonghan’s metal arm with a spark that is quickly dimmed as he aims another round at Seungcheol. Again, Seungcheol is ducking behind his shield, bouncing back up as Jeonghan pulls a second gun out, shooting out of both with quick speed.
A bullet grazes Seungcheol’s side, a wound blossoming beneath the ripped fabric of his suit. He grunts in pain, clenching his teeth and rams his shield into Jeonghan’s head, enough to send him flying back.
Jeonghan stands slowly, jaw twitching in anger. His slender fingers grab a knife from the holster around his thigh. He stands with his legs wide, leaning forward with intention. Seungcheol braces himself as Jeonghan nears him again. He punches Jeonghan in the chest earning no reaction. Instead, Jeonghan swings at him with the knife, missing by a fraction of an inch as Seunghceol leans back to avoid getting sliced.
Jeonghan is fast, two more attempts thrown Seungcheol’s way, leaving him to stumble slightly. Jeonghan’s leg arcs in the air with a kick that Seungcheol barely dodges. In the slight space created to Jeonghan’s side, Seungcheol tries running only to be stopped by a boot to the back of his knee, balance faltering. He lands on one knee, shield blocking the elbow Jeonghan tries to drive into his head. The impact makes him stumble back, losing his footing enough for Seungcheol to run toward the Red Room assassin, shield crashing into their back and rendering them motionless on the floor.
The flash drive is only eighty percent uploaded onto the computer–nothing has been erased yet. Seungcheol ejects it quickly, shoving it into his pocket.
“I got the flash drive,” he calls into his comm. “I’ll be finding a way out—”
He whips around in time to catch Jeonghan’s metal arm, pushing him back enough to create some space. He tries to kick, tries to punch but falls short as all of his attempts fail. With desperation, he catches Jeonghan’s flesh wrist, the knife in his hand glinting as Seungcheol lifts his shield with his other hand and slamming it down to hopefully break his arm, even if it’s just for a few minutes. His plan is stunted when Jeonghan is grabbing onto the edge of his shield with his metal arm.
Their strength is matched, both trembling as they try to break the stagnant motion. Seungcheol is the first to give up, disarming Jeonghan instead, slapping the knife out of Jeonghan’s hand. He pushes Jeonghan back again, creating momentum with his arms to kick at Jeonghan’s chest with enough power to knock him several steps back.
Before he can find any sort of exit strategy, Jeonghan is in his space again, fist colliding with the center of Seungcheol’s shield as he blocks his chest from the blow. Seungcheol plants his feet to the ground, pushing, pushing, pushing forward, swinging his shield and swinging it again when Jeonghan dodges with his silver arm. He gets a punch in between the blurred fists and blocking stances, the warm skin of his knuckles colliding with the cold skin of Jeonghan’s cheek. He loses his balance, back hitting the electrical cylinder where the computers hook up to
The anger in his eyes is unlike anything Seungcheol has ever seen from him. His straight teeth are clenched as he screams in his throat, eyebrows furrowed viciously, hands clenches and arms flexed as he charges forward, body colluding with Seungcheol’s until the both of them are flipping over the railing.
They land on a slope,Seungcheol’s shield lost in the fall, Jeonghan’s knife and guns out of sight, and the flash drive sliding against the smooth area and out of Seungcheol’s pocket.
It goes ignored as Jeonghan and Seungcheol stand at the same time, running toward each other forcefully. Jeonghan is quick to attack, metal arm punching Seungcheol in the ribs one and then twice before Seungcheol is kneeing him in the stomach and driving a fist into Jeonghan’s face again. It’s returned with a backhand that hits Seungcheol so hard he’s flipping back, head over feet, landing on his back and sliding down the slope. He spots the flash drive, snatching it up and looking over the edge for some kind of escape. What he finds is a drop onto a glass floor and no hope. He stumbles up just as Jeonghan tries to push him over, grabbing onto his wrist to keep him from swinging. Jeonghan thrashes, knocking the flash drive out of his hands and over the edge. In a panic, Seungcheol uppercuts Jeonghan, his head snapping back at the impact and his body falling to the floor at the loss of balance. Seungcheol uses the opportunity to kick him over the edge, instinct taking over everything else trying to crash forward.
From there, Seungcheol jumps down, landing on his feet easily. He run towards where the flash drive landed, the object getting closer and closer until—
He’s winded, pain blossoming in his back as his shield hits him, knocking him back and onto the floor. His shield lands beside him clumsily, twirling before rattling to a stop.
Jeonghan has his gun again, already aimed at Seungcheol. He barely has enough time to kick up his shield, crouching behind it as bullets bounce off the vibranium. When the bullets run out, Seungcheol jumps up, chucking his shield with every ounce of power and strength in his body, only for Jeonghan to punch it mid air, sending it up and far away from them. Jeonghan has a knife in his hand before the shield hits the ground, rushing toward Seungcheol with what could only be absolute determination.
Both of his attempts at lacerating Seungcheol’s face are deflected, both of Seungcheol’s hands holding onto Jeonghan’s silver wrist to keep the knife away from him. It’s no use. With sudden strength, Jeonghan plunges the knife into Seungcheol’s shoulder. He screams through gritted teeth, skull cracking against Jeonghan’s to buy himself some time. It works, the slightest bit of distance created as he stumbles into a wall, pulling the knife out of his skin, blood staining the blue and turning it into an ugly shade of purple.
Jeonghan scrambles for the flash drive, the tips of his fingers touching it and pushing it into his palm when Seungcheol dives for him, grabbing his neck and lifting him up and off the ground. Jeonghan’s voice is hoarse as he growls, hanging above Seungcheol like some sort of biblical being, black hair a dark halo around his head, eyes wide and frantic. Seungcheol slams him into the ground, maneuvering him so that his face is pressed up against the glass floor, unable to move beneath Seungcheol’s weight.
‘Drop it!” Seungcheol demands, pushing Jeonghan’s face more with his palm. “Please just—just fucking drop it!”
Jeonghan’s grip only tightens on it. Seungcheol’s mouth tastes of bile as he pulls Jeonghan’s arm back until the bones crunch. Jeonghan scream is deafening. He still doesn’t let go.
Seungcheol tries a different approach and latches his arm around Jeonghan’s neck, throwing his own body back against the floor and holding Jeonghan against himself, cutting off his airway in the process. Jeonghan thrashes in his hold, back arching as he tries to free himself, legs scrambling for some sort of balance. Seungcheol only tightens his grip, and when Jeonghan’s metal arm starts to whir and flex, Seungcheol wraps his leg around it and holds it down.
He makes the mistake of looking down, of watching Jeonghan’s face twitch in struggle and fear. He watches his eyes flutter shut, mouth slack open until he’s finally limp against Seungcheol’s strangling hold. The flash drive falls from his hand and Seungcheol tears himself away from the warmth of Jeonghan’s body, lungs struggling to inhale as he grabs the flash drive and his shield.
It doesn’t feel like winning. It doesn’t feel like anything at all, really.
Junhui’s voice is in his ear. “Cap, do you copy? Captain?”
Seungcheol brings his wrist comm to his mouth, trying to catch his breath as he speaks. “I’m here. I have the flash drive.”
He can hear the sigh of relief. “Awesome, great. I’m sure if Minghao was conscious he’d be singing his praises.”
“Is he—”
“He’s alive,” Junhui answers like he knows what Seungcheol is going to ask. “He took a good beating, but that doesn’t matter. Listen, Cap, you’ve got, like—”
A loud crash sounds and everything around Seungcheol begins to shake. “What the fuck was that?”
“That’s the sound of bombs going off on the craft that you are currently on,” Junhui says. “We’re below you on a quinjet, just jump and we’ll catch you.”
Seungcheol’s blood goes cold. “I–It’s gonna…”
“We don’t have all day, Cap.”
Another crash sounds and this time, things start to crumble. Seungcheol runs toward one of the holes blown into the sides, climbing back up the slope to reach his exit. A large beam falls, landing with a loud noise, covered in flames and ash. Seungcheol hesitates, legs failing him as his knees buckle. He peers over the edge despite his brain telling him to go, just go, and immediately knows that he won’t be making it on the quinjet.
Jeonghan is awake now. The beam is on top of him, trapping him against the hot metal and the glass below him. His legs flail as he tries to squirm his way out desperately, grunts loud and blood-curdling when he tries to push the object off of him. Seungcheol hesitates, watches for longer than he should. An ache begins to crawl up his chest and into his throat when Jeonghan starts to panic, chest heaving against his pained efforts.
Seungcheol jumps down, rushing over to help, muscles straining as he tries to pull until it feels like he’s going to come apart. Eventually, a gap is created and the soldier slams his silver fist into the beam for leverage as he pulls himself out.
Seungcheol pants, breath heavy as he looks over at Jeonghan about to pull himself up to run. He doesn’t know why he says it, all he knows is that he wants to. He wants this so badly. “You… You know me.”
Jeonghan freezes, still on his knees like Seungcheol. He stands and Seungcheol stands, too. Then, he reels his arm back. “No… I… don’t,” he screams, fist colliding with Seungcheol’s shield, knocking him back and onto the ground. The force of the punch is enough to make him stumble as well.
Flames burn around them, embers dancing in the air and black smoke rising. Seungcheol can hear Junhui in his ear telling him to hurry. He takes the comm out and lets it drop to the floor. He finds his balance, standing again, chest heaving. “Hannie,” he says through breaths. His face is bleeding, sweating, messy and hopeless, but he clings onto this moment, unsure if he’ll ever get it again. “You’ve known me your whole life.”
Jeonghan’s face begins to drop, eyes flickering around, mouth parted as his breath rasps in his throat. A strand of his hair is in his mouth as the wind coming from the falling aircraft begins to filter in. The confusion turns to anger quickly, and he’s hitting Seungcheol across the face again. “No I don’t!”
They both fall over as another explosion bursts, shaking the craft. Seungcheol tries again. “Your name is Yoon Jeonghan—”
Another hit. “Shut up!”
Seungcheol can feel his face starting to bruise and split, blood trickling down his temple now free from his helmet. He tries again, stumbling upright, unsteady on his feet now. “I’m not gonna fight you,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. He drops his shield and it falls through the broken glass, lost to the smoke below. If he dies, it will be in the hands of Jeonghan. He wouldn’t want it any other way. “You’re my… You’re the only love I’ve ever known,” he says, tears clumping on his dark lashes, cherry lips stained with blood and truth.
Jeonghan’s features morph into anger. He tackles Seungcheol back onto the glass, the fragile ground webbing beneath them as Seungcheol hits his head. “It’s my mission,” Jeonghan says, metal arm pulling back and then striking Seungcheol.
An ugly bruise blossoms on the side of his face quickly, blood splattered on his skin with the impact. Jeonghan hits him again and again, turning him into nothing but a bloody pulp. Everything begins to blur. The heat fades, a nice warmth settling in Seungcheol’s bones instead. He’s limp, at Jeonghan’s mercy like this and by God, is he merciless. His fist drives into Seungcheol’s face over and over and over again, ceaseless, determined. Eventually, they slow down, Jeonghan’s arm lowering in exhaustion. He grabs Seungcheol by the collar, lifts him up the slightest bit and their eyes meet. Seungcheol can’t help the smile that cracks on his lips.
“That’s okay,” Seungcheol manages to get out, words slurring together as everything fades. “It’s okay. You can… finish your mission…” He tries to inhale, but his lungs struggle and his throat closes even as he tries to cough. “Do… you think… I’d let you fail?”
Jeonghan’s eyes widen.
Everything else fades.
✪
A familiar cadence of trumpets flutters into Seungcheol’s ears.
He twitches, fingers moving against the fleece blanket on top of him. His eyes flutter open, met by fluorescent lights and brightly colored walls. The monitor beside him beeps steadily, working against the tempo of the music already playing. His head lolls to the side, finding Jihoon sitting in the chair beside the hospital bed, humming along to the song as he scrolls through his phone.
“You remembered the song,” he manages to croak out, startling Jihoon.
“Oh, shit. You’re awake.”
Seungcheol blinks harshly, a pain starting to blossom at the base of his skull. He winces as Jihoon stands up. “Surprised?”
“You’ve been out for a week,” Jihoon tells him and Seungcheol furrows his eyebrows.
“A… a week?”
“They found you at the edge of a river. You drowned and you were all beat up,” Jihoon explains. “Your body went into shock, couldn’t figure out how to heal itself.”
“Oh,” Seungcheol manages to say.
“What did he do to you?” Jihoon asks suddenly and Seungcheol’s mouth goes dry. He answers in the form of shaking his head. Everything is a blur. He remembers the pain and then nothing at all. Nothing in between.
The door opens and red hair flashes in Seungcheol’s sight as Minghao pops his head in. “Nice to see you alive.”
“Likewise,” Seungcheol says and Minghao chuckles.
“Jihoon,” Minghao says as he walks in, holding the door open. “I’ll need a word with him.”
Jihoon doesn’t ask questions, getting up and promising Seungcheol to be back with some song recommendations. It’s quiet when the door shuts again. For a moment, Seungcheol is sure that Minghao will kill him, or at least try to. He’s more than surprised when Minghao says:
“You saved my mission.”
Seungcheol’s mouth parts in surprise. “I… Did I? The flashdrive…?”
“They found it in the pocket of your suit,” Minghao tells him. “That thing is pretty waterproof, I don’t know why you hate it so much.”
“It’s the color,” Seungcheol lamely explains and Minghao hums with a small laugh.
A stretch of silence settles as Minghao goes to sit on the edge of the bed. He picks up Seungcheol’s hand, threading and unthreading their fingers together before finally dropping it and patting the top of his hand. “They want me to kill him.”
It doesn’t take much for Seungcheol to know who he’s talking about. “I can’t let you do that, Minghao.”
“He went MIA,” Minghao says quickly. “And those are the orders I have as of now. I have to find him and turn him in or kill him, whichever one I can do first. There’s nothing I can do about it.” Seungcheol opens his mouth to answer, but Minghao cuts him off with a raised hand. “Please, don’t make this harder than it needs to be. I chose to tell you because I owe it to you to be honest. I know you have a hard time letting go of the past, Seungcheol, but sometimes you have to in order to move on.”
“Right,” Seungcheol says, body feeling numb. The monitor begins to beep more frequently.
Minghao gives him a pressed smile and pats his thigh. “Get some rest, Captain.”
Seungcheol nods stiffly, waiting until the door closes, emptiness surrounding him.
Then, he lets himself cry.
The soldier watches the man drift down into the water.
An image flashes in the soldier’s head.
This man helped him.
This man is familiar.
He knows this man.
A pain begins to pinch at the soldier’s skull. His jaw twitches. He walks into the water again.
He drags the man out, drops his hold when he reaches land.
The soldier glances at the man one more time. His head aches some more.
The soldier leaves.
Notes:
this was one of those chapters that as i started writing, more and more scenes started to play out in my mind. what i thought would be a short chapter turned into 15k words of... something!
from here it should be easier to write since im done with the nitty gritty stupid world building. sort of. ANYWAY... we move onto the Civil War aspect next... u see where i'm going with this? im excited. of course, it will be very different from the movie with more yaoi and a different reasoning for the civil war. i hope i don't disappoint!
at this point, i have no clue how long this is gonna be. at the most 10 chapters for sure, but word wise? well we're at 50k only 4 chapters in so... maybe 90k words? 100k? 110k? this is a monster already BUT im having fun and i hope you are, too!
also…yes… their Til the End of the Line is Do You Think I’d Let You Fail? …. cry with me
kudos and comments appreciated, pls share ur thoughts! i get so happy reading them <3
Chapter 5: V. To Break a Promise
Summary:
Notes:
thank you to marti for drawing a scene from chapter 3!
Chapter Text
But you’re all it takes for me
to break a promise
Silly me to fall in love
with you
A gentle breeze flutters through the air. Seungcheol’s hair gets tousled, splayed across his face in a way that isn’t attractive and makes him sputter, trying to rid his eyes of the strands. From beside him, there’s a warm laugh. Crooked fingers come up to fix the black locks, working carefully and tenderly. It feels real, so real that it takes a moment before Seungcheol turns his neck, tilting his head slightly to meet honey eyes and long lashes.
“I could’ve done that myself.”
“But you wanted me to do it,” Jeonghan teases with a wink. His hair is coming past his ears now, having started to grow it out now that they live on their own. “I see right through you, Cheollie.”
Seungcheol answers with a stubborn kick to Jeonghan’s shin that goes missed, causing him to stumble on his fragile legs. He huffs, face burning in a blush as Jeonghan cackles, head tossed back toward the sky. To soften the blow, Jeonghan puts his arm over Seungcheol’s narrow shoulders, their synced steps faltering slightly at the shift in weight. Seungcheol presses his lips together to push down the smile threatening to split his face. Butterflies erupt in his stomach when Jeonghan pulls him closer, their sides pressed together now.
“You want a melon popsicle? We can share it.”
Seungcheol pictures Jeonghan with red flushed lips, sticky and sweet. He bets they’d taste like melon, too.
“Yeah, Hannie.”
Jeonghan smiles at him. “Let’s go, Cheollie.”
Cheollie. The name is loud, so clear and sudden that—
Seungcheol startles awake, staring up at the white ceiling as he settles himself, trying to catch his stuttering breath. He raises a hand to his face where Jeonghan had touched him all those years ago. There’s a phantom feeling, like the warmth of him is still lingering.
It is no longer 1950. He doesn’t want to recall anything else.
The intercom chimes suddenly, alerting him of someone’s presence at his door. He sighs, sitting up and rubbing at his eyes with his palms before pulling the sheets aside, swinging his bare feet over until they’re touching the cold floor. On his way to the door, he grabs a t-shirt draped over the back of the sofa and runs his hands through his dark hair in an effort to tame the nest.
When he looks at the small monitor displaying what the peephole sees in the hallway, he’s a little more than surprised to see Chan standing there. Seungcheol opens the door with a sleepy smile that he hopes comes across as kind and not as exhausted as he feels. Chan looks up from the floor, hands clasped in front of him as he returns Seungcheol’s smile with some hesitancy.
“Everything okay, Chan-ah?” Seungcheol asks, leaning against the door frame, the hinges digging into his side.
“Yeah—yeah,” Chan says quickly with multiple nods. His fingers pull at one another as he meets Seungcheol’s eyes properly. “Sorry, hyung. I just wanted to check up on you. I mean, I meant to when you got home but I—I thought you’d appreciate some space. But I still wanted to see if you were doing okay.”
Seungcheol smiles, grateful. “Thank you, Chan.” He means it as genuinely as possible. As much as he appreciates all the team members, some struggle with boundaries in a way that he’s not used to.
Soonyoung had knocked on his door an hour after he returned from the hospital, requesting advice for his new suit fitting. Wonwoo had walked straight into his bedroom through one of the walls with a promise: I will make sure to monitor your health. That’s okay, really, Seungcheol had tried saying, only to be brushed off .
Joshua had sent him four get well baskets and then personally came to talk about nothing and everything. Apparently he’s been close with Seokmin recently. Seungcheol didn’t ask him to elaborate.
Suddenly aware that Chan is fidgeting now, Seungcheol steps aside to let him in. It’s quiet as Seungcheol follows Chan into the kitchen, but Chan keeps looking over at him like he wants to say something.
So, Seungcheol clears his throat to catch Chan’s attention. “Is everything alright, Chan?”
“Yeah–yeah, just…” Chan sighs, mouth opening and closing, hands coming up before dropping. “Were… were you having nightmares, hyung?”
Seungcheol blinks, eyebrows furrowing. This dream wasn’t a nightmare, not compared to the others—he can say that in full confidence. He can’t help but wonder if he looks so emotionally stained that Chan is beginning to grow concerned about him instead of just checking on him to be kind. “A nightmare? No, no. It wasn’t—it was a dream, that’s all.” He pauses, watching as Chan’s eyebrows begin to crease in confusion. “It’s—it’s a dream I have a lot. From before the war, before the serum. Before everything. It isn’t a nightmare, but it… When I wake up it feels like I can’t breathe.”
“Oh,” Chan says. A lock of his orange hair falling into his face as he looks down again. His lips press together distastefully. “That’s… Sorry, it’s just so… weird. I saw… I saw a nightmare. I could hear it—it was cold. There was screaming and… I saw your face, hyung.”
The hair on Seungcheol’s arm stands up and he runs his hands over the skin. “What else did you see?”
“I couldn’t make out all of it,” Chan explains, eyes starting to glow red. He’s trying to remember, Seungcheol realizes. The light flickers and then fades, his brown eyes meeting Seungcheol’s. “It’s all… scrambled? That’s the best way I can describe it.”
Seungcheol doesn’t say anything—can’t think of anything to say. Maybe it’s a premonition. Maybe Chan is having nightmares on his own. Maybe it means nothing at all. “Hopefully it was a one time thing.”
“Two times,” Chan says quickly, arms crossed delicately. He’s bashful as he shrugs. “The last time it happened was the night of the dinner with the team. It was a little different, but it still held the same feeling. I felt scared. Confused. When I woke up, I was crying. That never happens to me.”
“I wish I could help, Chan-ah.”
Chan waves him off, straightening himself out and attempting to give Seungcheol a smile. “Ah, don’t worry. Maybe I’m just in my head. Sorry, I was supposed to be here to check on you, not to complain about my own problems.”
“Don’t be sorry,” Seungcheol tells him. “I appreciate it.”
Before Chan can reply, an artificial voice is speaking. Captain Choi, Agent Boo will be visiting in approximately five minutes.
Seungcheol furrows his eyebrows. He hasn’t heard from Seungkwan since his accident. Chan seems to think the same, perking up at the mention of Seungkwan. “Oh, hyung’s better?”
“I guess so,” Seungcheol says.
✪
Seungkwan hobbles into the apartment in crutches and a cast on his leg. The scabs on his face are healing and there’s a yellow, faded bruise on his temple that Seungcheo notes as they make eye contact.
He looks Seungcheol up and down with a nod. “You look like you’re doing better.”
“I could say the same about you,” Seungcheol answers stiffly. Minghao’s voice is still echoing in his ears, pestering him like a stubborn itch. They want me to kill him.
Seungkwan lets out a laugh, looking down at himself with a sigh. “Yeah, well. I refuse to die when I’m caught off guard.”
“Minghao told me that he’s been ordered to kill Jeonghan.” There’s no use in trying to navigate his way through this conversation. There’s only a matter of time before Minghao is briefed and set to leave. There’s only a matter of time before Jeonghan has a target on his head.
Seungkwan presses his lips together and nods without hesitance or fear. “Yes. Those are the orders I gave him.”
“Seungkwan,” Seungcheol says impatiently. “I don’t think—”
“ I don’t think that’s something you have control over deciding,” Seungkwan says over him calmly, voice stern and cold.
“You don’t understand,” Seungcheol chokes out desperately. This is wrong, this is all wrong. They don’t understand Jeonghan like he does, they don’t see him for what he is, what he was. He’s good in his core, Seungcheol knows it. He could see it.
Seungkwan doesn’t see it. “No, you don’t understand,” he snaps, pointing a scolding finger at Seungcheol like he’s a fucking dog. “That is not war-hero Yoon Jeonghan. That is the Winter Soldier . He is a criminal and is to be treated and tried like one. I will not have this argument with you when there is nothing to argue about.” He takes a heavy breath, eyebrows creased in anger, eyes unbreaking from Seungcheol’s. “Minghao will capture him, dead or alive. Those are his orders. I am not changing my mind.”
“I don’t want to choose a side, Seungkwan,” Seungcheol warns roughly. He’s done begging.
“There are no sides to choose,” Seungkwan says, unaffected by Seungcheol’s demeanor. “Let the past go, Seungcheol. That’s all we can do now.”
A thick silence blankets the air around them. Seungcheol’s chest rises and falls with his angered breathing. Seungkwan looks him up and down, something akin to pity, annoyance, and disgust in his eyes. He turns without sparing another glance, crutches loud against the floor.
The door slams shut and Seunghcheol’s jaw aches, hands shaking.
Jeonghan.
He has to get to Jeonghan first.
✪
In the heat of the anger sparking every cell in Seungcheol’s body, he begins to pack a backpack, throwing clothes into the inside, grabbing a gun that he keeps in his nightstand, and collecting his shield from where it’s hidden behind a painting in the hallway.
It takes no time before he’s out the door in glasses and a cap, the shield and backpack hanging off his back, the keys to his motorcycle clutched in his hand.
By noon, he’s on a plane, motorcycle abandoned in the parking garage of the airport alongside his morals.
✪
There are several places Jeonghan could be.
Seungcheol manages to tap into the comm Minghao is using. He follows carefully, always one step behind him.
If he’s smart enough, if he plays his cards right, he can look at things Minghao would look past, look for signs of Jeonghan in already deserted places. After all, he has some experience in finding Jeonghan in places he shouldn’t be.
He knows Jeonghan better than anyone else, can recognize him from a breath, a blink, anything. That has to be enough. He’s praying that it’s enough.
✪
Tokyo. Vietnam, China, Thailand.
There are no traces of Jeonghan despite the leads Minghao is receiving from SHIELD’s tracking team. Seungcheol is thorough, more than Minghao is. He searches every corner, every crack in a sidewalk or water stain on a wall in search for something left behind.
He sleeps in hostels, worn down hotel rooms a good distance from where Minghao is staying. He only sleeps when Minghao sleeps and wakes up the moment Minghao’s breathing pattern changes in any way. Even from a distance, he can sense Minghao’s desperation, the way he begins to grow impatient between countries with no accurate lead whatsoever. It’s amusing and poetic in a way. Who could ever have this much patience for Jeonghan but Seungcheol?
In Germany, something finally gives.
Seungcheol watches from the rooftop of an apartment complex, rain pelting down onto his head, dripping down his face as Minghao enters a warehouse. According to nearby citizens, they spotted a suspicious man with long, black hair ducking into the abandoned building in the late hours of the night.
Seungcheol waits in his crouched position until Minghao is done searching every corner of the street and building. It takes three hours, but eventually, Minghao speaks into his comm.
The soldier is no longer here.
Minghao leaves quickly, kicking the stand of his motorcycle before peeling away, dressed in all black and disappearing into the dark and rainy night. Seungcheol moves quickly, swinging his legs over the edge of the building and scaling down the side, landing on his feet with a wet sound, shoes soaked in a puddle, his distorted reflection staring back at him. Soaked, black hair wet against his face, eyelashes dripping onto his cheeks.
The inside of the warehouse is empty as it had been when Minghao was inside searching. Seungcheol looks up, the sound of rain clumsily hitting the roof loudly and echoing in the emptiness.
Seungcheol looks up, the sound of rain clumsily hitting the roof loudly and echoing in the emptiness. He can see where Minghao has tampered with things in an attempt to look for some clues of Jeonghan’s presence. Kicked aside crates, a tarp carelessly thrown to the side and crumpled in on itself, muddy footprints tracked in circles, lines, and zig-zags.
Like a well worn routine at this point, Seungcheol takes slow steps, making sure to observe every crevice, every miniscule object, speck of dust and dirt in hopes to find traces of Jeonghan somewhere. As it’s been for the last several stops, nothing comes up that stands out to Seungcheol. There are barely any signs that anyone has even stepped foot in the area other than himself and Minghao. Though, it shouldn’t really be a surprise that Jeonghan is good at disappearing. A ghost. That’s what Minghao had called him, and for good reason, Seungcheol quickly realizes.
By the time Seungcheol is nearly done searching for someone that does not want to be found, he notices something peeking out from a wet drain covered by sticking leaves. He almost walks past it, almost disregards to focus on what Minghao’s next step is, but something crawls in his skin like an itch aching to be scratched. So, he crouches down, head tilting to the side curiously as he observes a bright green wrapper sticking out starkly from the leaves and mud in the drain. His fingers twitch at his side before he’s reaching out, plucking the corners from the muck with his pointer and middle finger. A wave of nostalgia hits him like a freight train when he thumbs the filth off the wrapper.
Melon popsicle.
It isn’t the same brand he remembers—it had closed after the war started, unable to stay afloat in the midst of everything—but the green wrapper is reminiscent of the original brand he and Jeonghan used to eat. The letters printed on the front and the back in a different language, words vaguely familiar. On the bottom, the text is torn off: PRODUCT OF
It’s easy to search for it on the dated device he picked up in Tokyo, the results coming in with some lag due to the poor connection in the area. Made in Hungary.
Seungcheol pockets the wrapper, his hope brighter than before.
✪
Budapest, Hungary. The scenery is a nice change, green upon green with a beautiful blue sky abundant with thick and white clouds. Seungcheol gets off the train with rushed steps, his backpack lighter on his back doing little to hide the shield nestled behind it. He keeps himself out of sight the best he can, taking routes on rooftops instead of sidewalks, staying in the shadows when he’s venturing the streets.
He stares at a newspaper perched on a wired stand, the front page mocking him like some sort of joke. Jeonghan’s head is ducked down, a black hat tipped down to cover the features of his face, metal arm hidden beneath a black jacket and glove, caught mid-walk on a CCTV camera from a nearby shop. The headline is big and bold, written in Hungarian and English.
SHIELD SEARCHES FOR THE WINTER SOLDIER.
Seungcheol snatches the newspaper, clutching it in his palm and looking around the almost vacant street. For all he knows, Jeonghan could be watching right now, could be waiting for him to make the wrong move, or maybe the right move. Hell, for all he knows, Jeonghan could be gone already.
He holds onto the spark of hope that has yet to dim in his chest. He’s made it this far, backing out isn’t an option anymore. It never has been when it comes to Jeonghan.
From there, Seungcheol searches the city until he’s sure he might start going insane. He breaks into abandoned buildings, construction sights, warehouses located all throughout. The sun begins to sink in the sky, on the brink of kissing the horizon when he spots something in the distance. A light flickering in a worn building. The doors are bound shut by chains and half of the complex is burnt down from a past fire. Seungcheol perks up, already coming up with a way to get himself inside.
It’s easier said than done to find an entry point, but eventually, he’s able to use his strength to pry the linked chains apart, the skin on his palms splitting open in the process. The skin closes up within the minute, and he’s going up the dusty emergency staircase to begin going through every room until he finds something, anything.
Just as he thinks his luck is about to run out, he cautiously opens the door to one of the apartments. There’s a stained mattress lying in the middle of the empty space. The window is cracked opened, allowing a cooling breeze to filter through. The more he steps through, the more than he finds. A cigarette partially burnt at the foot of the mattress. A gun hidden in a kitchen cabinet that is falling apart. Melon popsicle wrappers shoved into a plastic bag hanging off of the front door knob. A journal tucked beneath the mattress that he shoves into his backpack just in case.
A noise from the hallway catches Seungcheol’s attention. He whips around within the second, curling onto the floor with his shield blocking his body right as the door bursts open, four gunshots sounding loudly as they hit the vibranium with a ringing that seems to echo. Quietness follows the abrupt noise instantly and Seungcheol takes a chance, peeking over the edge of his shield.
Jeonghan’s eyes find Seungcheol’s. He lowers his gun tentatively, metal arm glinting in the light of the setting sun shining through the window. His lips are pressed together distastefully, the ends of his hair brushing his shoulders as he drops the tension from his body. “What are you doing here?” he asks, his voice singing against Seungcheol’s ears despite the grit in his tone. It’s the most he’s heard him speak and it feels like coming home.
“I’m here for you,” Seungcheol tells him, standing up slowly so as to not startle Jeonghan. Jeonghan looks him up and down with an uneasy glare. “We need to get out of here—”
“ We?” Jeonghan parrots. He raises his gun again. “I’m gonna give you ten seconds to get the fuck away from me before I put a bullet in your skull.”
“Jeonghan,” Seungcheol says desperately. “I know—”
Jeonghan shoots. The bullet grazes the top of Seungcheol’s ear like a warning, blood dripping from the fresh wound as Seungcheol recoils and hisses, hand coming up to block the burnt skin. “Seven seconds.”
“Jeonghan—”
Without warning, Jeonghan lunges at him, metal arm on Seungcheol’s throat as he holds him against the wall, their noses brushing as Jeonghan seethes, teeth gritted in anger, eyes flickering between Seungcheol’s in a way that makes his skin crawl. From this close, he can see the bags beneath Jeonghan’s eyes, the crusted blood inside his ear, the way his lips are trembling like he’s trying to hold himself together. Seungcheol is hit with the realization that this, possibly, is the longest Jeonghan has gone without HYDRA’s power over him.
“I–I can help you,” Seungcheol manages to choke out through the pressure being applied to his throat. His hands grab Jeonghan’s wrist, not to pry him off, but to simply touch him. Jeonghan’s breath hitches his eyes snapping toward the feeling of warmth on his flesh. “Let me help you, please— please. They want to kill you, Hannie, and I—I can’t let them.”
Jeonghan furrows his eyebrows, jolting forward, knocking the remnants of a breath out of Seungcheol. “I don’t need your help,” he says in a hushed whisper. “You don’t know me.”
“I do,” Seungcheol insists, begs. “I d-do know you.”
Jeonghan shakes his head. “That’s not me. That hasn’t been me for a long time. I’m not the same person you remember, Seungcheol. ”
Seungcheol blinks to keep the wetness in his eyes from spilling over, lip shaking. “Neither am I.”
The pressure lessens as Jeonghan inhales shakily, taking a small step back. The silence is thick between them, and before either of them can say anything, a grenade comes crashing through the window, the sound of shattering glass piercing the air.
Jeonghan stares at the grenade on the floor for a split second before jumping into action, instinctively kicking it toward Seungcheol who uses his shield to cover it, the sound muffled beneath the material.
A beat of tension surrounds them before a flash of red is coming in through the window. Minghao hits the floor in a flip, rolling gracefully onto his feet, a throwing knife slicing through the air. Jeonghan is already running out the door, catching the knife before it can embed itself into the wall, and disappearing into the outside hallway. Minghao is right behind him, Seungcheol following for entirely different reasons.
Minghao is fast, but Jeonghan is faster. He’s aware of his surroundings, more than Minghao and Seungcheol are, taking sharp turns until he’s slamming the door open to a staircase. They lose him in the few seconds it takes for them to attempt to catch up with him, but it doesn’t deter Minghao. Seungcheol takes a moment to stop and listen, focusing on the surrounding noises in hopes of catching a sign of Jeonghan. He hears it in the distance, vaguely—heavy and quick footsteps. Seungcheol is on the move within the second, running out of the staircase to find an emergency exit that will lead him to Jeonghan without Minghao noticing.
With a prayer on the tip of his tongue, Seungcheol barrels into a hallway just in time to find Jeonghan slamming into a random apartment door, the wood splintering and splitting in half as Jeonghan keeps his pace. Then, the sound of shattering glass, Jeonghan leaping out the window just as Minghao comes into sight from the opposite end of the hall. He fires two desperate shots at the open window, both bullets hitting the glass, a spiderweb pattern blossoming in their wake.
With a hissed curse, Minghao is blindly going for Jeonghan, jumping out of the window with Seungcheol right behind him, a race on who can get to Jeonghan first. Minghao is determined, above all. He spots Jeonghan leaping off the edge of the edifice, landing on the hard concrete of the lower building below, hitting the roof with a loud thud, rolling until he’s grabbing his backpack and sprinting away. Minghao is reckless, throwing himself down, managing to land right on Jeonghan, feet on his shoulders sending him to the ground. Minghao catches himself in a flip, getting in front of Jeonghan, leaving him nowhere to go except to plummet down onto the surrounding roads.
Still, Jeonghan tries. He rises, Minghao’s silhouette against the setting sun staring down at him with a tight jaw and narrowed eyes. Jeonghan is the first to move, his punch blocked by a forceful kick to his chest that sends him stumbling back. He’s quick to regain his composure, another swing aimed at Minghao only to miss when Minghao ducks, his own punch blocked by Jeonghan’s elbow. From there, it’s all quick movements in an attempt to harm the other. A punch blocked by a metal arm, Minghao’s hand catching Jeonghan’s wrist, a knee to his stomach that makes him grunt in pain. Jeonghan’s moves are erratic, both arms working in tandem to guarantee at least one hit that he gets quickly, flesh fist driving into Minghao’s cheek bone, splitting the skin open. It doesn’t take more than a second for Minghao to recover, bending backwards to dodge another strike thrown his way, core tense as he balances before coming back up with a twist, combat boot slamming into Jeonghan’s face.
It’s enough to have him partially disoriented, blinking in confusion before Minghao is running at him with a jump, knee colliding with his chest, throwing him back against one of the air conditioning units. The metal bends with the force and Jeonghan regains himself in time to throw his body to the side, barely missing the knife that Minghao chucks at him. Jeonghan reaches into his own pocket, taking out the knife he acquired earlier. He’s quick as he stands, weapon clutches in his hand with precision as he tries to stab Minghao in the neck and then stomach, both attempts blocked by Minghao’s quick reflexes.
With a fast and upward swing of his arm, Jeonghan manages to nick the bottom of Minghao’s chin, enough for the blood to drip onto the front of his combat uniform. Anger sparks in Minghao’s features. He charges at Jeonghan with a kick to his shin and a flat palm cracking into Jeonghan’s flesh wrist causing him to drop the knife clumsily. Then, Minghao grabs Jeonghan by the neck, forcing his head down to drive his knee into his face. He’s only able to do it once, knocked off his balance when Jeonghan uses his body weight to flip them over, landing on Minghao with a heavy sound before he’s scrambling up to run away. Minghao is persistent, tackling him back onto the floor, kicking at Jeonghan’s ribs before grabbing a rusted, iron bar near them.
Seungcheol’s body is frozen, watching in panic from a distance before he snaps out of his disassociated state. He kicks into action, backing up to create space before running as fast as his legs can carry him, landing on the smaller building in a somersault to break his fall. When he stands, Jeonghan is clutching onto Minghao’s wrists to keep him from grabbing his neck. Then, he pulls Minghao with enough strength to flip him over, tossing him to the side and getting up to escape.
It doesn’t take long for Minghao to follow again. Seungcheol is right behind him, watching as Jeonghan jumps right in front of a busy underpass. He disappears in the darkness only illuminated by headlights now. Minghao is free falling, landing onto a car with a crash while Seungcheol’s feet hit the asphalt of the road only a yard away from him.
Jeonghan is quick, weaving between moving cars, looking over his shoulder every now and then to gauge the space he has to work with. Even with the disadvantage of not being a super soldier, Minghao is almost just as fast, having been brutally trained to endure this type of pain for most of his life. Seungcheol pushes, keeping up with Minghao but losing sight of Jeonghan every few seconds.
In the distance, he can see Jeonghan jumping on top of vehicles to gain some distance, horns blaring around them as civilians panic at the war waging around them. Tires screech and glass shatters up ahead—two vehicles colliding as Jeonghan leaps off of one of them, landing at the end of the overpass.
Seungcheol swallows the bile rising in his throat as he runs past the accident, Minghao only a few yards ahead of him now. Then, Jeonghan slows down in the face of an oncoming motorcycle. Without warning, his metal arm comes out, grabbing the handlebar closest to him, pushing the motorcyclist off with his free hand, and lifting the motorcycle up into the air to change its course. Just before it can land back on the road, Jeonghan is in the air with it, straddling the seat and speeding off.
Before Seungcheol can try to save the situation, Minghao is catching up to the motorcycle from the top of a taxi, grabbing a silver disc with a glowing, blue center. He throws it at Jeonghan, the disc lodging itself in the crevices of his metal arm. It short circuits. Jeonghan lets out a pained scream and the motorcycle loses control, falling into its side and throwing Jeonghan across the lanes. Seungcheol is quick to try and reach him.
Jeonghan’s body twitches, back arching in pain as his hat falls off his head. Seungcheol uses all the energy in his body to force his legs to work faster, at an arm's distance from Jeonghan, ready to tend to him with a choked: “Jeonghan—!”
He’s being pulled away before he can finally get to Jeonghan. When he whips his head around, he finds Minghao staring at him in disbelief, looking him up and down as his fingers tighten enough to bruise his skin. “If you help him,” he starts, voice low and rough, “you are an accessory to his crimes, Captain.”
At this point, Seungcheol is sick of trying to explain this to people so unwilling to listen, but he still tries. All he can do now is try. “Minghao, you don’t understand—”
Minghao narrows his eyes, tugging at Seungcheol’s arm forcefully like a warning. “I understand more than you think I do.”
The sound of shuffling breaks their focus as Jeonghan struggles to crawl away like a startled and wounded animal. Minghao lets out a bitter laugh and raises a gun, ready to pull the trigger.
Something in Seungcheol’s body takes over, his entire body working without much thought as he tackles Minghao without a second thought. Minghao thrashes beneath him with a string of lewd curses thrown at him, his spit hitting Seungcheol’s cheek as Jeonghan pries the disc out of his arm with trembling fingers before pulling himself up and running away.
Again, Minghao thrashes beneath Seungcheol in an attempt to escape, but Seungcheol puts all his weight down, not letting up until he’s sure that Jeonghan has gained a good amount of distance. He tries not to think about what this means for him, how he’s lost Jeonghan all over again.
In the midst of his thoughts, Minghao is kneeing him in the stomach with a gritting shout, anger in his eyes as he stumbles up, red hair disheveled and eyes wide and frantic. “You–you let him go?”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry—” Seungcheol says quickly even though he’s not sorry, he could never be sorry for putting Jeonghan above everything else. “But you can’t kill him Minghao, fuck— just listen to me—”
Minghao’s chest is heaving as he straightens up, the barrel of his gun staring at Seungcheol now. “I’m going to have to place you under SHIELD custody.”
Seungcheol furrows his eyebrows, mouth dry, every thought in his mind coming to a crashing halt. His breath feels short as he shakes his head, his friend of years looking back at him like he’s no better than those they capture and detain together. “Really, Minghao?”
Minghao presses his lips together, eyes shining with wetness as he sucks his teeth with a sound. “I warned you not to help him.”
“Minghao,” Seungcheol tries again. This isn’t how he wanted things to go.
The crack of the gun fills the air and Seungcheol’s shoulder is hot with pain. Minghao’s lips tremble as he steps forward, but Seungcheol blocks himself with his shield and runs toward the abandoned motorcycle, the engine revving loudly, bullets on his shield as he ducks to protect his head.
He doesn’t look back as he drives away.
✪
An hour of aimless driving leads him to a vacant part of the country. Seungcheol leaves the motorcycle in a gas station parking lot, walking on foot toward the nothingness that seems to stretch for miles.
He touches his shoulder where the stubborn wound has yet to heal, the vibranium bullet lodged so deep into the skin, giving the serum no chance to repair the damage that has been done. At the very least, it stopped bleeding. He doesn’t have the patience or energy or time to dig it out with his fingers, so he figures that it’ll be a problem for later rather than sooner.
With the sun long gone from the sky and the moon and stars being the only things offered to guide him, Seungcheol walks through the croplands, until the lonely roads dwindle out and there’s miles of nothing. Eventually, through his pure exhaustion, he spots a railroad track, following it until he’s sure that he may collapse for the first time since before the serum. Like some sort of miracle, a train horn sounds in the distance. Seungcheol stops, eyes squinting against the night until he sees a light in the distance approaching.
The train pulls along several shipping containers, and Seungcheol wastes no time, running toward the moving object and latching on to the side, managing to get his way around and into a container filled with crates of animal feed. He drops to his knees the moment he’s sure his entire body is on the train in one piece, crawling until his back is against a crate, tugging off his backpack and shield and tossing them to the side. His lips are dry as he tilts his head back, eyes growing heavier and heavier by the second until he finally succumbs to the exhaustion.
For once, he doesn’t dream.
✪
Beneath him, the train jolts suddenly. Seungcheol wakes up with a gasp, mouth dry as he snaps his eyes open, partially convinced that this is the dream that was missing from his sleep.
At first, he’s sure that his mind is playing some dehydrated and sleep deprived hallucination, but the more he becomes aware of his surroundings, the more clear the image becomes.
Jeonghan sits across from him, back against a crate as he peels an apple with the knife acquired back at the abandoned apartment complex. Seungcheol waits with a baited breath. Jeonghan doesn’t say anything. Instead, he looks up with a blank expression, eyes meeting Seungcheol’s. Without looking down at his hands, he slices a piece of apple off and tosses it to Seungcheol.
Seungcheol instinctively goes to catch it, pausing when he notices the lack of pain in his shoulder. He turns his head, dirtied fingers coming up to touch his patched up shoulder, gauze wrapped beneath his armpit and over where the wound once was, now healed. In the quietness, the sound of an object rolling around captures his attention—he finds the source when he sees a bloodied bullet hitting his own shoe.
Seungcheol hesitates before bringing the apple slice up to his lips, the sweetness sharp against his tongue. Jeonghan doesn’t look at him when he tosses a second slice. Seungcheol’s voice is rough from disuse as he speaks. “What—what are you—?”
“Don’t thank me,” Jeonghan says quickly, aggressively cutting another piece and popping it into his own mouth. “I owed you one.”
Seungcheol takes a moment to look over Jeonghan. His face has dirt and blood staining the delicate skin. His hair is greasy and unkempt, pushed back and beneath his black cap. His honey eyes are focused on the apple almost cut to the core, the knife twirling in his metal arm while his flesh hand thumbs at the skin of the fruit. His red shirt is torn just below the seam of his collar and the brown jacket he was wearing before is draped over his spread legs. Beneath his thigh is the journal that Seungcheol had taken from the apartment. He waits until Jeonghan’s gaze lands on him and then nods toward the object. “What’s that?” he asks, not caring if he gets a genuine answer or not. Hearing Jeonghan’s voice like this is enough for him.
Jeonghan raises an eyebrow at him, glancing down at the journal before scooting so that his thigh covers the entirety of it. “Shouldn’t you know?” he asks back. “You’re the one that had it in your bag.”
“Yeah, well,” Seungcheol shrugs. Jeonghan tosses him the last slice. “I stole it from you.”
“Thought so,” Jeonghan sniffs. Then, he pauses, eyebrows furrowing and mouth downturned. He glances up at Seungcheol again. “You didn’t look inside?”
Seungcheol shakes his head honestly. “No, no I didn’t. Never got the chance to.”
Jeonghan hums but doesn’t say anything else, the silence settling in a way that makes Seungcheol shift. The train jostles them around in the quietness, and eventually Jeonghan pulls another apple out of his backpack that his leaning against his side. From the slim, open spaces of the back of the container, Seungcheol can make out the orange sun beginning to rise. He risks breaking the still air around them.
“Where are we going now?”
Jeonghan shrugs. This time, he rolls the entire apple toward Seungcheol who catches it before it can go elsewhere. “Wherever this takes us.”
Seungcheol tries his best not to smile, but something akin to giddiness rises up from his chest. This may not be the best time or the best circumstances for this feeling, but it’s always been a bit inevitable. “Us?” he repeats, but instead of smiling back at Seungcheol, instead of sending him a charming wink or a flirtatious comment, Jeonghan nods stiffly.
“I heard him,” he says. “The guy with the red hair. You’re a criminal now. He said if you helped me that you’d be an accessory to my crimes.”
“Yeah, well. It’s worth it.”
Jeonghan frowns, looking down at his hands lying tensely on his own thighs. His fingers curl, the crooked tips of his flesh fingers prominent against the dark material of his pants. He huffs out a breath. “What’s your plan?”
Seungcheol blinks. “My plan?”
“You said you could help me,” Jeonghan reminds him, his frown deepening by the second. “Can you even help me or were you making that up so that I could trust you? Because I don’t. I don’t trust you. I don’t know you.”
The words pierce Seungcheol’s chest, knocking the wind out of him so suddenly that he has to swallow the sharpness in his throat and clear it with a cough. He tries not to dwell on it—Jeonghan is right. While Seungcheol can say he knows Jeonghan, knows him from his skin all the way down into his bones, into the depth of his soul and whatever else makes him Jeonghan, he can safely assume that Jeonghan’s memory of him only goes so far.
So, he shoves back all the heartache and hurt. “I can help you,” Seungcheol nods, hair falling into his face and lips pressing together as he does his best to find his words. “They—I know you’re not to blame for everything that they made you do, Jeonghan. I can get them to understand that you deserve a second chance.”
“A second chance,” Jeonghan repeats with a hollow laugh, head tilted back against the container. His eyes dance around the roof, like he’s trying to find something that isn’t there. Another laugh comes from his chest, but this one is bitter. “Second chance,” he whispers under his breath. “You really think I deserve a second chance?”
“Of course I do,” Seungcheol says, voice quiet.
Jeonghan looks him up and down, teeth chewing at his bottom lip. He sighs, tugging his hat over his face and crossing his arms. His voice is muffled when he finally speaks. “Wake me up in an hour.”
“Okay,” Seungcheol says, words lost as the train horn blares.
✪
Seungcheol doesn’t doze off, though, he does zone out, staring at the bullet making its way back and forth between him and Jeonghan. The sun is high in the sky now, the warmth seeping through and inside the container. Seungcheol’s hairline is lined with small sweat droplets that he wipes away with the back of his hand. The hat over Jeonghan’s face had fallen off as soon as his neck had lolled to the side, indicating that he finally fell asleep. Right now, his mouth is tense, pressed in a straight line with his eyebrows creased, the lines on his forehead prominent as he twitches.
For someone that’s asleep, he doesn’t look all that peaceful. His arms are still crossed over his chest defensively, metal arm whirring slightly every time he moves the slightest bit. Seungcheol isn’t sure how long he stares, but eventually, Jeonghan’s head begins to shake, mouth parting with a sigh before turning more and more frantic.
He jolts awake with a scream that becomes stuck in his throat the moment he opens his eyes, red and frantic as they flicker around the container, panicked. His knife is clutched like a lifeline in his grasp, collapsing when he finds Seungcheol looking at him.
Jeonghan runs a hand through his long hair, clamping his mouth shut and breathing through his nose, the sound harsh against Seungcheol’s ears. He wipes the sweat dripping down his forehead with the jacket on his lap, hands dropping heavily at his sides as he swallows thickly, blinking rapidly and tilting his head back to look up, finally relaxing his mouth, letting it fall open.
“Nightmare?” Seungcheol tries, unsure why he feels the need to say anything in the first place.
Jeonghan squeezes his eyes shut, shaking his head. “Don’t—please stop. Stop. Please,” he chokes out.
Before Seungcheol can apologize, Jeonghan is drawing his knees up to his chest, hugging his legs and tucking his head in the space offered to shield himself. Seungcheol’s fingers twitch instinctively, desperate to reach out and touch and comfort and be of some help. He stops himself before he can do something stupid.
✪
By the time the train starts to slow down, Jeonghan has pulled himself from his isolated state. He’s alert and standing, slotting his arms through the straps of his backpack. He regards Seungcheol with a raised eyebrow, one that tells him to get the fuck up. So, Seungcheol follows his lead, slotting his shield between his back and bag and waits for Jeonghan’s cue to jump.
Except there is no cue.
Jeonghan unlatches the back of the container and jumps without warning, leaving Seungcheol to curse under his breath and throw his own body out. While Jeonghan lands on his feet, Seungcheol lands on his side, rolling against the blades of grass and patches of dirt, recovering quickly from the fall. Jeonghan is already several steps ahead as if Seungcheol is nothing more than a distant thought pushed into the depths of his mind. Seungcheol tries not to think about how much truth actually lies in that assumption.
He catches up quickly, scanning their surroundings and taking in the vast scenery that is offered in this foreign land. The rural area offers no hints to their whereabouts, but Seungcheol still tries to guess. The houses are small and quaint, strewn across the grassy area with abundant space between each hope. Spread across the horizon are forest green trees of various heights, offering little view of what lies in the distance. The clouds are thick and grey and the air smells of rain, promising showers at any point. Somewhere north, definitely. Maybe toward Sweden or Switzerland.
“Poland,” Jeonghan says suddenly, snapping Seungcheol out of his thoughts.
Seungcheol quickens his pace until he’s almost shoulder to shoulder with him. He looks over but Jeonghan’s eyes stay staring straight ahead. “What?”
“Poland,” Jeonghan says again, tone unchanging and uninterested. “That’s where we are.”
He doesn’t say anything else, doesn’t explain how or why he knows this, but despite everything, Seungcheol trusts him. So he hums, bottom lip jutting out slightly as he nods and tilts his head up, black hair tousling with the wind picking up.
They walk and walk and walk until they near a stretch of road formed from a beige dirt trail leading out of the fields. The question is on the tip of Seungcheol’s tongue, sweet and curious as they continue trekking alongside the chipping and worn road: where are we going? He swallows it despite his never ending curiosity, knowing that if Jeonghan wanted to, he would have said something by now. That’s something he’ll have to get used to now—Jeonghan’s thin patience with him.
Now, Jeonghan is walking ahead of him, quickening his steps more and more as the minutes pass. Seungcheol lets him, knowing that the space is probably for the best. He has yet to look at Seungcheol since the train, yet to say anything other than informing him of their location. Seungcheol wants to understand, but he can’t help how small it makes him feel. If he thinks about it enough, it makes his lungs ache as he struggles to fill them with air like he’s still ninety pounds soaking wet. He doesn’t let it show, walking with his head high and shoulders straight, his trust in Jeonghan unwavering like a prayer whispered in the pews of a crumbling church.
Eventually, Seungcheol can see where Jeonghan is taking them. Up hill, across the road, toward a splintering and rickety fence. Beyond the fence, there is a small house with overgrown plants towering over the walls and the stoned path leading toward the entrance. Stained glass decorates the top panel of the front door, glowing red and blue and yellow and green against the light that is offered through the clouds, and the entire door is slightly crooked on its bronze hinges. The house is entirely made of wood, some of the beams painted a fading baby blue that holds a nostalgic sort of charm that makes Seungcheol’s chest constrict.
Seungcheol stays back as Jeonghan continues to walk toward the house, jumping over the tottering, wooden fence with practiced confidence. Seungcheol tilts his head curiously, watching as Jeonghan straightens up, neck craning as he peers over overgrown, dead branches and bushes that come up past his hips. He bends down, metal arm stark against his surroundings, and moves the foliage out of the way. Then, he pauses, blinking before snatching something up from the ground. Seungcheol makes out a rusted key between Jeonghan’s finger, his suspicions confirmed when Jeonghan jogs up the three front steps and approaches the door, fiddling with the lock until it swings open with a dated whine.
Jeonghan looks over his shoulder with a hand on the knob. He raises an eyebrow at Seungcheol, scanning him up and down. “Are you coming?
Seungcheol blinks, suddenly bashful beneath Jeonghan’s sudden attention. He nods like a broken bobblehead. “Yeah—yeah!” he manages to say, hesitating before doing his best to get himself over the fence without taking the entire thing down.
The inside of the house is smaller than it looks on the outside. The entirety of the first floor is one room—kitchen, dining room, and what is probably a living room. All the walls are covered in a peeling, teal wallpaper. The floors are a light brown wood that are rotting in some areas more than others and concaving in certain places from constant foot traffic
The dining table is shoved into the corner of what could be the kitchen, three wooden chairs surrounding it and a thick layer of dirt and dust apparent on the flat service. The “kitchen” has a tiny stove, only functional with firewood. The sink is nothing more than a small porcelain bowl with two handles and a spout built into a wooden counter. There’s no refrigerator, Seungcheol notes quickly and the cabinet knobs are brass and loose, barely hanging on from where they are poorly installed.
The sofa is torn with the insides spilling out in the corners, and in front of it is a fireplace with burnt wood already resting inside and iron rods to poke at the ash. The stairs are located all the way to the right, curving up in a narrow path that almost seems like it might lead to nowhere. Based on the lack of doors leading elsewhere downstairs, Seungcheol prays that there’s, at the very least, a bathroom upstairs.
“How’d you know this was here?” Seungcheol finally asks as Jeonghan deposits his backpack on the dining table, the dust billowing into the air thickly, particles floating around them.
For a moment, he’s sure that Jeonghan isn’t going to reply, his face contorting into something unhappy. Surprisingly, he opens his mouth with a soft sound that seems to echo in the silence. “I’ve been around here before,” he starts quietly, looking around like everything is coming back to him. “Had to meet some HYDRA agents using this place as a hideout. They killed the elderly couple that lived here. I… I buried their bodies somewhere out there in the fields.”
“Oh,” Seungcheol manages to say.
“Not the answer you wanted to hear, right?” Jeonghan says with a stiff chuckle.
Seungcheol furrows his eyebrows, eyes focusing on a red liquid that begins to drip from Jeonghan’s left ear. “Hannie,” he says despite himself, stepping forward. “Your ear.”
Jeonghan blinks, metal arm coming up to touch. He retracts his hand, bringing it to his face, the blood staining the silver. He presses his lips together, unsurprised but still concerned. “Huh,” he says, wiping it on the outside of his thigh.
“Let me—”
“No,” Jeonghan says quickly, loudly. He avoids Seungcheol’s gaze rubbing his ear against his shoulder, only smearing the blood more. “I’m fine. It happens.”
Seungcheol sighs, unable to keep his face from falling. All he wants to do is help. “That doesn’t make it okay. How long has it been doing that?”
“Fuck,” Jeonghan laughs bitterly, shaking his head before finally looking at Seungcheol, but not in the way he’s used to. “Why do you care?”
Seungcheol blinks, eyebrows creasing in an anger that sparks suddenly, like a misguided ember searching for fuel. “Why do I care?” he repeats incredulously. Before it can turn into a wildfire, he steps back, inhales and exhales until he can feel his heartbeat return back to his normal state. It’s not fair to be angry at Jeonghan. It’s not fair to expect him to understand right now when his memories are most likely scrambled fragments desperate to be pieced together by someone so desperate to run away from them. Seungcheol sighs, dropping his bag and his shield at his feet, the clumsy noise ringing in his ears. “Is the bathroom upstairs?”
Jeonghan’s chest rises and falls with quick and short breaths. His jaw is tense, eyes shining with wetness. He nods.
Seungcheol doesn’t look at him as he leaves, the stairs creaking beneath his feet.
✪
The small, rectangular mirror is distorted with the steam from the shower. Surprisingly, the water came out near boiling. Seungcheol hadn’t tried to turn it down, stepping into the heated spray and welcoming the sting, the pain. In the end, it felt a whole lot better than whatever emptiness he was feeling before.
Now, he stares at his fogged reflection with a heavy chest. He wipes the condensation, looking back at himself. His black hair is wet, pushed back and away from his face. His full lips are parted, a dark pink from the heat of the shower, and his skin is flushed with pink, more prominent in his cheeks and nose. The shadows of his collarbones dip like undiscovered valleys, and the muscles in his chest and arms and abdomen are painted with beads of water. Sometimes, he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to recognize himself like this. Maybe Jeonghan doesn’t even recognize him like this.
The minutes seem to bleed together when Seungcheol emerges from the bathroom. He finds a lonesome bedroom upstairs, seeking refuge on the bed, the springs squeaking beneath his weight as he sits on the edge, elbows on his knees. His wet hair is hanging in his face as he stares down at his hands that haven’t stopped shaking. The spare clothes he found at the bottom of his backpack hang heavily on his body—black sweatpants and a clean white t-shirt that he’s been saving for a moment when he needed it most. Right now feels a lot like that moment.
For a few seconds, he pretends that Jeonghan is going to come back in and check on him, that he’ll hear the stairs creaking beneath his weight. That he’ll come in and ask him if he’s okay and apologize, sitting at the edge of the bed and cajoling him into meeting his eyes. Touch his chin with his finger and tilt it up in the way he used to that would make Seungcheol flustered, nervous to be on the receiving end of such affection. Then a kiss to make him smile, make a warmth flood throughout his body and rid himself of this feeling that has been plaguing the entirety of his being for too long. Then, everything would fall into place just like it used to.
But the air is still. Downstairs, he can hear the front door shut with a heavy sound and he squeezes his eyes shut, shaking lips pressed together as he swallows back the lump in his throat and wills himself to be okay because that’s all he can do.
With a breath that seems to rattle in his lungs, Seungcheol decides that it’s best to get some sleep while there’s an opportunity to. He crawls up the bed, pulls the dated quilted blanket back and slots himself between the sewn fabric and the sheets. The blanket is surprisingly comfortable and gentle against his skin and the mattress is stiff in a way that makes Seungcheol feel at ease, comforted by the familiarity.
Sleeping has never come easily to him, especially after the serum. He tosses and turns too much, lets his thoughts get the best of him until his heart is racing and it feels like he can’t seem to catch his breath. It’s no different now in this unfamiliar house. Eventually, he begins to drift off, feeling his eyes roll into the back of his head, all his muscles sinking into the mattress, mouth starting to part with soft sighs—
A crash sounds downstairs. Seungcheol jumps, sitting upright with a strained inhale. He’s up within the second, bare feet moving quick against the wood floor and stairs. He’s turning the corner at the end of the stairs so fast that his shoulder hits the post, breaking the wood on impact. He stops when he finds Jeonghan already having taken matters into his own hands, on top of someone, a blunt knife held up to their throat as they flail beneath him.
Jeonghan is speaking low and quick, the language coming to Seungcheol quickly. Russian. For a brief moment, the blood in Seungcheol’s body runs cold.
Then, he recognizes the face.
“Jihoon?”
Jihoon squirms beneath Jeonghan with a series of grunts, face turning red with his efforts. “Get him off of me—”
Seungcheol kicks into action, blinking twice before stepping forward and getting closer to the both of them. “Hannie—Jeonghan, get off of him,” he says. Jeonghan doesn’t move. “I know him.”
Jeonghan snaps his head, looking at Seungcheol over his shoulder with an unbelieving expression. He presses the tip of the knife against Jihoon’s Adam’s apple. “What does he want?”
“I can tell you if you get the fuck off of me,” Jihoon grumbles, pushing at Jeonghan’s legs bracketing his torso.
Jeonghan turns slowly, eyes narrowing at Jihoon. There’s a pause before Jeonghan is flipping the knife in his hand and reluctantly standing in one fluid motion. He keeps his knife pointed at Jihoon cautiously and takes a step back until he’s at Seungcheol’s side. Jihoon rolls his eyes, standing up with grumbled complaints as he brushes the dirt and dust off of his black t-shirt and pants. He straightens up, pushing his hair out of his face, finally making eye contact with Seungcheol.
Seungcheol speaks first. “How’d you find us?” he asks carefully. Who knows what else they can expect in the next few minutes if this visit goes the way he’s fearing.
“Stroke of luck,” Jihoon says vaguely. When neither Jeonghan or Seungcheol laugh or grin, he’s sighing, pressing his lips together. “Mingyu owed me a favor or two, alright?”
“Mingyu?” Seungcheol repeats, surprise evident in his expression. “ God of Thunder Mingyu? Why would he owe you a favor?”
There’s a blush on Jihoon’s face as he waves his hand around nonchalantly. “That doesn’t—that’s not the point.”
“You’re right,” Seungcheol agrees, still wary of Jihoon and his intentions. It’s not like Seungcheol is a favorite at SHIELD right now. “Why are you here, Jihoon-ah?”
Jihoon sighs, mouth opening and closing with empty words on the tip of his tongue. He dips his head down, pinching at the bridge of his curved nose with his pointer finger and thumb. Then, he rubs a hand over his face, exhaustion painted on his features as he looks around the downstairs area before nodding toward the table. “Let’s sit, yeah?'“
As expected, SHIELD is not happy with the decisions Seungcheol has made throughout these last few weeks. Seungcheol had expected nothing less. It’s not like anyone has cared to hear him out, to understand why this situation isn’t as black and white as they are trying to make it out to be. There are all sorts of colors in-between, bleeding into the white and the black and creating something so jarring that only Seungcheol can explain. No one understands this like he does. He can’t help but wonder if this is really something that is worth all the trouble.
That thought leaves his head just as quickly as he allows it to enter the space. Jeonghan is sitting far from him and Jihoon, gaze fixed on the scratches on the table. His bottom lip is caught between his teeth, the bones picking at the delicate skin until he’s opening a scab that turns red with blood. It’s a habit as old as time, something he’s done when he’s thinking too much. It makes Seungcheol’s chest ache, this glimpse at the person
Jeonghan used to be, a fragment of hope that Seungcheol holds on to. That Jeonghan is still in there somewhere, he knows it. He wishes everyone else saw it, too.
“So, what?” Seungcheol asks after the heavy silence. He’s leaning back in his chair, arm stretched out and fingers tracing the growth ring patterns in the table, gaze flickering up to meet Jihoon’s from across the table. “Are you gonna tell them where we are?”
“Not if I can find out why you’re doing this,” Jihoon tells him. He looks at Jeonghan fleetingly before averting his eyes. “You’re the most loyal person in SHIELD, Seungcheol. I need to know why you’re turning your back on them now.”
Seungcheol doesn’t say anything for a moment. With Jeonghan only a few feet from him, it feels wrong to give his real reasonings, to give even a fraction of the truth, of the past. It’s not fair. So, he chooses his words carefully. “Before SHIELD there was Jeonghan.”
Jihoon furrows his eyebrows, arms crossed, one of his hands resting against his face, knuckles pressed to his lips. He blinks, eyes going back and forth between Seungcheol and Jeonghan. “That’s your reason?”
“It’s part of my reason.”
“God, hyung,” Jihoon sighs with a frustrated huff of air, shaking his head. “You need to give me more than that.”
“I can’t,” Seungcheol whispers. “Not right now.”
“Fine,” Jihoon snaps. “We can sit here all fucking night for all I care.”
✪
Three hours pass and Seungcheol and Jihoon are still glaring at one another across the dining table. Jeonghan is the first one to break, cursing loudly and standing up until the chair is noisily scraping against the floor.
“For fucks sake,” he mutters, flesh hand rubbing at his eyes. “I’m gonna sleep. This is— God. Fucking stupid.”
Seungcheol doesn’t budge, not even as Jeonghan throws himself on the sofa, lying his head against one arm and kicking his feet up on the other. He places his hat over his face and lays there without another word. Another hour passes and Seungcheol notes the shift in Jeonghan’s breathing, the way his arms are hugging himself as the coldness of the nights begins to seep through the wall. It’s easy to break after that.
Seungcheol gets up slowly, careful to not make any sudden noise, knowing that Jeonghan struggles to sleep as it is. He goes upstairs, grabs the quilt from the bed, and drapes it over Jeonghan’s body. His features are soft like this—relaxed in a way that makes him look youthful, even with dirt and grime smudged on his face. Seungcheol absentmindedly reaches out to pet Jeonghan’s hair, but catches himself before he can make contact. It wouldn’t be a good idea. Not only that, but he’s not fond of being put in a chokehold by his former lover. Not anymore, at least. Instead, Seungcheol takes one last, longing look at Jeonghan before deciding to give up and tell Jihoon to go ahead and report their whereabouts to SHIELD. They’ll be gone before anyone can find them.
When he goes back to Jihoon, he's regarded with a sympathetic look.
Jihoon’s voice is gentle as he speaks. He nods his head at Jeonghan before looking up at Seungcheol from where he’s still sitting. “There’s something more here, isn’t there"?” he asks, seemingly already fitting the pieces together.
Seungcheol can’t find it in himself to lie. “He’s my everything.”
Jihoon presses his lips together. “If we want to make it out of here alive, we have to move fast.”
Seungcheol furrows his eyebrows. “Already? Why?”
Jihoon pulls a paper out of his back pocket, unfolding it and sliding it onto the table toward where Seungcheol is standing. “You’re a felon, Captain. Well, I guess we both are now.”
Seungcheol holds the ripped news headline up, reading the black and bold printed letters.
CAPTAIN KOREA, A SHIELD TRAITOR.
Chapter 6: VI. Full of Running
Summary:
Edge of Desire - John Mayer
Notes:
i’m back! and better than ever! sorry for the long wait, a kidney stone almost killed me but i lived, bitch.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
So young and
full of running
All the way to the
edge of desire
Morning comes with a golden sunrise bleeding through the gaps in the walls and the uncovered windows.
He follows the subtle noises coming from downstairs, finding Jihoon and Jeonghan already awake, a heavy silence already settled in the corners of the room. Jeonghan is sitting on the sofa, freshly showered and the ends of his dark hair still damp, brushing against his neck as he accepts a gun that Jihoon hands him. He turns it over in his hands, fingers working quickly as he unclips it, checking the bullets, eyes flickering around each piece of the weapon before swiftly putting it back together and tucking it into the back of his jeans. He doesn’t regard Seungcheol, eyes casted down as his metal and flesh fingers interlock between his knees.
From the dining table, Jihoon is fidgeting with his wing pack. Seungcheol recognizes it quickly—it’s the same one that Minghao claimed to have stolen from Joshua’s workshop. There’s scratches all over the metal and it looks a little worse for wear.
“Does it still work?” Seungcheol asks as Jihoon twists two of its wires together.
“No clue,” Jihoon says with a humorless chuckle, shaking his head. “It’s all I’ve got, though, so it better work.”
“Between that, my shield, and Jeonghan’s arms, I think we stand a chance.”
“That and some guns,” Jihoon says with a hum. “Who knows who’s gonna be after us, though.”
It’s a good concern, one that Seungcheol has thought about ever since Jihoon showed him the headline spread worldwide. They’re on the run now, criminals, fugitives, wanted more than those out there who deserve to have a target put on their heads more than the three of them. Regardless, there’s a slight paranoia in the back of his mind that knows that at any moment, SHIELD could burst through the walls to collect them. A fraction of Seungcheol wonders if Minghao will be a part of that team, or if he’ll leave it to the agents to clean up the mess created. He isn’t all too sure which scenario he would prefer.
“When are we leaving?”
Jihoon checks his watch. “An hour. I think I saw a car not too far from here.”
“We can jump start it and make our way toward Germany first,” Seungcheol says, glancing over at Jeonghan to make sure that he can hear. “From there we can keep going north. It’s best to not stick around in one place for too long.”
When he turns to go upstairs and gather what little stuff he has, Jeonghan’s voice is breaking through the air. “And then what? We’re on the run forever?”
Seungcheol pauses, hand on the wooden railing. He looks over his shoulder and catches Jeonghan meeting his eyes. “If that’s what it takes, then yes.”
With that, Seungcheol is going up two stairs at a time.
It’s easy to shove all of his things into his backpack. His shield lays against the wall, a thin layer of dust already settling on the vibranium. He hooks it onto his back with ease, heading toward the small bathroom to make sure nothing else is left behind.
The door to the bedroom catches on something hard, keeping it from swinging open all the way. Seungcheol kneels down on the dark floors, finding a familiar journal carelessly discarded in the dust. He picks it up carefully, wide palm wiping the filth off the leather before fanning it open. A little more than half of the pages are filled with writings and pictures, an amalgamation of languages and alphabets unfamiliar to Seungcheol written in sloppy and frantic handwriting. He catches his thumb between two pages, the Hangul drawing him in first. Then, he recognizes his own face staring back at him—cut out images of him in his uniform, throwing his shield. One of him standing with a straight back, hands in front of him holding onto his shield with a stoic expression on his face. He remembers when it had been taken—at a press conference being held shortly after an attack from the realm of Cheonguk on Seoul. It was in the newspaper the next day, headlines spilling praises at these important figures of SHIELD for putting their lives on the line. Captain Korea leads SHIELD to success. He wants to laugh at the irony of it all now.
Beneath the photos are some notes, these more legible than the other chicken scratch scrawled on the other pages. They’re all facts about Seungcheol.
Height, weight. Where he grew up, what unit he served. How long he was in combat, the date of when the plane crashed into the ice. When he reemerged, when he made his first public appearance after. They’re all things that can be found in libraries or on computers, but what catches Seungcheol’s attention is the next page.
A melon popsicle wrapper is pressed into the middle where the pages are bound together, the stickiness keeping it stuck to the page. Seungcheol reads the words written beneath an arrow pointing to the wrapper.
Melon popsicle. It’s warm—summer, maybe? He is there. He is smaller and shorter. I am there, too. I can hear this voice—maybe it’s my voice. I can’t tell. Everything is blurry still and muffled. We share a popsicle and then there is nothing. I can’t remember anything else.
Important, maybe. Maybe not. Maybe it’s not even real. I’m not sure.
I still don’t know who I am supposed to be.
A thud sounds in the hallway and Seungcheol jumps up, the journal still in his grasp. It shouldn’t come as a surprise when Jeonghan is standing in the doorway, jaw tight as he looks down at the object in Seungcheol’s hand, but Seungcheol can’t help the way his heart quickens for more reasons than one.
“Were you gonna leave it?” Seungcheol asks first, knowing that the chances of Jeonghan saying anything first are slim.
“Yeah,” Jeonghan says bluntly. “I don’t need it. Why do you have it?”
“I found it,” Seungcheol explains.
“You read it,” Jeonghan says. It’s not a question.
Seungcheol pulls his bottom lip between his teeth before nodding. “Yeah—yeah. I did.”
Jeonghan’s eyes narrow and he sniffs, looking away. “Don’t give me that look.”
“What look?”
“That… That look,” Jeonghan snaps, mouth downturned. “Like you—like you know me.”
“You remembered something,” Seungcheol says anyway, unwilling to lose the chance to talk about this. “It’s—I have that dream a lot, too. We’re eating melon popsicles and we’re walking together. You—you move hair out of my eyes and you ask if I want to share a popsicle with you—” He stops, noticing the way Jeonghan’s breath begins to quicken, the way his eyes squeeze shut and how his jaw is clenching. “Sorry,” he whispers. This is selfish, even for himself.
“Leave the journal,” Jeonghan chokes out, turning away.
✪
By some miracle, the small sedan turns on. Jihoon points out that it possibly belongs to someone in the distant houses, but Seungcheol can’t find it in himself to think about morals right now. It’s a small car, older than the ones Seungcheol typically sees driving around the heart of Seoul. Definitely a European model too he notes as they all pile into the vehicle. Jeonghan is quick to claim the back seat, right behind Jihoon in the passenger seat. Seungcheol gets settled into the driver's seat, adjusting it so that his legs can hit the brake, gas, and clutch without cramping.
“Where are we stopping?” Jihoon asks him, unfolding what looks like a map that had been tucked into his back pocket.
“We shouldn’t be focused on a set destination,” Seungcheol says. It’s better if they don’t speak about their whereabouts just in case, somehow, SHIELD has already found them and are listening in on their next move. “I’ll drive until we’re almost out of gas. There’s a little more than half a tank left—wherever the nearest gas station is from there will be where we can find a place to stay for the night. We can rest for a bit and then be on the road again before the sun rises.”
Before Jihoon can reply, a dull thudding sounds from the back seat. Seungcheol glances over with thick, furrowed eyebrows, finding Jihoon’s body jolting forward once, twice, thrice. Jihoon closes his eyes slowly, jaw clenching as he tongues his cheek. He turns his head to look over his shoulder and at Jeonghan in the back who is staring straight ahead, a shadow casted over his face from the hat keeping his black hair out of his stoic face.
Jihoon clears his throat through the silence. “Can you stop kicking my seat?”
Jeonghan doesn’t blink, nostrils flaring so subtly that Seungcheol almost doesn’t notice. “I will when you move your seat up.”
“I have no leg room if I move my seat up,” Jihoon retorts with a stiff tone.
Jeonghan shoots Jihoon an unbelieving look, glancing down at where Jihoon’s legs admittedly have enough space. Another kick is sent to the seat and Jihoon jolts forward with an agitated sigh. For a moment, there’s almost the ghost of a smile on Jeonghan’s lips. “Something tells me that you’ll be okay.”
It’s quiet for several seconds as the tension in the car thickens. Then, in the silence, Jihoon moves the seat up with a mumbled complaint that gets lost in the air as Seungcheol starts up the vehicle with a delayed and sputtered noise.
From there, the hours seem to meld together seamlessly. The radio stays on the same station, foreign songs bleeding through the crackling speaker that goes in and out depending on what area they’re in. The grassy lands are tamed by infrastructures that seem to pop out suddenly. They’re in a small town, Seungcheol barely catches the name as they pull into a gas station where no one seems to be keen on paying any mind to them.
Jihoon mutters something about getting a snack, leaving Seungcheol at the pump and Jeonghan sitting in the backseat, stare yet to break from the windshield. There’s a breeze that flutters around Seungcheol, tousling his hair and causing the front pieces to splay across his face. He moves them with a scrunched nose and a quick hand. When he looks over at the car, Jeonghan is already looking away. It isn’t much, but Seungcheol lets out a breath, dropping his head to hide his smile and toe at the gum stain on the cement beneath him.
Jihoon comes back with an armful of foreign snacks, dumping them onto Jeonghan’s lap without a word and shutting the door before getting into the passenger seat. Seungcheol finishes up at the pump, hurrying to get in the car, a little more than surprised when he sees Jeonghan digging through the treats, choosing what looks like a bag of chips.
Nothing is said for the rest of the car ride. Seungcheol parks in the lot of a nearby motel, one with a flickering sign and a dated exterior. The owner barely regards him when he asks for a room, unhooking brass keys off the wall and sliding them over the dark wood counter, only stopped from hitting the floor by Seungcheol’s slamming palm. Seungcheol hands over wadded up cash and barely gets a grunt as a response, choosing to keep his peace and return back to the car where Jihoon and Jeonghan are eating in silence.
“Room seventy-nine,” Seungcheol tells them through the rolled down passenger window. “Check out is at five in the morning tomorrow.”
“Do they have TVs in the rooms?” Jihoon asks as Seungcheol opens the trunk to grab his backpack and his shield.
Jeonghan sniffs, straightening up as he exits the car, already shouldering his own backpack on and looking up at the motel building with a frown. “Does it look like this piece of shit offers TVs?”
He’s walking away as Jihoon tries to reply and Seungcheol can’t help but snort out a laugh when Jihoon rushes to catch up to Jeonghan.
It takes a moment for the key to fit into the loose knob of the room door. When Seungcheol finally shoulders it opened, it creaks on its hinges revealing a small and cramped room. It’s nicer than the ones Seuungcheol had been staying at previously when searching for Jeonghan, but that doesn’t really say much. He doesn’t complain, though—not out loud, at least.
There’s one bed with stiff, white sheets tucked beneath a fraying, red blanket. Between the bed and the wall, there is a small space, enough for someone to lie down in if it really came down to it.
“I get one side of the bed,” Jihoon calls immediately, already setting his stuff aside and plopping down onto the mattress with a groan and dull thud at the stiffness.
Seungcheol turns his head to glance at Jeonghan, unsurprised to find him looking at Jihoon blankly. “Is that okay?” he asks after a beat even though Jeonghan’s gaze is unwavering. “You can take the bed or the floor, whatever’s comfortable for you.”
Jeonghan finally looks at him, lips pressed together in distaste. He nods his head toward where Jihoon is lounging on the bed. “I’m not sharing a bed with that prick.”
Seungcheol sighs. “Jeonghan—”
“Alright,” Jihoon says loudly, sitting up and clapping his hands together with annoyance etched onto every inch of his face. “Should we finally talk about the elephant in the room? Should we? Fine, let’s do it. There’s way too much tension for this situation to benefit any of us. If we want any sort of possibility of a chance of escaping SHIELD custody, some of us,” he stresses, looking pointedly at Jeonghan, “need to stop being, ah… What’s the word I’m looking for… Oh, yeah! You need to stop being a fucking asshole—”
“I’m not here to make friends,” Jeonghan answers quickly and stiffly.
Jihoon tilts his head to the side bluntly. “Then tell me: what are you here for?”
Jeonghan clenches his jaw but stays silent despite the twitching of his mouth. Even now, Seungcheol recognizes the habit—he’s biting his tongue, keeping himself from saying something that could only end in even more arguing or in flames. After a few dragging seconds, he’s turning and bending over to dig through his backpack, pulling out a box of cigarettes and a lighter. No words are exchanged as he shoulders out of the small door leading to a cramped balcony.
Silence settles like thick tar trapping Seungcheol in place as he tries to gather his thoughts. Things are already difficult enough with SHIELD searching for them, waiting for them to make some sort of wrong move and catch them at a low point. It’s even harder having to navigate around a Jeonghan that is different from the one Seungcheol knows and loves, though the love has yet to waver. Jihoon doesn’t understand because how could he? Seungcheol’s experiences are not shared. No one understands Yoon Jeonghan quite like he does, no one can name the marks on his skin, the way he sounds in every aspect of his day, what every minor twitch of his face or body means or wants to say.
He can’t ask Jihoon to understand.
Eventually, he looks at Jihoon, trying to mask his exasperation. “Jihoon, just…. Just go easy on him. Please.”
Jihoon looks him up and down with a frown, shaking his head slightly. “I don’t think he needs me to do that.”
Seungcheol swallows but doesn’t say anything else.
The day passes slowly, but eventually, the sun begins to set and the day settles into the quietness of nighttime. Seungcheol tosses and turns, trying his best to not disturb Jihoon who is sleeping on his back beside him, arms crossed over his chest and mouth hanging open with soft breaths sounding through the silence. Seungcheol lets out a heavy sigh, looking over at where Jeonghan is leaning against the wall, across the room from the bed. He turns a knife over in his flesh hand with practiced grace, metal arm hanging limply at his side.
Seungcheol almost breaks the stillness in the air, almost does something stupid like regard Jeonghan in his vulnerability. The words linger on the tip of his tongue, tasting of icy melon. A wave of nausea creeps over him before he decides to drop it, turning over to face the wall and close his eyes until exhaustion finally takes hold of him.
⍟
Seungcheol’s hands shake as he holds onto the controllers.
Nothing works anymore.
Nothing works in this fucking plane and Seungcheol desperately pushes at buttons in hopes that some sort of miracle will fall into his lap, but he knows it’s useless. His dark eyes are frantic as they flicker around the control board, the buttons and wiring all burnt through. A drop of water falls against one of the scorched marks and he brings the back of his hand up to wipe the tears away from his eyes.
Then, a feeling of peace settles.
Seungcheol lets out what could be a soft laugh or an exhale, he’s not too sure.
He’s going to die any minute now, and while it should kick him into survival mode, something in him sags with relief. The corner of his lip twitches into the ghost of a smile as he leans back, staring out into the clouds in the sky.
The radio sounds from below him, snapping him out of his trance. He answers after a few seconds. “This is Captain Choi Seungcheol.”
“Seungcheol!” It’s Hong Jongsoo. He’s speaking quickly, words almost tumbling over themselves in panic. “Can you stop the plane, Seungcheol?”
“I can’t,” Seungcheol answers. His black hair falls into his face as he looks around. There’s no saving grace in this—but maybe it was meant to happen. Jeonghan is probably watching him right now, waiting for Seungcheol to join him in whatever afterlife waits for damned souls. Seungcheol lets out a sob, but it isn’t of sadness, no. It’s eager. He can’t wait to see Jeonghan again. He can’t wait for the pain to finally stop. “I can’t stop it, but it’s okay. I’m okay.”
“We’re looking for coordinates for a landing sight,” Jongsoo tells him. “You can—”
“It’s moving too fast,” Seungcheol says. He’s thought about all the solutions, but nothing will work without risking other people’s lives. Less than a third of the engines are working, the brakes are damaged. It’s unrealistic to think that Seungcheol could survive this somehow. “And it’s heading for the middle of the city—too many people will die if I try landing this thing.”
“We can find a way—”
“It’s okay,” Seungcheol says, pushing the controls down causing the plane to begin nose diving toward icy glaciers and cerulean waters. It’s beautiful—the sight is stunning. All whites and blues contrasting against each other. It’s colder on the plane now and Seungcheol’s skin begins to prinkle—he can almost feel Jeonghan’s fingertips on his skin, can almost hear his voice beckoning him forward.
“Seungcheol,” Jongsoo says desperately, voice cracking through the finicky radio. “At least give yourself a chance.”
“I don’t need anymore chances,” Seungcheol says. “It was a good life, I’m—I’m happy with it. With what I did, with who I became. With who I loved, with who I lost. I’m okay. I’ll be okay.”
The connection is cut. Seungcheol lets go of the controls and leans back, head tilted up as his eyes flutter shut, eyelashes splayed against his skin as he inhales steadily.
The plane crashes with loud and sudden noises, the sound of scraping metal jarring against his ears.
For a moment, he swears he can see Jeonghan.
✪
“Seungcheol… Hey, we’ve gotta get going.”
Seungcheol wakes up with a gasp as Jihoon retracts his hand from his shoulder. Sweat tickles his hairline and neck. His mouth is dry as he sits up, heart still shaking in his chest. When he looks up, Jeonghan is standing already, looking at the floor as he slides his backpack on, unbeknownst to Seungcheol’s nightmare still haunting him.
“Hyung,” Jihoon says this time, raising his eyebrows at Seungcheol.
“Sorry,” Seungcheol manages to say, getting up and going to the bathroom to brush his teeth and wash his face.
The water is warm on his face, suffocating him for a fraction of a second before he resurfaces and finds his reflection peering back at him. He looks tired— exhausted. Heavy and dark skin beneath his eyes, a paler and dull complexion all around his face , chapped lips that have healed time and time again.
He doesn’t remember the last time he looked this tired.
From there, he functions on autopilot. This time, it’s Jihoon that drives while Seungcheol sits in the passenger seat and keeps an eye out for any suspicious vehicles or people that get too close to them. The radio sounds with foreign songs, Jihoon’s fingers steadily tapping matching rhythms onto the steering wheel in the quietness. Seungcheol takes his chances and steals glances at Jeonghan in the rearview, careful in his admiration. He watches as Jeonghan’s eyes flutter shut with his temple pressed to the tinted window.
When he finally wills himself to pay attention, he’s greeted with a sign.
WELCOME TO DENMARK.
✪
It’s a routine for almost two weeks until it’s not.
Each day or two finds them in another country, another small town that will be forgotten by morning as they rush to beat the nonexistent clock that seems to be counting down against them at all odds. While the tension hasn’t lightened or dissipated all that much, it’s gotten easier to navigate around each other, to pick apart moods without having to use words and instead learning to read even the most miniscule changes in expressions or body language.
Jeonghan rarely speaks or adds to conversations, always at a distance, always quietly watching and observing. His trust in Jihoon is shaky, practically nonexistent, Seungcheol knows this without having to ask. He can see the way Jeonghan tenses every time Jihoon so much as moves toward him. It will take time, Seungcheol tells himself and Jihoon when Jihoon expresses his annoyance and concern.
We don’t know what he’s been through, Seungcheol had told him, prompting Jihoon to clamp his mouth shut with a scowl. At the very least, he’s trying to understand.
Albeit the excuses that Seungcheol keeps on the tip of his tongue for Jeonghan, Seungcheol decides to give him space after becoming very aware of the constant, pitying glances sent his way by Jihoon everytime he so much as tries to include Jeonghan in their planning or conversations.
With Seungcheol no longer extending his attention to Jeonghan, Jeonghan seems more comfortable, less hyper aware of everything. He stays in the shadows like he has been doing for all these years.
Maybe that’s just the type of person he is now.
Seungcheol tries not to think about that.
As the days blend together, they find themselves in another run down motel room, this one a little nicer than the others.
The TV offers a low hum of noise from the small area where a bed and a pullout sofa are decorating the water stained walls and stained carpet. Seungcheol is washing his face in the dimly lit bathroom, the chipped and imperfect porcelain tainted with drops of water that fall from his eyebrows and lashes as he stares at the water slowly spiraling down the drain.
It’s subtle, almost unnoticeable, but Seungcheol sees it out of the corner of his eye.
In the reflection of the mirror, a red light blinks for a fraction of a second. Seungcheol looks back down at the sink, inhales smoothly so as to not look so startled. Not that he is, but any out of character movements indicating that he saw what he saw could put them in jeopardy, and he isn’t willing to risk it.
He walks out of the bathroom casually, glancing at Jihoon who is using the outdated microwave to warm up an instant meal.
“We should go find somewhere to eat,” Seungcheol suggests as the microwave chimes.
Jihoon gives him an incredulous look, eyebrows creased, fingers frozen against the half peeled film. “Somewhere to eat?” he repeats.
Seungcheol nods, turning his back to face the window where he suspects the light came from. “It’d be nice to get out—” The front door opens as Jeonghan steps back inside, smelling of smoke. His eyes flicker between Jihoon and Seungcheol. “Jeonghan,” Seungcheol smiles calmly. “I was telling Jihoon we should go get something to eat. Some real food.”
“Real food?” Jeonghan frowns. His hair is pulled back in a low ponytail, hat abandoned somewhere in the bathroom and he’s wearing a t-shirt he found in a gas station, one that doesn’t have holes or blood stains. “You wanna risk us getting found out for… for real food?”
“I think we’ll be okay,” Seungcheol pushes, praying that neither of them will put up a fight. He’ll explain it in the car, but right now, they need to move. “Please, I—I need some air. I need a change of scenery or something.”
Jeonghan’s cold gaze doesn’t break. Luckily, Jihoon breaks the heavy silence. “Okay—yeah. If that’s what you need, then we can go.” He glances at Jeonghan over his shoulder. “You staying?”
Jeonghan huffs, still before he’s walking to the mattress and grabbing his gun and tucking it in his waistband. “Bring your shield and your wings. If something goes wrong, I’m not saving your asses.”
✪
In the car, Seungcheol slowly maneuvers out of the parking space, waiting two full minutes before he speeds off, whipping the car toward more narrow streets instead of the busy traffic and easy route ahead. Jihoon whips his head to look at Seungcheol, neck turning back to gaze out of the rearview window before looking at Seungcheol again.
“Where are you going?”
“I saw a red light flash in the hotel room,” Seungcheol explains. “Through the window. They were watching us.”
Jihoon slumps back into the seat, mouth hanging open as he inhales and exhales, running a hand through his hair. “They found us… fuck. What—where do we go?”
“There’s only a matter of time before they make their first move,” Seungcheol points out. He knows SHIELD, knows them like every crease in his palm and scar on his body. They move quickly, calculated. He’s been at the front of more operations than he can count. The final seconds are counting down as they speak.
“So, then what?” Jeonghan asks from the back seat. “We just wait until we’re on our asses to do something?”
“We won’t be on our asses,” Seungcheol tells him. “We’re expecting them. They don’t know that yet and they won’t know that any time soon.”
“What is ‘soon’ by your definition,” Jeonghan asks, although it doesn’t sound like an actual question.
Seungcheol presses his lips together, hands gripping the steering wheel until his knuckles are white. “We’ll drive until we get some distance from the city,” Seungcheol says instead of giving a concrete answer. “We don’t want to put any civilians at risk.”
Jihoon curses under his breath, but nods anyway, shifting forward to put his wing pack on.
The seconds and minutes pass by slowly, nerves at an all time high as they drive. Seungcheol shouldn’t really be surprised when an argument sprouts between the cracks in the silence.
It starts with Jihoon turning on the radio, switching through stations until he lands on one with classical music. He turns it up just enough to be heard over the wind whipping in through the four cracked windows.
From the back, Jeonghan kicks at Jihoon’s seat. “Turn it off.”
“No,” Jihoon says immediately, not sparing a glance at Jeonghan and instead sticking his fingers out the window. Jeonghan kicks the seat again and Seungcheol rubs at his eyes in hopes to keep a headache from blossoming in his skull. This time, Jihoon does turn around with an anger that is etched across his face. “I said no—”
“No one wants to hear this shit,” Jeonghan says over him. “Right, Seungcheol?”
The name leaving Jeonghan’s mouth is enough for Seungcheol’s breath to be knocked out of his lungs. Before he can say anything or even think about stepping into this argument, Jihoon is snapping again. “Don’t try bringing him into this, are you that fucking childish? You haven’t spoken one word or even regarded him other than a complaint or critique or some other bullshit and you expect to use him to win this petty argument?”
In the rearview mirror, Jeonghan’s jaw tenses, metal hand curling into a fist that sits atop his thigh. “That’s not what I’m doing.”
“And why should I trust you?”
“Turn the fucking music off.”
“No, I already said no—”
Jihoon’s words are cut off by a harsh sound. Seungcheol feels the car jolt, unsteady on its wheels. Then, the smell of burning rubber, the realization settling in quickly as the car begins to go against his control.
Jihoon straightens, the argument a distant problem now. “What’s going on?”
“The tire,” Seungcheol explains just as another pop sounds. Even as he tries veering back into the road, the car fights him. “Fuck, we have to pull over—”
But before Seungcheol can even attempt to try and stop the vehicle in a safe manner, it’s spinning out, whipping their bodies in almost every direction until they’re hitting a broken concrete wall.
There’s a ringing in Seungcheol’s ears as he blinks, the airbag deployed and the shattered windshield the only thing in his line of sight. He looks over and finds Jihoon raising his head, blood coming out of a cut on his temple. He’s alive—that’s all that matters. In the back, Jeonghan is already opening the door and clumsily stumbling out of the vehicle, leaving Seungcheol to fumble to unbuckle his seat belt and grab his shield to follow him but not before pulling Jihoon over the center console to help him out through his state of lingering shock.
Jeonghan is standing straight, turning his head in every direction, eyebrows creased and eyes locked in, focused. Words leave his mouth, but they’re foreign—Russian, if Seungcheol were to guess. When nothing is said back, he presses his lips together. “Source is unknown,” he says after a beat of silence, voice almost robotic. “Location is north—north-west, maybe. It’s hard to tell.”
Seungcheol looks around, the leaves of distant trees rustling against the subtle wind. Wherever it came from, it’s not near here. He turns to check the tires, the gashes that of something sharp, not a bullet, and judging by the distance it seemingly came from, most definitely not a knife. “Wherever they are, we’re not gonna be able to see them from here. We should start moving—”
Jihoon’s hand is on Seungcheol’s forearm, keeping him from moving. “I can check.”
“Jihoon,” Seungcheol says sharply. It isn’t safe for him to stray from them, even if it’s for a few minutes. “If they spot you, we’re dead—”
“They’ve already spotted us,” Jihoon points out with a soft shake of his head. “But it’s okay, nothing we haven’t dealt with before. Remember? I’ll stay high, but stay—”
“—low,” Seungcheol finishes with a small smile.
“Draw minimal attention,” Jihoon nods. “I’ve got this.”
Seungcheol presses his lips together, an uncertain feeling settling in his stomach even as he nods. He watches in silence as the mechanical wigs on Jihoon’s back spread out with a series of sounds. He gives Seungcheol a stiff nod before he’s launching off the floor and into the air. With nothing else to do but hope that Jihoon comes back, Seungcheol glances over at Jeonghan, surprised to find him already staring. They fall into step wordlessly, the silence between them heavy against the crunching of their shoes against the dirty beneath them.
The area makes something sharp poke at Seungcheol’s chest. Broken, concrete edifices. A bridge only halfway built, sidewalks covered in dirt and dust leading to nowhere. A promise of potential turned into nothing but an abandoned concept that they step through.
Suddenly, through all the thoughts racing through Seungcheol’s head, Jeonghan’s voice sounds.“He’ll be fine.”
Seungcheol blinks. “Who? Jihoon?” Jeonghan nods, but says nothing, eyes down as he kicks at the dirt with every other step. Seungcheol tries again. “I know he’ll be fine, but it’s normal to worry.”
“Would it even matter if he didn’t come back?” Jeonghan says, voice tense, still refusing to look at Seungcheol. “What’s the difference with him here other than another body?”
Something close to anger flickers in Seungcheol’s chest, but not quite. Annoyance sounds more fitting. “He’s here to help you too, Jeonghan—”
“ Stay high but stay low, ” Jeonghan scoffs mockingly. “Yeah, sure. He’s helping a whole lot.”
“He’s the only person you have on your side other than me.”
Jeonghan finally looks at him. “I didn’t ask you to be on my side.”
Seungcheol takes a heavy breath, jaw tight as a red anger flares in his chest. He stops in his tracks, right beneath the vacated and half built bridge. “You pulled me from the river,” Seungcheol says. “Why?”
Jeonghan frowns. “Who said it was me? You were unconscious when you fell off that helicarrier.”
“Jeonghan,” Seungcheol says desperately. “I just—I know, okay? I know it was you, so just fucking tell me. Tell me why you did it.”
Jeonghan swallows, hands fidgeting at his sides. He shakes his head, avoidant of Seungcheol’s gaze. “I don’t know.”
“You do—”
“I don’t,” Jeonghan stresses through gritted teeth. “It doesn’t have to mean something. I don’t know why I did it and that should be a good enough answer for you.”
With that, Jeonghan is moving again, back to Seungcheol as he keeps walking. It’s only a half second later that Seungcheol hears the sound of Jihoon’s wing pack nearing. He looks up, eyes squinted against the setting sun as Jihoon’s silhouette begins to descend.
It happens almost instantly—an object shoots from seemingly out of nowhere, hitting Jihoon in the leg with an electrical sound, one that makes his whole body spasm, a choked sound punched out of his mouth as he comes crashing down.
Seungcheol is quick to try and save him, but he hits the floor, the dust rising around him as he rolls a good distance from him and Jeonghan.. “Jihoon!”
“Ah, fuck,” Jihoon coughs, rolling onto his back as his mechanical wings fold in. He wheezes in a breath, hand trembling as he grips the arrow stuck to his leg, yanking it off with his head tilted back in pain. “You—you fucking bastard,” he says, breathless.
“Who?” Seungcheol asks desperately, eyes following where Jihoon is staring past his shoulder.
Junhui comes into view, jumping down from a raised and cracked concrete surface, his black combat boots hitting the dusty floor with a thud. He straightens up, broad shoulders clad in a thin and black bulletproof shirt outlining the muscles in his chest and arms and abdomen. He shrugs, stepping toward them before coming to a halt, drawing another arrow aimed right at Jihoon’s chest. “No hard feelings, right? You both know I’d choose Minghao over you any day.”
“Do you even know what this is about?” Seungcheol snaps, shield at his side now. If Junhui aims for him, so be it. He’ll remember this moment, remember how this trust crumbled. “It’s not your battle, Junhui.”
“It is now,” Junhui says simply. He aims at Seungcheol, eyebrow tilting up, unafraid, seeking a challenge. “What do you say, Cap? You coming back to Seoul or not?”
Seungcheol clenches his jaw, shakes his head. “You know that’s not a choice for me right now.”
“As far as I’m concerned, you have one choice,” Junhui says with the tilt of his head. Like it’s all amusing to him. “We can do this the easy way or the hard way.”
Seungcheol narrows his eyes, jaw tight as he moves himself in front of Jihoon and Jeonghan, fingers twitching on the strap of his shield as Junhui lets out a sigh, one that’s more annoyed than anything.
The thing about Junhui is that he’s always been quick.
Within a fraction of a second, Junhui is releasing the arrow, sending it straight toward Seungcheol’s chest—but as it spins in the air toward his vulnerable body almost ready to penetrate his skin, Jeonghan is suddenly in his space, blocking Seungcheol’s body with his own and catching the weapon with a metal arm, crushing it with his strength.
Jeonghan drops the fragments, eyebrows creased and mouth turned down in a front as he shifts his body to properly face Junhui, every inch of his face, his posture, his composure intimidating in a way that makes even Seungcheol step back the slightest bit.
Unsurprisingly, Junhui is unfazed. “Impressive,” he says, drawing another arrow.
This time, Jeonghan lurches toward him with a noise that sounds like it is ripped from his throat. Junhui’s arrow goes blindly into the air, and from there it’s a clustered mess, a fight that Junhui barely keeps up with. His strength and agility is nothing compared to Jeonghan’s meticulously trained skills, and soon they’re on the floor, Jeonghan on his back with Junhui’s back to his chest, his arm around Junhui’s neck as he cuts off the airflow. Dirt and dust kick into the air against Junhui’s legs and feet struggling to get some traction against the floor, an attempt to fight back that becomes less and less urgent as his grunts slow and he’s sagging against Jeonghan’s body, limp and unconscious.
Jihoon is on his hands and knees, palm pressed against his rib as he breathes in and out heavily, staring at Junhui’s body in horror. His face pales. “Oh God—Jesus fuck—”
Jeonghan pushes Junhui’s body off of him, standing up and dusting himself off casually. “He’s not dead,” he says, looking over his shoulder and at Junhui like he’s double checking. “But we need to get out of here anyway.”
✪
They’re as quick as they can be given the circumstances. With some sort of stroke of luck on their side, they find some refuge in an abandoned machinery building. The minutes are quiet, dragging as they get settled and try to come up with a semblance of a plan. For once, Seungcheol is stumped. They have no vehicle, nothing other than the weapons on hand which can only get them so far. He can fight for his life, and he knows Jeonghan and Jihoon can fight for their own, but when does it stop? When will it settle?
He’s not letting Jeonghan go easily, but that comes with a price to pay.
Seungcheol sighs as he leans back against a concrete wall, the subtle sound heavy against the still and stale air around them accompanied by the sound of Jihoon’s steps as he paces back and forth. Jeonghan is sitting with his back against the opposite wall, just beneath a flickering light that has somehow survived neglect.
“They’re probably surrounding us right now,” Jihoon mutters, knuckle against his mouth, muffling his worried words. “It’s only a matter of time before they find us. Three versus, what? One hundred?”
Seungcheol shakes his head. If Junhui is here, the chances of SHIELD agents being involved is slim. Minghao only involves Junhui when things are personal, when he cannot trust SHIELD with such tasks. “It won’t be that many people. Minghao isn’t that stupid.”
“So, we just sit here and wait?”
“What other option do we have?” Jeonghan cuts in, rubbing a hand over his face. His eyes flicker up, meeting Seungcheol’s for a fleeting moment before being casted away toward the ground.
“We fight back,” Seungcheol answers easily.
“We fight back?” Jihoon repeats almost hysterically. “Hyung—Seungcheol, come on. All of this… All of this for what? For someone who could run the moment things get hard? Someone who we’re not even sure knows you?”
It’s like a punch to the chest. He thought that Jihoon could see through them, could pick apart every hidden memory and see that while Seungcheol may be a bit rash, a bit irrational, there is a reason that is worth all of his actions. But now, Jihoon stands in front of him with doubts of not only Jeonghan, but of him.
Seungcheol shakes his head, an argument on the tip of his tongue lost in his mouth.
“Your favorite color is blue.” Seungcheol snaps his head to look at where Jeonghan is still sitting, his voice sudden in the silence. This time, Jeonghan is staring at him, eyes unbroken, determined. Like they’re the only two in the room. He continues talking, his voice the softest it’s been all these weeks. “You… You used to snore, but you stopped after the serum. I used to think I missed it, but… I remember being grateful that you could breathe. I–I always let you have the last bite of the melon popsicle we’d share. Always during summer.”
“Hannie,” Seungcheol whispers through the heaviness in his throat.
“Yeah, Cheollie,” Jeonghan says back, pressing his lips together and shaking his head. It’s all he says, all that he needs to say, really. Seungcheol understands—he’s trying.
“It’s okay,” Seungcheol says honestly, because it is okay. This is still his Jeonghan in one way or another, but with different scars, a different life lived, different stories to tell.
Jeonghan looks at Jihoon this time. “Look, I don’t know if I’m worth all of this either. But if Seungcheol thinks so then…” He sighs. “Maybe we should trust him.”
Something drips from Jeonghan’s ear. Red, dark and thick as it begins to ooze slowly. Seungcheol is quick to step forward. “Your ear,” he mutters, ripping the hem of his t-shirt without hesitation, kneeling beside Jeonghan and hesitating before pressing the fabric to the blood. He half expects Jeonghan to flinch, to wretch his body further away and grumble something about personal space. Instead, he leans into the touch, so subtle that Seungcheol almost doesn’t notice.
The moment is gone just as quickly as it manifested. Eventually, Seungcheol realizes that they have to get a move on if they want to avoid the high possibility of them being cornered. So he parts from Jeonghan with an aching chest and voices his concern for staying in the same, small structure for too long.
Jihoon’s expression is unreadable, but he looks Seungcheol up and down and agrees after Jeonghan gets up to get a move on.
Without the sun to guide them, they’re careful with all of their movements. All they’re left with are disadvantages; Seungcheol is more than aware that SHIELD is probably watching them with their technology, tracking their bodies with every movement. Seungcheol can’t help but think: what the fuck are they waiting for? But that’s a question he isn’t sure he wants answered.
They find a large building—maybe what could have been an office—and settle behind a large mess of construction materials, and it’s quiet. Eerily quiet in a way that has Seungcheol on high alert. His dark eyes are narrowed, flickering around at even the slightest shift in the air. It seems as if Jeonghan is on the same boat, metal arm twitching against his leg at even the smallest noise that comes through his sensitive ears.
It happens quickly, but Seungcheol hears it in the distance.
A woosh— the rush of air whipping. Something falling onto the ground. Hushed voices making him and Jeonghan perk up at the same time, tuning in the best they can.
“ —be somewhere around here.”
Seokmin’s voice.
“Hyung, we still haven’t checked the other buildings.”
Seungcheol swallows, squeezing his eyes shut and clenching his jaw to even out his breathing.
He’d recognize Chan’s voice anywhere.
“That doesn’t mean we can’t check this one—”
“Tearing it apart isn’t gonna do us any good. Why don’t you just do a lap and see if you find anything?”
Seungcheol and Jeonghan are whipping their heads to look at each other. They need to move. Now.
“What?” Jihoon tries asking but is immediately hushed by Jeonghan’s flesh hand on his mouth. His eyes are wide as he shakes his head at Jihoon, a silent way of saying shut the fuck up right now. Jihoon nods, eyes almost comically round if it wasn’t for the situation that they’re in.
When Jihoon’s eyes flicker to Seungcheol, seeking some sort of guidance. Seungcheol’s hand is straight as he motions towards the hallway ahead of them—if they make it there fast enough, they can avoid Seokmin’s scan of the area. Seungcheol goes first, crouching behind his shield and quickly moving, trusting that the other two will match his pace.
“Wait,” Chan says suddenly, just as they’re nearing the hallway. “I—there’s something…”
“Chan?” Seokmin says, tone worried. “Are you okay?”
“It’s—they’re here,” Chan says, sounding pained.
“Go, go, go!” Seungcheol urges in a hushed whisper.
It’s no use. A blurred wave of colors rushed in front of them, blocking the entrance to the hallway. When it stills, Seokmin is standing there, looking at them from beneath his brow.
“Captain,” he says. “You need to come with us, Captain.”
Seungcheol presses his lips together, ducking his head down to look at his dirt coated shoes. Then, he turns his neck, looks over his shoulder with slightly furrowed brows, meeting eyes with Chan whose expression is twitching, blinking rapidly like trying to rid his mind of something tainted. In the darkness, the tips of Chan’s fingers glow, scarlet and wispy. His eyes are like rubies that flicker back into darkness as he lets out a stuttered inhale. “Seung—Captain,” he says, voice thick. “We don’t want this to end in a fight.”
Seungcheol can see right through him—the nerves, the same, hesitant twitch of his fingers that he used to have when they began training him. He must know something is wrong, something is off. But SHIELD, or Minghao, gave him a mission, and that mission is making sure that Jeonghan ends up dead or captured. Chan isn’t one to consider failing.
“Chan-ah,” Seungcheol says, turning slowly, holding his shield in front of himself, planting his feet to the ground. “That’s the only way this is gonna end.”
The air is still for only a moment, and then, everything moves quickly. Jihoon is shooting up into the sky, mechanical wings folding out from his pack with a series of fast and graceful movements. Chan is after him with aimed hands, crumbling concrete walls to try and interrupt his flight, but Jihoon moves between the falling masses, disappears into the night sky while Jeonghan darts into the narrow hallway.
Seokmin’s speed is unmatched, but there’s only so much space for him to navigate. Seungcheol is right behind Jeonghan, keeping up with him and following each sharp turn blindly. The air around him whips as Seokmin’s barely visible silhouette speeds past him, cutting off Jeonghan before he can make another turn, causing him to come to a stumbling halt. Jeonghan’s eyes are frantic, legs jerking in rough movements as he tries to figure out how to navigate around or through Seokmin standing in front of him with his arms out, keeping a distance.
“Winter Soldier,” Seokmin says confidently. “You are under SHIELD custody now.”
“Seokmin,” Seungcheol tries, startling Jeonghan trapped between them like a cornered animal. “Don’t get yourself into this.”
“He’s a criminal, Captain,” Seokmin says so matter of factly that if Seungcheol didn’t know Jeonghan like he does, he would believe him, because this is what Seokmin genuinely believes. Jeonghan is a criminal, that is all that he knows. “And it’s our responsibility to—”
Before he can finish, Jeonghan is slamming him into the wall, the flimsy and unfinished material crumbling around Seokmin in an instant.Jeonghan is attempting to sprint off, but Seokmin gains his footing and catches up within the second, a blur against the air that suddenly goes still as Jeonghan swings his flesh fist, colliding with Seokmin’s stomach, sending him onto the ground, winded. With him at a disadvantage, Jeonghan stands over him, leaning down to hold him by the throat as he presses his fingers into a tender area between Seokmin’s neck and collarbone. He goes limp.
Seungcheol’s mouth goes dry, staring at Seokmin’s body in front of him. “J-Jeonghan—”
“I’m not fucking killing people,” Jeonghan snaps. “It’s a pressure point, he’ll be fine.”
He doesn’t say anything else, already rushing toward the shell of an emergency stairs door. Of course, Seungcheol follows.
The stairs groan under their weight, heavy steps quick as they reach the second floor. A dark silhouette waits at the end, and Jeonghan comes to a halt, hand coming up to warn Seungcheol to stop, too.
“Captain. These are unfortunate circumstances.”
Seungcheol’s eyebrows furrow, mouth parting as he takes in the cape and the feet hovering over the ground. “Wonwoo?”
“Yes, it is me,” Wonwoo says, the yellow stone on his head lighting up, offering some guidance. His mouth is straight, eyes looking down mostly at Jeonghan. “It appears you are both wanted. Yoon Jeonghan, the Winter Soldier. Choi Seungcheol, Captain Korea. I have been tasked with aiding in bringing you back to Seoul.”
Seungcheol doesn’t say anything, every scenario running around in his mind, all of them ending in ways that he doesn’t want. Maybe it’s stupid, but it’s all that he’s got. “Duck,” he whispers and Jeonghan easily obliges just as Seungcheol twists his upper body back, throwing his shield with all his force until it’s crashing into Wonwoo’s stomach and ribs, driving him back through a window and far from them.
Jeonghan and Seungcheol rush through and into a large hall, one with a door at the end that they head for like a saving grace. Once they’re crashing through the door, splintered wood on their clothes and around their feet, they find that the rest of the building is unfinished with a large, open space that only leads to the outside, ensuring a fall to the ground if they’re not careful.
As Seungcheol wonders if the jump is worth it, Jeonghan is already sprinting, pushing off his legs in a jump that is practice and precise. Before Seungcheol can throw all caution into the wind and recklessly follow, concrete is crashing around him in large and small pieces, all falling onto each other like jagged puzzle pieces, trapping him and blocking his path to where Jeonghan should be. He turns, finding Chan standing there with a heaving chest.
“I can’t let you go,” Chan says, shaking his head and refusing to meet Seungcheol’s eyes. “I—I can’t hyung—”
“Chan, please—please trust me about this,” Seungcheol begs. He doesn’t care if it’s desperate or if he’s reached levels of irrationalness that he can’t come back from. Chan is someone who has put trust in him time and time again, who has held such kindness and understanding for Seungcheol. If he loses this, too, he doesn’t know what he’ll do.
“I asked Wonwoo for information on him, hyung. He has over three hundred deaths linked to him,” Chan says quickly, hands up in defense, the tips of his fingers glowing red to protect himself. “They call him the deadliest assassin—trained under HYDRA, an accomplice to the Red Room—a super soldier without any morality. Seungcheol, how can I trust you? How can we trust him?”
“Because he’s—he’s still Jeonghan,” Seungcheol says desperately, throat thick with every emotion he’s forced himself to keep down for these last months. “His name is Jeonghan and he—he hates technology but loves going out and learning. He’s stubborn and annoying and—and he knows how to make me laugh and feel like a human and— Chan . He loved me. If there’s any chance to get that back, I need to take it.” Chan doesn’t say anything, his eyebrows furrowed, mouth trembling with hesitance. Seungcheol lets the wetness spill over his lashes. “We’re so much more than the statistics and information they pry from us. That’s what you told me.”
From the comm on Chan’s wrist, Seungcheol can hear Minghao’s voice. We have no eyes on Falcon or the Winter Soldier. Does anyone have eyes on Captain?”
“Chan,” Seungcheol whispers, cheeks glistening with dampness, mouth flush. “Please, Chan.”
Chan swallows, hands shaking before he’s pressing his lips together roughly, cursing under his breath. Then, his hands are moving with red wisps painting the air around his fingers, moving all the concrete so that it blocks their surrounding areas, leaving a space for Seungcheol to follow Jeonghan. “Go,” he says through rough voice. “Go, hyung. They’ll come looking for me.”
Seungcheol lets out a heavy breath, mouth dry and tongue twitching against his teeth. “Thank you, Chan,” he says, backing up slowly before turning around and making his getaway.
✪
Somehow, some way, Jihoon manages to find a vehicle. It’s old, barely put together, its red paint chipped and rusted, but Jihoon claims that he managed to jump start it with shaking hands and his heart threatening to beat out of his chest. From there, it was all a quick blur—Seungcheol catching up to Jeonghan, the dimmed lights of a vehicle in the distance, the relief to find Jihoon behind the wheel.
They leave unnoticed and Seungcheol knows that has everything to do with Chan’s attempts at keeping the others distracted, at covering for Seungcheol. He can feel the guilt starting to trickle down his throat in the silence as the car jostles with the rough roads.
There are no words exchanged for the first hour of the drive, out toward what seems like nothingness. The sun is beginning to rise, gold saturating the outside world. When Seungcheol notices Jihoon’s eyelids growing heavier by the second, he offers to drive, Judging by the way Jihoon doesn’t argue, it’s evident that he needs the rest.
And again, they’re off without any word, bruises healing between Jeonghan and Seungcheol. Jihoon wakes up eventually, flinching with a groan and a complaint about the pain throbbing in his ribs from his fall caused by Junhui. Seungcheol’s eyes look over as Jihoon shifts in the passenger seat, hissing as he reveals a large and purple bruise painted across his torso.
From the back seat, Jeonghan leans forward to observe. “At least nothing’s broken,” he says, voice rough from lack of use.
“How would you know?” Jihoon asks, although it sounds like more of a genuine question.
A small smile tilts the corner of Jeonghan’s mouth up. “Because you’d be bitching about it more.”
Jihoon lets out a pained laugh, leaning back against the passenger seat, head lolling lazily to look out of the window. “Yeah, you’re right.”
✪
Jeonghan’s fragile and incomplete memory takes them to a cottage somewhere north where it’s so cold that Seungcheol feels like he can’t breathe properly, air coming out of his lungs in vapor against the frigid air as Jeonghan breaks the lock on the wooden door.
They get settled quickly, not having anything to put away other than the clothes and weapons on their back.
The fireplace is quickly lit as Jeonghan crouches in front of it, lighting a match that he found in the kitchen, striking it against his teeth with a spark that erupts into a flame. Seungcheol looks away when Jihoon catches him staring.
There are old sweaters and blankets beneath the floorboards, all distributed by Jeonghan who seems to slowly be recalling memories from his last visit here. Seungcheol doesn’t have to ask to know that some memories are better unsaid, unremembered.
Unexpired cans of food are found in a hidden door in the pantry, and they sit around the wobbling dining table eating like starved animals, rusted forks scraping the metal cans like a clumsy symphony.
Eventually, Seungcheol sighs, leaning back against the chair that groans beneath his weight. His tongue picks at his molars as his nails pick at a splintered piece of wood on the table. “We need a plan.”
Jihoon’s eyes flick up to look at him. Then, he sighs, lips pulled down as he practically glares at the inside of his now-empty can. “We can’t make a plan if we’re at a disadvantage like this. We know that SHIELD—”
“Minghao,” Seungcheol corrects. “He’s—I’m pretty sure he’s the head of this. We have yet to deal with SHIELD.”
“Fine,” Jihoon says bluntly. “We know that Minghao has already recruited members of the team to try and capture us. He has Junhui, Wonwoo, Chan, probably Seungkwan and Hansol. Who the fuck do we have? Each other? We know that’s not gonna be enough, Seungcheol.”
“We need to find people on our side, then,” Seungcheol answers easily. He’s had some different ideas, a name or two bounce around in his head. Getting in contact, though. That’s the only problem.
Jihoon crosses his arms, biceps flexing as he shrugs. “We’re SHIELD traitors. Who would want to be on our side?”
A knock sounds at the door. The three of them snap their heads toward the source of the sound, a hush falling over them as the fireplace crackles to fill in the empty spaces.
“I thought you said this place was secluded,” Seungcheol whispers.
“It is,” Jeonghan mutters back.
Seungcheol rises slowly, plucking his shield from where it’s leaning against the wall, a sharp sound coming from the motion of the vibranium. He’s stealthy as he nears the door, back straight as he unlatches the lock, pulling the door open the slightest bit to peek through the crack, every ounce of instinct and training ready to kick in.
When the person looks up, Seungcheol drops his stance with a breath. He opens the door more. “Chan?”
He’s shivering, teeth chattering as he hugs himself, shoulders raised and tense. Seungcheol drops his shield, ignoring as it clangs on the ground with an abrupt sound as he ushers Chan inside, pulling him to sit on the sofa directly in front of the burning fire.
Jihoon is standing but frozen in place, shock evident on his face. From an outside point of view, Seungcheol can see how this makes no sense. No one knows how much Chan helped him—Seungcheol hadn’t mentioned it. It was something between the two of them, something that he didn't want to betray Chan by exposing such a selfless act.
“Why are you here?” Jeonghan asks just as Jihoon asks: “Does Seokmin know that you’re here?”
Chan gives them an empty smile as Seungcheol drapes a blanket over his shoulders. His hands grip onto the edges, pulling it tightly around himself. The corner of his mouth tilts up as he speaks. “No—no. I, uh… I took out my tracker and followed you. They don’t know where I am, I promise.”
Jeonghan takes several large steps until he's in front of Chan, intimidation etched on every inch of his face, eyes dark and narrowed. His words are punctuated, voice low. “Why. Are. You. Here.”
“If there’s one person in SHIELD I know that I can trust, it’s Seungcheol hyung,” Chan whispers after a beat, cowering slightly at all of the attention on him. Seungcheol sits in the space next to him, ignoring the glare Jeonghan sends him. He earns a grateful smile as Chan continues. “And when they called him a traitor, I knew something wasn't right. He would never betray anyone, he’s loyal. He’s courageous, he has his reasons. So, I knew that there was more.” He looks at Seungcheol again, this time more sure of himself, more confident. “You don’t have to explain yourself.” Then he looks forward at Jeonghan who is bathed in the orange glow from the flames behind him. “If that were me or Seokmin, I’d want someone to see the good that used to be in us, too.”
Seungcheol smiles. “I’d see it in you, no matter what.”
“I know,” Chan replies.
“Well,” Jihoon says loudly, rubbing a hand over his face, exhaustion flooding his expression. “That's one person on our side. But we need more than four people if we want to stand a chance.”
Seungcheol hums, tapping his finger against his leg, a face flashing in his head. “I might know someone. Is there any sort of phone line here?”
✪
Thirteen hours later finds Seungcheol sitting at the dining table, Jeonghan behind him with a frown and crossed arms, dark hair tucked behind his ears as his eyes stare judgmentally. Jihoon and Chan sit at the other chairs, curiously glancing back and forth at Seungcheol and the new addition sitting directly across the table from him.
“Captain,” Soonyoung says giddily, pressing his hands to his cheeks to tame the smile splitting his face. He’s layered up in a sweater and puffer jacket and a beanie covering his head that is made to look like an ant head. “This is—wow. I am honored that you would ask me to come to your beautiful home—”
“For fucks sake,” Jeonghan groans, fingers coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose.
“The honor is all mine, Soonyoung,” Seungcheol answers honestly, ignoring Jeonghan’s mumbled complaints along the lines of is this really the best we can do? “Thank you for being willing to meet with me, I know that this is… It’s a tricky favor. I don’t want you to be SHIELD’s enemy, too, but I wouldn’t ask for help if I didn’t need it. I wouldn’t be asking you for help if I didn’t think I could trust you.”
Soonyoung’s eyes go wide, mouth falling open. “Oh, oh wow. Listen, Captain, I don’t care about being SHIELD’s enemy, alright? I’m always on the side of justice—that’s why I went to prison, you know?”
“Prison?” Jihoon blinks only to be ignored as Soonyoung continues.
“And I know when someone is good at heart and you,” he points to Seungcheol. “You’ve always been that for me. You can put your trust in me because I trust you, too. So, don’t worry about me being a traitor or anything. I know I’m always on the right side.”
Seungcheol smiles. He can feel the way Jeonghan’s tension eases behind him. “Thanks, Soonyoung.”
Soonyoung beams. “No, thank you. Hey, um…” He scratches his beanie and laughs awkwardly before clearing his throat and coming back with a serious expression. “What do you say about an autograph now?”
Jeonghan groans again and Chan furrows his eyebrows. Meanwhile, Seungcheol shrugs. “You got a pen?”
✪
Maybe he’s flying too close to the sun, but Seungcheol has already lost his wings, has already been burnt more times than he can count. He figures: what else does he have to lose when it feels like he’s watched his world fall apart more times than he can count?
There’s a phone mounted to the wall in the kitchen. It’s dated, a phone from around Seungcheol’s time growing up. He dials the memorized number and listens as it rings and rings and rings.
“Joshua Hong. Who’s calling?”
It takes Seungcheol a moment, tongue dry as his mouth twitches around unspoken words. Eventually, he presses his lips together and swallows with a crackle, and then speaks. “Hey, Joshua. How have you been?”
“Well,” Joshua says after a beat, amused. “If it isn’t Korea’s Most Wanted. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Seungcheol sighs, pressing his forehead to the wallpaper, flowers blurred in his vision before he shuts his eyes. “I need your help.”
“If this has to do with the little showdown between you and Minghao, I want no part in it—”
“Please,” Seungcheol begs. “I wouldn’t be asking if I didn’t think that this was important.”
Silence bleeds through the wire. “My grandpa always talked about you, you know?”
“I know—”
“And when he talked about you, Jeonghan’s name was always mentioned,” Joshua continues, sparking an ache in Seungcheol’s chest. “He never said it, but I was nosy. I looked at his photos, the files. I saw that you were the one to demand a search to get him back. You shared a tent almost every night. That’s something that no one else knows, right? Something they’d never put in museums.”
Seungcheol’s throat is thick. It’s like he’s being laid out on a table, stripped back and picked apart until he’s trembling in fear. “Why would they want to know that Captain Korea is in love with a man?”
He can hear the way Joshua’s mouth parts in surprise. “ Is?”
“It’s never gonna go away,” Seungcheol whispers. “Especially not now. Not when all I’ve ever wanted is right in front of me again.”
He can hear Joshua sigh, can hear the creak of his chair and can imagine him leaning back, tilting his head up to look at the ceiling. “You’ll need your suit. And Jihoon will need new wings—the ones he stole won’t last long. I can get you all to a private airport and somewhere far where you won’t be bothered.”
It sounds too good to be true. “Joshua—”
“Coordinates. That’s all I need. And no promise that Minghao won’t show up. He’s persistent, you know?”
“Thank you,” Seungcheol whispers, hoping it comes across as genuinely as he means it.
“Remember this when I ask you for a favor, yeah?”
✪
One thing about Joshua Hong, albeit his attitude that may be off putting to a distant audience, is that he will deliver on his promises. It shouldn’t be a surprise when he shows up to the cottage less than twenty-four hours later dressed in an off white and very expensive looking cashmere sweater, a scarf stylistically wrapped around his neck and a matching, knitted beanie on his head. He grins as he looks Seungcheol up and down, eyebrows almost rising up into his hairline as he whistles.
“Very rugged, Captain,” he says, stepping inside and craning his neck to look around at the shabby cottage. “You trying out the nomad lifestyle?”
“Something like that,” Seungcheol says. He knows he looks less put together, more tired. His clothes are dirty and torn, shoes dusty and worn. “How long do we have?”
Joshua checks the silver and expensive watch on his wrist. “Well, we should probably get a move on now. Did you fill everyone in or is that something I’m gonna have to do?”
“Well, I—”
“Say less,” Joshua claps, joyful, turning to face the four all spread through the small cottage, all looking at Joshua curiously like Seungcheol hadn’t explained the details of the phone call last night. Jeonghan’s entire body is stiff and cautious as Joshua takes two languid steps toward them. “Hello, criminals. It has come to my attention that I need to save you all like the prince that I am—no need to start thanking me, Soonyoung, I am more than happy to donate my precious time to a good cause in the name of true love—”
Seungcheol coughs loudly to drown out the last few words of his sentence. When Joshua turns to look at him curiously, Seungcheol shakes his head. “You, ah… You can leave that part out.”
Joshua’s eyebrows shoot up, but he doesn’t argue. “Alright, sorry, Cap. What I meant to say was that I’m here to save your asses. Get what you have and come on, I have my private jet outside that will take us to a secure airport about an hour away. A friend of a friend owes me a favor—you don’t need the details, honestly. The less you know the better, ignorance is bliss—you get it—”
“How do we know we can trust you?” Jeonghan asks over him with a grit to his voice. His eyes are unwavering, staring straight at Joshua through the few strands of hair hanging in his face like he’s going to burn him alive with any sudden move.
“Because I’m quite literally risking everything to help you,” Joshua answers easily, confidence unfaltering. “Which might not mean anything to you, Yoon Jeonghan, but unfortunately this entire thing revolves around you, so if you choose not to trust me for about an hour, then that’s fine. But you’re risking not only your life, but Seungcheol’s too.”
Jeonghan blinks, glancing over at Seungcheol before casting his gaze toward the floor. He says nothing after that. Instead, he grabs a jacket from where it is draped over the back of one of the dining chairs and shouldering past Seungcheol to step outside.
“Well, we got the important one ready to go,” Joshua jokes, beaming at Jihoon, Chan, and Soonyoung. “You three ready?”
“Can I sit with Captain?” Soonyoung asks and Jihoon rolls his eyes, already ten steps ahead of him.
✪
The jet is small, cramped in a way that has Seungcheol staring at the back of Jeonghan’s head, so close yet somehow still miles and miles away from him.
He’s always had a heart on his sleeve when it comes to Jeonghan, never able to tame the emotions flashing across his face when he’s lost in his own thoughts like this. That must be what makes Chan nudge his shoulder from the seat beside him.
Seungcheol turns with a sharp inhale, startled out of his thoughts. “What? Sorry, I was—”
“I didn’t say anything,” Chan says quietly with a gentle smile, his orange hair tousled from his small nap. “I was just trying to get your attention. You seem like you’re lost in your thoughts—”
“I’m okay,” Seungcheol tries, but Chan shakes his head.
“Your thoughts are so cluttered. I can’t understand them, but… I feel them.” His eyes dance toward the back of Jeonghan’s head for a brief second before finding Seungcheol’s again. “Both of you. There is something I can’t place.”
Seungcheol leans back against the seat. He can see Jeonghan’s eyelashes flutter, can see how he turns his head the slightest bit, tuned into this conversation. “Yeah, well,” Seungcheol sighs. “Let me know when you can place it.”
✪
Seungcheol is out of the private jet first.
Joshua and Jihoon offer to join him, but he’d rather check the premises alone and make sure that no one is waiting to surprise them. Even then, Joshua provides them with ear comms to help them communicate. He lets them know that he’ll be in touch if he needs help and to stand by.
As he walks beneath an underpass and toward the higher model plane, one that can blend into the sky seamlessly, untraceable, he keeps his guard up, shield at his side to not look so on edge. His suit feels like some sort of costume, like he’s being used as a puppet for propaganda all over again. His boots are heavy with every step, helmet weighing on his head as he nears the plane, checking the space around it for any sort of indication of tampering.
Then, something whizzes past his head, latching onto the plane with an electrical sound, electricity erupting from it and wrapping around the plane, blowing out its engines and technology.
Seungcheol looks up, unsurprised to find Minghao stepping down from the wing of the plane, landing on the concrete with almost no sound.
He looks the same as he did the last time Seungcheol saw him. Cool, composed. Red hair vibrant, slim body adorned in his all black and sleek attire. There’s a gun on his belt, a knife in the holster on his thigh.
He raises an eyebrow at Seungcheol, looking him up and down, probably thinking the exact opposite. “Funny seeing you here. Why would you need a plane?”
“Minghao,” Seungcheol says calmly. “Hear me out. If—if I can get Jeonghan the help he needs—”
“Help,” Minghao laughs bitterly. “He doesn’t need help. He needs to be put on trial or dead.”
“This is so much more than what he’s done,” Seungcheol says, stepping closer to Minghao. “We need to look at it from a different perspective, Minghao, he hardly remembers anything—”
“I'm still willing to cut you a deal,” Minghao says over him, completely uncaring of anything Seungcheol has to say.
“I don’t want a deal.”
“Get him to surrender and you and the rest of your little group will be pardoned,” Minghao says anyway. “It’s as easy as that.”
Seungcheol shakes his head. “I can’t do that to Jeonghan.”
Minghao steps forward, his chest only centimeters from Seungcheol’s, eyes angry and unwavering, unafraid. “It may talk like Jeonghan, walk like Jeonghan, and breathe like Jeonghan, but that is not your Jeonghan.”
“Stop calling him it,” Seungcheol warns. “He’s a human—”
“That is a monster,” Minghao seethes. “A monster that you’re defending—”
“If you would just listen to me—”
The air around Seungcheol shifts, a wind whipping around him as a blur of colors. Then, the colors settle, revealing Seokmin with a blue skin tight suit and his silver hair practically shining beneath the sun.
He straightens up, shoulders back as he looks Seungcheol up and down. “Captain.”
“Seokmin,” Seungcheol greets back as Minghao steps back.
“Where is my brother?” Seokmin asks, although it doesn’t sound like much of a question. It’s a demand, the need to know where Chan is.
“Seokmin, please,” Minghao says, hand up to quiet him, turning his attention back to Seungcheol. “So, deal or no deal?”
“You know my answer.”
“I need to hear you say it.”
Seungcheol clenches his jaw. “No deal.”
Minghao smiles. “Great.” He clears his throat and yells, “Alright! Let’s go!”
Something sticks onto Seungcheol’s shield, white and thin but strong enough to tug it out of his grasp, and soon after it latches onto his wrists and hands, trapping them in the webby substance. Seungcheol snaps his head up in search of the source, only to find Spider-Man landing on the top of the plane, one knee and hand planted onto the metal, Seungcheol’s shield in his grasp. There’s a pause before he picks his neck up, the whites of his mask narrowed and outlined in black, straight at Seungcheol.
“Hansol,” Seungcheol says. It’s not a surprise to see him here—word has it, he’s been set on avenging Seungkwan ever since his accident.
“Captain,” Hansol answers back, standing up, shield at his side looking out of place. “Didn’t think the next time I’d see you would be like this.”
Seungcheol hums. “It’s unfortunate.”
Hansol gives him a salute that makes Minghao roll his eyes. “This isn’t time for conversation,” Minghao says.
“Well, it seems like you brought people,” Seungcheol points out. “Maybe we should talk.”
“There’s no time to fucking talk,” Minghao snaps. “And don’t act like you didn’t do the same, I mean, really? Kidnapping Chan so he could take your side? It’s—Seungcheol, I don’t want the team to fall apart, but it seems like you don’t care about that possibility. All you care about is that fucking monster—”
“Minghao,” Seungcheol warns. “It fell apart the moment you pulled a gun out on me.”
Minghao’s jaw twitches. “Turn in Yoon Jeonghan. Now.”
“That’s not an option for me.”
Just then, Wonwoo comes down from the sky, floating down gracefully until he lands softly beside Minghao. Junhui comes into view, an arrow in his hand and his quiver on his back, packed to the brim with arrows of all sorts. Seungkwan approaches from the shadows of the underpass.
Seungcheol sighs, using his strength to break his hands from the web and pressing his finger against the comm in his ear. “They’re here.”
It takes less than thirty seconds for Hansol to make a noise, looking down at the shield in his hand only for a small speck to suddenly grow into a human, kicking Hansol in the jaw and snatching the shield in a fluid flip off of the top of the plane.
Soonyoung looks over his shoulder, eyes creased in joy behind the red, clear visor of his helmet. “Did you see that, Cap?!”
Seungcheol gives him a proud thumbs up. “Great job, Ant-Man.”
“Ant-Man,” Soonyoung repeats in awe, bowing to Seungcheol and giving him his shield. “He used my superhero name…”
Wonwoo rises into the air again, eyes on the underpass, cocking his head animatedly. “I believe I can hear Chan’s heartbeat. He is alone—”
Seokmin is speeding away without warning as Minghao instructs: “Go get Chan and make sure Seokmin doesn’t do anything stupid. Junhui—”
“I’ve got Yoon and Falcon,” Junhui answers, already sprinting away.
Seungcheol is quick, running after Junhui without thinking. Junhui expects him, slows his pace until he’s whipping around, an arrow launched from his bow. Seungcheol dodges it, twists his upper body so that it lands on the floor with an explosion that was surely meant to go straight through his chest.
Again, Junhui tries, this time, coming to a halt and causing Seungcheol to crash straight into him, both of them barrelling onto the floor. Junhui rises quickly, combat skills taking over as he swipes at Seungcheol’s ankles with his foot, uses the opportunity to draw an arrow and send it towards Seungcheol’s shoulder. As always, instincts take over Seungcheol’s body. The arrow misses him by a fraction of an inch. He throws his shield, watches it as it flies over Junhui’s ducked head, giving him a false sense of security before it comes back. Junhui is quick, jumping in time for the shield to miss him, returning to Seungcheol’s hand easily.
In the background, Seungcheol can hear Soonyoung trying his best to negotiate with Minghao, only for his efforts to be met with a loud grunt as Minghao kicks him in the groin. He goes small, his strength amplified helping him to flip Minghao over until his back is hitting the concrete with a loud thud. His body is dragged for yards.
Through his ear comms, Seungcheol can hear Hansol’s voice, fascinated: “Whoa—you have a metal arm—agh!”
Junhui abandons his task with Seungcheol, attention on Minghao’s body still being dragged. He’s off to help and Seungcheol takes the opportunity to back up Jeonghan and Jihoon, only to be stopped when he finds Chan running toward him. Wonwoo is close behind, speaking loudly.
“I am unsure why you have abandoned your team—”
“I did not abandon the team!” Chan snaps, turning to look at Wonwoo who drifts in front of him, lands so closely that Seungcheol stops in his tracks. “The team abandoned Seungcheol hyung.”
“I have given you the data,” Wonwoo replies, a hand reaching out for Chan. Chan steps back like he’s been burned. “Over three hundred people have lost their lives due to the actions of the Winter Soldier—”
“What about me?” Chan whispers harshly. Seungcheol can hear the tears in his throat, the shaking of his voice. “What does that say about me, Wonwoo? I was HYDRA’s weapon, too. I’ve killed people. Does that mean I should be hunted like a fucking animal?”
“It is different with you, Chan,” Wonwoo says. “You are a good person.”
The tips of Chan’s fingers glow red. “So is Jeonghan.”
Before Seungcheol can step in to help, he’s being dragged off his feet, surroundings moving so quickly around him that it almost makes him light headed. He’s dropped in an instant, body hitting the ground roughly, shield rolling away from him as he gains control over his limbs tumbling against the floor. He stands, grabbing his shield before it can make it far and finds Seokmin staring at him with an unfamiliar anger in his eyes.
“You turned him against me.”
“He chose to follow us,” Seungcheol tells him. It’s the truth, he should know the truth.
Seokmin sneers, body shifting into his running form. Then, something gold and red is swooping from the air, grabbing him and lifting him up into the air.
Joshua takes Seokmin up into the sky, his breathing heavy in Seungcheol’s comm. “I’ve got him, Cap.”
Soonyoung is suddenly in Seongcheol’s space, his hands clutching his shoulders, “We’ve got a problem.”
Seungcheol looks over and sees Minghao, Junhui, and Seungkwan are all in line, treading toward the two of them.
Chan is suddenly at Seungcheol’s side, eyes following Wonwoo as he reaches his own side, yet to touch the ground. Seokmin drops from the sky with a heavy thud, gasping in a breath as he stumbles onto his legs, watching Joshua’s helmet retract from his face as he hovers down and beside Seungcheol. Soon, Hansol is joining Minghao while Jeonghan and Jihoon fill in the empty spaces behind Seungcheol.
Soonyoung nudges Seungcheol, his expression confused. “Uh, Cap… What do we do?”
Seungcheol squares his shoulders, eyes locked on Minghao who shrugs, like he’s daring Seungcheol to make the first move. “We fight.”
It seems to trigger something in all of them.
The two sides meet in the middle in a cluster of drawing weapons and fists flying. Chan is in the air, supported by the scarlet powers coming from his palms, launching himself straight for Wonwoo who easily takes him in a headlock. Jihoon dodges Seokmin’s attempt as speeding towards him, at an advantage with his wing pack, sending Seokmin into spirals that have him more disoriented than anything. Jeonghan is caught between Junhui and Hansol, a web trapping his foot to the ground, an arrow barely missing his head as he uses his metal fist to rip the webbing off his shoe and catch Hansol’s fist in one smooth motion. Soonyoung is preoccupied with Seungkwan who is quick on his feet, determined despite Soonyoung’s constant switch between turning ant-sized and normal sized.
Minghao is quick on Seungcheol. The anger in him is apparent, every movement calculated, like he’s imagined this scenario in his head time and time again. When Seungcheol punches, he dodges. If Seungcheol so much as lifts his shield, Minghao is swiping at his uncovered areas with a knife. The frustration bubbles out of Seungcheol quickly as he drives a fist into Minghao’s face, sending him onto the floor, skidding on his back until he stops himself and launches his body up onto his legs.
It’s a mess, it’s loud, it’s chaos.
Jeonghan keeps up easily, but it’s obvious that despite everyone’s own battles, they are trying to get to him above anyone else. Seungcheol watches helplessly, lets his guard down enough for Minghao to slice his shoulder with the sharp tip of his knife. Seungcheol hisses, throwing his shield and barely missing Minghao. Luckily, Chan steps in, hands turning and twisting as he lifts Minghao up into the air only for him to be snatched by Joshua and takes up, up, up until he’s high enough to be dropped.
Wonwoo catches Minghao before he can hit the floor, sets him down gently and turns to Joshua, eyes glowing yellow before a stream of laser shoots out of his irises. Joshua is quick, a curse shouted as he dodges the heat the best he can only to have the area near his ribs scorched.
Jihoon’s wings malfunction when Seokmin speeds behind him, ripping one off in the process, rendering the wing pack useless. Seungcheol watches everything crumble for a moment before he decides to do what he needs to do.
“Soonyoung,” he says. “Parkour.”
“Parkour?” Soonyoung repeats, perking up from where he’s ant-sized and manhandling Seungkwan. “That’s my cue! Wait, that’s my cue—” he tosses Seungkwan aside, knocking the wind out of him, and turns full sized, running toward Seungcheol at full speed with his hand up, thumb hovering over the button attached to his suit. “Tell me when, Cap!”
“Just like we planned!” Seungcheol tells him, waiting, timing it. When Soonyoung is only so far, Seungcheol throws his shield, a silent prayer on his tongue as it spirals towards Soonyoung who disappears in the air, so small that he’s almost invisible to the naked eye.
Then, in the fraction of a second, his tiny form lands on the shield, hopping off before he erupts into a size almost unfathomable.
He’s big. Enormous, towering over the rest of them like they’re nothing but grains of rice in his path.
“What the hell?” Jeonghan gasps, staring up at the shadow being casted down on them.
Soonyoung laughs hysterically, plucking Wonwoo from the air and tossing him away from the scene in almost slow motion, his movements slowed by the sheer mass that he holds. His eyes are almost crazed as he starts to reach toward Seungkwan, laughing as he says, “Here, Seungkwannie, come here,” in a dragging and deep voice.
While Seungkwan tries to run, Soonyoung’s hand is big enough to stop him from going far. He drops Seungkwan on top of a helicopter at least three stories above them, turning to find his next victim.
“This seems unfair!” Hansol shouts as Soonyoung starts to walk toward him, the ground shaking with every step.
The distraction is enough for Seungcheol to pull Jeonghan away, to run toward where he knows there are more planes and some quinjets that can get them out of here. Joshua must pick up on their plan. He plants himself between them and the group, hands extended as his palm glows and he sends shots toward where Junhui is trying to aim arrows at them.
It doesn’t take long for them to get near the quinjet, most of Minghao’s team occupied with trying to take Giant Soonyoung down. Suddenly, the top of the building housing the planes and quinjets begins to crumble from one of Junhui’s explosive arrows. Seungcheol and Jeonghan skid to a halt and something close to dread starts to drench Seungcheol’s being.
But, like a saving grace, the concrete is surrounded by wisps of crimson, stopping them from tumbling. Seungcheol snaps his neck to look behind him and sees Chan standing, feet planted to the floor and hands trembling as he keeps the concrete from collapsing further.
“Go! Go, hyung!” Chan calls, forcing Seungcheol to kick into motion.
The moment he and Jeonghan make it to the planes and quinjets, the concrete crashes to the ground, nearly blocking the entire entrance. Seungcheol is quick, searching for the activation cards he knows are stored somewhere around here. In his rush, he barely notices that Jeonghan isn’t moving.
Seungcheol pauses, turning to glance over his shoulder, surprised to find Jeonghan standing still, chest heaving, eyes locked on the ground. “Hannie?” he tries. “We—we have to hurry.”
Jeonghan shakes his head. “This is… Seungcheol—don’t you—isn’t this enough? You're fighting your friends.”
Seungcheol freezes. “If they’re not your friends, they’re not my friends.”
“What does it matter?” Jeonghan whispers. “It’s—this whole thing has been a shitshow, Seungcheol. I’m ruining your life.”
“You’re not ruining anything, Jeonghan,” Seungcheol snaps, facing Jeonghan now. “Why would you say that?”
Something sounds near them. A shadow is casted on one of the gaps leading to them, and before they know it, Minghao is stumbling in. He’s covered in dust, bleeding from his nose and his eyebrow, breathing heavily and limping as he walks toward them, holding a gun up to Jeonghan’s head.
“Don’t,” Minghao gasps through pain, “fucking move.”
Jeonghan glances at Seungcheol, lips pressed together in defeat. Seungcheol shakes his head.
“I don’t know if I’m worth all of this, Seungcheol.”
“Jeonghan,” Seungcheol tries, but Jeonghan is already stepping away, hands in the air.
He kneels in front of Minghao, bringing his hands up to the back of his head hanging low.
“I surrender,” he says, his voice echoing in Seungcheol’s skull.
Minghao furrows his eyebrows, but drops his gun, grabbing vibranium handcuffs from his belt and clipping them onto Jeonghan. They won’t do much—Jeonghan could easily break them if he really tried. But he doesn’t try. Instead, he follows Minghao’s request to stand up, refusing to meet Seungcheol’s eyes.
Minghao looks at Seungcheol up and down. “Be grateful he surrendered.”
Bitterness seeps into Seungcheol’s tongue, something far from grateful.
Notes:
gasp... did you expect that? i told you i'd be changing so much! anyway im so excited for these next chapters because ive been wanting to get to these coming portions since i started thinking about writing this. i will see you soon with the next update!
(but also i get married in about 3 weeks so... if the update takes long, that's why)
kudos and comments appreciated and loved <3
Chapter 7: VII. Bite the Hand That Feeds Me
Summary:
Bite the Hand - boygenius
Notes:
we're back baby! married and back!
TW: mentions of blood, scars, injuries, stitches, violence
Chapter Text
Your hands are gravity
while my hands are tied
I can’t love you
how you want me to
Pardoned.
Seungcheol half expected for Minghao to be bluffing, willing to do anything to make sure that the Winter Soldier was in his custody. But he’s true to his word—Jihoon, Chan, Joshua, Soonyoung, and himself are no longer regarded as criminals.
This was never really about that anyway, Seungcheol knows this. Still, it doesn’t feel rewarding. It doesn’t feel like much really except like a bullet to the back. All his efforts and Jeonghan is still here in a holding cell made of materials that make it impossible for him to escape. Like a trapped animal for everyone’s cruel viewing. Alone, awaiting a trial that he doesn’t stand a chance at.
“You look like a kicked puppy.” Seungcheol turns his head, arms still crossed in front of his broad chest as he looks Minghao up and down. He’s standing with a straight spine, hands clasped behind his back. There’s a smirk on his face as he looks at Seungcheol, very obviously amused at the way the corners of Seungcheol’s mouth are turned down in disapproval. When Seungcheol doesn’t break, Minghao rolls his eyes. “Come on, Captain. Be happy, yeah? He’s alive, you’re alive. And you’re not a felon. This is the best case scenario.”
Seungcheol’s jaw twitches. He turns his head back toward the confined room Jeonghan is being kept in. Two way glass—Seungcheol can see him clearly, can see the way his metal arm flexes at his side as he sits on the small bed pushed up against the opposite wall. His head hangs low, hair in his face as he looks down at the white and polished floor, mouth pressed into a straight line before he sighs, lips parting with the silent exhale.
Seungcheol swallows, the sound in the back of his throat ringing in his skull. “You locked him up like an animal.”
Minghao shrugs. “I guarantee you he’s been kept in worse conditions than this.”
Bile crawls up Seungcheol’s throat as his eyes flicker across the space. A sink, a separated and closed off area with a toilet and bath. A slot in the secured door where he’s fed four times a day or more if he requests. The tucked in comforter on the bed. As if sensing a presence, Jeonghan lifts his head up, eyes looking right through Seungcheol. “That still doesn’t make it okay.”
Minghao doesn’t reply this time. Instead, he turns on his heel and leaves Seungcheol on his own to linger and hover until he himself is being asked to leave when a medical staff comes to conduct a physical examination on Jeonghan. Before he can think of putting up a fight, he’s being escorted out, looking over his shoulder desperately in time to catch the panicked look on Jeonghan’s face when the door to the cell opens and he’s met with unfamiliar faces.
It’s all he can think of on his way back to his quiet apartment. It’s all he thinks about as he tries to take his mind off it, tearing through another punching bag in their training room, showering after he feels something similar to pain in his knuckles as they bleed for a moment before the skin repairs itself. Even as the scalding shower drips down his neck and spine, he finds the memory of Jeonghan replaying in his mind like a broken record.
It shouldn’t come as a surprise when someone knocks on his apartment door, but he still can’t help but be a little shocked at Chan standing on the other side, hands clasped in front of himself shyly as he greets Seungcheol with an unsure smile. It’s odd seeing him now, clean and calm, the target on his back from the sheer association with Captain Korea lifted, gone. Pardoned.
It’s been a few weeks since they returned, still getting back on their feet and trying to navigate shaky ground left behind by everything.
Winter has started, autumn long forgotten, and it may start snowing at any point—at least, that’s what Wonwoo keeps mentioning.
“How have you been, Chan?” Seungcheol asks once Chan has crossed the threshold with hesitance. He’s glancing around like he’s looking for signs that time has passed, that things have changed. Everything remains the same, dust settled in the corners of this apartment where Seungcheol no longer frequents. Not that he did all that much before, but now it’s more hollow, like he’s become a ghost in his own way.
Chan raises an eyebrow, turning slowly to face Seungcheol. His eyes dance across Seungcheol’s face, head tilting. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”
“You already know me,” Seungcheol answers, giving Chan a smile that he hopes reaches his eyes but knows better. He hasn’t slept all that much, woken up by nightmares containing memories and, newly, warped memories. Things that are not quite right, spiralling and derailing until he’s waking up with tear stained cheeks and a raw throat. And, worst of all, the reminder that the star of all his dreams is so close yet so far. “I’m taking it one day at a time. What about you? How are things with you… ah… Seokmin?”
It’s a loaded question, he knows this, but he feels the need to ask.
Chan inhales sharply, clicking his tongue playfully even though Seungcheol can see the way his fingers wring together nervously. “Seokmin hyung is glad I’m okay. We… We haven't talked much about what happened in Europe, but I think he’s just upset that we got dragged into it in the first place. There was a lot kept from us, so it’s hard thinking that we can’t trust some people like we could before. It’s hitting him more, though. He trusted SHIELD more than I did.”
Seungcheol wishes he could offer some encouraging words, the promise that truly, this was a bad call of judgement from SHIELD, from Minghao and all of those he managed to insert into the situation. But bitterness still sits in his bones, chokes him when he thinks about it too much. If they had just listened to him, if they had been able to understand that beneath the Winter Soldier there is a human, this wouldn’t have escalated. That’s neither here nor there now. Jeonghan is locked in a cage several floors below ground. A doctor is touching the welted and jagged scars on his arm where flesh is forcefully joined with metal, proof that the pain Jeonghan has endured is unfathomable, that perhaps he has seen and experienced more than Seungcheol can even imagine.
He doesn’t realize he’s clocked out of the conversation until the warmth of Chan’s hand on his forearm startles him.
“Hyung?” Chan says gently, like cornering a frantic animal. “Are you okay?”
Seungcheol swallows shakily, throat pinching in discomfort as he offers something far from a smile and more of the twitching of his mouth. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay.”
For a moment, Chan’s eyes flicker with the color of crimson only for the brown to take over again. He presses his lips together, hand squeezing Seungcheol. “It doesn’t seem like it.”
Something in Seungcheol almost breaks, like a fraying line tethered to him ready to snap. He doesn’t let it. He straightens his back, sucks in air until his lungs feel like they may burst, and exhales. “It’s… I’m sorry. I just have a lot on my mind right now. It’s not important.”
Chan is looking at him with an unreadable expression, lips pressed together, eyes dancing across Seungcheol’s face. His voice is quiet, a crackle against the silence, as he speaks. “You don’t need to lie to me, hyung.”
Silence stretches between them, filling in all the empty space as Seungcheol wills himself to keep his gaze on Chan, unmoving. A small breath leaves his mouth as he smiles gently. “I know.”
“Okay,” Chan whispers with a nod. He steps back, fingers trailing on Seungcheol’s skin, the warmth still lingering even after.
A subtle hum sounds and Seungcheol snaps his eyes toward the hallway where a yellow glow fades. Wonwoo comes into view, feet softly landing on the floor as he lets himself down from the air. His eyes lock on Chan’s immediately, something softening in them.
“Apologies,” Wonwoo says, looking at Seungcheol now. “I was searching for Chan and I—”
“That’s okay,” Seungcheol tells him with a nod. “We were just finishing up talking.”
Chan nods too, giving Wonwoo a small smile. “Did you need something, Wonwoo?”
“Yes, well—not particularly.” There’s a pause as Wonwoo looks between the two. “I am detecting irregular heartbeats from both of you—one associated with anxiety and the other with nervousness. I would recommend breathing exercises for temporary relief—”
“We’re okay,” Chan says, stepping toward Wonwoo, a hand coming up to caress the artificial skin of his face. “I was just thinking of going to the kitchen to eat. Are you joining me?”
“Yes—yes. I can accompany you. And provide you with company,” Wonwoo says quickly. “If you are done here with Captain, then I would be more than happy to accompany you—”
“Have fun,” Seungcheol says over him, unsure if he needs to help a synthetic being with profound knowledge out with something as human and trivial as flirting.
Sometimes he wishes the world didn’t move so fast.
⍟
Seungcheol is walking.
The streets are littered, the sky dark with night and ash from the day. It’s familiar, like he has lived it before. Abandoned buildings surrounding, everything quiet. His feet ache as he walks and the street lights flicker.
There’s a poster taunting him, reminding him of his brittle frame, of everything he can never be.
And then, a voice sounds from behind him. “Hey. Why are you running off? You left me alone.”
Seungcheol turns, a stubborn answer ready on his tongue only for it to be caught in his throat with a gasp.
Jeonghan is standing on trembling legs, pale and disoriented. His eyes are wide, lips shaking. His arm is missing, blood seeping through the fabric of his torn sleeve, dripping onto the empty street. His hair is hanging in his face, ice on his lashes and tips of his hair. Blue lips, shivering fingertips.
He looks up at Seungcheol, mouth twitching around unsaid words before he’s collapsing. Seungcheol rushes in to catch him, to break his heavy fall but he is weak, bones brittle and useless and he watches Jeonghan slip through his fingers, falling to the ground with a heavy thud.
Seungcheol is quick to follow, the asphalt digging into his fragile knees as he does his best to gather Jeonghan’s bleeding body into his arms. A drop of water hits Jeonghan’s forehead now resting in Seungcheol’s lap and Seungcheol panics, tilts his head up to the sky only to find no clouds, no signs of rain. Instead, a warm trickle down his cheeks lets him know that his tears are heavy now as his bony and shaking fingers touch Jeonghan, every part of him cold, covered in flaky ice and snow. He’s looking through Seungcheol, eyes glassy and unfocused, as his teeth chatter and a pained gasp leaves his mouth.
“Oh, you’re brave.”
Seungcheol snaps his head up, dark eyes shining in the darkness of the night only accompanied by the dim streetlights. An elderly man takes a step toward him, grey hair, cracked glasses. “Can—can you help me?” Seungcheol pleas, voice cracking through his desperation. Everything feels distant, like he’s watching himself from a perspective outside of himself. “Help me—he’s—he’s dying—”
The man is unfazed.“Very admirable, Choi Seungcheol.”
Jeonghan makes a pained sound. Seungcheol’s mouth hangs open in disbelief—surely this man can hear him. “Sir, please get help, please he needs it—”
“I know a lot of things,” the man continues, a conversation unknown to Seungcheol. “Does your, ah… friend know that you had tried to enlist after he was drafted?”
“My friend is fucking dying!” Seungcheol screams. “Why aren’t you helping me?”
“I am doctor Kim Yeongsuk. And I care about you because, well. I think we can help each other.”
Seungcheol’s throat rips with another scream, another plea.
Help me, please help me. Help him—save him.
The doctor smiles and walks past them, screams growing more and more distant.
✪
A particularly sharp breath startles Seungcheol awake.
His hands are shaking, chest aching and heaving as he sits up, the sheets pooling around his bare torso as he rubs a heavy hand over his face, sweat beading on his forehead. Seungcheol blinks rapidly, getting a grip on his surroundings.
This is now.
It is no longer 1950.
Jeonghan is…
The heaviness in his throat weighs him down as he glances over at the digital clock on his nightstand.
03:32.
There’s no point in trying to go back to sleep. If he somehow manages to doze off again, it will be fitful and another warped memory will manifest itself in a dream and… Well, he knows he won’t be able to pull himself together at whatever his subconscious comes up with.
Despite his better judgement, he gets up and dresses himself quickly in black sweatpants and a matching sweatshirt before grabbing the keys to his motorcycle and heads out of the apartments in the silence of the night.
The air is cold against his face as he drives through the empty streets, body working on autopilot as his body leans into every turn he takes.
The SHIELD building is nearly vacant when he arrives. When he enters through the back entrance only for those important enough to have access to, the security guard does a double take—eyes wide when they make eye contact.
“Sir—Captain! Hi! Good—good morning,” the guard says, stiffly saluting Seungcheol.
Seungcheol smiles, giving him a regarding nod and saluting him back, walking past him and inputting his personal code into the door. They open with heavy sounds, the intricate security system giving way. No one else gives him a double take as he makes his way to the elevator. He presses the button for the second ground floor, standing in the middle, his reflection staring back at him as the doors close.
When they finally open back up, breaking his reflection apart and revealing the holding cell, Seungcheol’s jaw clenches as he forces himself to take the few steps out of the confined space of the elevator, feet heavy against the cold, cement floor.
Jeonghan is not sleeping.
He’s lying on his back on the floor of the cell, staring up at the ceiling with a blank expression. His surroundings are nearly untouched, no sign of him doing more than just this.
Seungcheol steps forward slowly, every miniscule move feeling like he’s being weighed down the closer and closer he gets. Jeonghan remains unmoving, chest rising and falling gently as he blinks, lashes fanned against his skin beneath the harsh lighting.
Finally, Seungcheol stands face to face with the glass, a heavy breath leaving him as he sways forward, pressing his forehead against the cold material and squeezing his eyes to feel something other than pressure in his chest. He takes a chance, opening his eyes just as Jeonghan’s eyebrows furrow and he turns his head slowly. His movements are careful, calculated as he peels himself off of the floor gracefully, turning until one knee is on the floor in a crouch, fingertips brushing against the floor as he rises and stands straight, head tilting to the side curiously.
Then, Jeonghan walks toward the glass wall, each step dragging until he’s standing right in front of Seungcheol, eyes flickering across what can only be his own reflection, unbeknownst to Seungcheol’s presence. He’s close, so fucking close that Seungcheol swears he can feel Jeonghan’s breath hitting his face, can feel the subtle heat of his body against his own.
Jeonghan’s flesh hand reaches out, fingertips trailing across the glass, right over where Seungcheol’s face is staring back at him, eyes shining and hoping, hoping for something.
Time stretches as Jeonghan stares through Seungcheol. He doesn’t say anything, only lingers for a moment before he’s pressing his lips together and mumbling something that goes unheard under his breath. Then, he steps away without a second glance, lying on the thin cot with his back to Seungcheol, curling in on himself like something trying to fade away, out of sight.
✪
Two days pass and Seungcheol is trying to get back into his routine for the sense of some normalcy. He wakes up early and finds himself at a familiar track, more than surprised to see Jihoon there too. Luckily, Jihoon notices at the same time, standing up straight from where he had been stretching and tilting his chin up in greeting.
“Trying to have some control?” Jihoon asks, like he can see right through Seungcheol.
Seungcheol can’t find it in himself to lie. “Yeah. You?”
“Same,” Jihoon answers shortly.
They fall into a light jog alongside one another, the cold air nipping at their skin as one lap turns into two and two turns into three. For once, Seungcheol isn’t plagued by his thoughts. It’s silent, only the sound of their synced footsteps filling his ears, taking over all his senses for a fleeting moment before the trance is broken by the sharp trill of Jihoon’s phone.
He ignores it at first, a confused expression flashing across his face before he shoots Seungcheol an apologetic look. “Forgot to put it on silent.”
Seungcheol says nothing, hoping to fall back into the mind numbing silence.
The phone rings again and Jihoon’s pace falters until he’s slowing to a stop. Seungcheol follows, something pricking beneath his skin. Jihoon curses beneath a huff and answers it. “What? I’m busy—”
Seungcheol’s amplified hearing picks it up easily. “Is Cap with you?”
Jihoon glances at Seungcheol. “Yeah, why?”
“The Winter Soldier has escaped.”
✪
Everything around Seungcheol becomes a tunneled blur until he and Jihoon are rushing into the ground floor where Jeonghan is— was— being kept. Several people are already frantically working, clearing the shards of glass from the cell off the floor, looking for clues of where he could have gone, calling agents and arranging things. Seungkwan shoulders past them, phone to his ear as he rattles off an absurd number that can only be demands of the amount of agents he wants patrolling Seoul.
Two medical staff part on the other side of the room, revealing Minghao lying back on a makeshift bed with a blank stare as someone stitches a gash on his thigh.
As if sensing a new presence, he rolls his head toward where Jihoon and Seungcheol are walking toward him and raises an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth tilting up in a sort of playfulness. “Hey, nice to see you both—”
“What happened?” Seungcheol says over him. It’s not a question, it’s a demand. He needs answers.
“What, no small talk anymore?” Minghao tsks. “I thought all the animosity was over—”
“Minghao,” Seungcheol snaps, unamused and impatient.
Minghao sighs, sitting up straighter and waving off the help offered from the staff. His red hair is sticking up on the back of his head and Seungcheol can make out the exhaustion in his features, the dried and crusted blood on his fingers and beneath his nails. Minghao’s eyes meet Seungcheol’s as he speaks. “I was told that the Winter Soldier asked to speak to me privately. When I came down here, he wouldn’t talk until everyone left the room, which I didn’t mind—I can handle myself. Then he… He offered to give me information about HYDRA and the Red Room. Bases, rendezvous points, areas that we couldn’t have found ourselves and… And I didn’t get to ask what the catch was—he just started talking. He kept talking and gave me this.”
Minghao grabs a crumpled napkin with brownish-red stains on the edges from beneath his uninjured thigh and holds it toward Seungcheol. Seungcheol takes it with a tight jaw, taking in the hand drawn maps, coordinates, codes, passwords, everything SHIELD would need to get into these spaces, to take them apart like they’ve always wanted. Before Seungcheol can get his head on straight, Minghao continues. “He gave me this and all of a sudden he was saying sorry and…” He gestures toward the laceration now stitched up on his thigh. “He cut me with some impressively made shank and then he was gone. Punched the glass and it didn’t take much for it to shatter, so either we need to start discussing the design flaws or we underestimated his strength.”
Seungcheol barely hears Minghao’s attempt at lightening up the mood, already turning and rushing toward the elevator to get his suit and shield and find Jeonghan—
He’s stopped by a hand on his bicep. Seungkwan shakes his head with a frown. “You’re not going anywhere.”
Seungcheol forcefully pulls his arm out of the grasp. “I need to find him—”
“You don’t need to do anything,” Seungkwan says, voice firm and unwavering. His eyebrows crease in annoyance, the scar on his forehead moving as well. “You’re staying here unless I tell you otherwise.”
“You can’t call a manhunt on him again,” Seungcheol tells him, voice breaking into a desperate whisper, brown eyes meeting Seungkwan’s frantically. “He’s scared, Seungkwan, I know he is and he’s—he’s trying to make things right even if he doesn’t know how to. He’s trying.”
Seungkwan takes the napkin pushed into his hand, staring down at it with a sigh. “It’s not a manhunt—”
“Then let me go—”
“Please, Seungcheol,” Seungkwan pleads. “I know you have no reason to, but please trust me. He’s not going to get hurt, I can give you my word even if it doesn’t mean much, but you can’t go looking for him this time. We—we can’t afford it.”
Seungcheol lets out a breath, taking a slight step back. He knows what Seungkwan means. Jeonghan will only run more if he sees that it’s Seungcheol trying to find him again. It’s the truth, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less.
“Seungcheol,” Seungkwan tries, reaching out to steady him, but Seungcheol steps back again.
“It’s—I have to go,” he manages to say through a burning throat. He can vaguely see Jihoon across the room already moving toward him, so he rushes to the opening elevator doors, trembling hands at his sides as they close just as Jihoon breaks into a jog to try and catch him.
It doesn’t take long for him to sag against the side wall, the silence enveloping him.
✪
There is no update about Jeonghan in the days that bleed into weeks.
Seungcheol waits for something, lingers around during conversations in hopes of hearing something, but nothing is said or even hinted at. The other team members are just as in the dark as he is, or at least that’s what Jihoon has told him after the VA meetings he’s been pushing Seungcheol to attend. It doesn’t help in the way Jihoon thinks it does, but at the very least Seungcheol is forced to do something with his days instead of tearing apart punching bags and running until the soles of his shoes are worn down.
Today, Seungcheol follows his vague routine the best he can, trying to shake off the dream of summer skies and melon popsicles as he jogs laps with the bitter wind hitting his face. He stops when he can see clouds looming over, threatening to spill rain any second. Jihoon doesn’t call him with an invitation to visit the VA today, a good indication that he is being briefed for a short mission. He’s been slowly given his workload back, earning the trust that he previously worked so hard to build. The guilt still sits on Seungcheol’s tongue, still clings onto him when he sees Jihoon because, after all, who else is to blame but Seungcheol?
Everything around him is the result of his own selfish actions.
There’s nothing more to say about that, really. All he can do now is sit with the guilt and hope that one day, it’ll choke him enough to keep the air from entering his lungs.
His mood is dampened further as the rain begins to fall and he forces himself to cut his jog short and retreat back to the apartments. By the time he gets back, having walked by foot, he’s soaked in rain, heading straight for his shower. When he’s done and dressed in blue jeans and a white t-shirt, he heads into the kitchen to force himself to eat something.
Just as he goes to grab a fruit to choke down, Joshua enters the kitchen area, perking up as he notices Seungcheol.
“Oh, hey!” Joshua greets excitedly with a wide smile. He pushes the sleeves of his blue sweater up past his elbows and leans against the island as Seungcheol turns to face him with a careful smile. “I haven’t seen you around, how’s it going?”
“It’s…” Seungcheol closes the fridge, properly regarding Joshua this time. “Taking it one day at a time.”
Joshua looks him up and down with a hum. He tilts his chin up. “Let’s eat together, yeah?”
Seungcheol shakes his head. “I can’t—”
“You don’t have to pretend like you’re busy when I know you’re not,” Joshua says, the corner of his mouth tilting up slightly. It’s not condescending, not malicious at all—it’s comforting if anything.
Seungcheol smiles bashfully. “Sorry.”
“I’ll let it slide,” Joshua tells him, slapping a hand on Seungcheol’s back. “After all, I know times are tough right now—well, for some of us more than others. Come on, I can order us that nice, American breakfast I promised you.”
✪
The breakfast is grand in a way Seungcheol has never seen before—pancakes, bacon, ham, eggs in all sorts of different styles, fruit, hash browns, potatoes. Seungcheol sits on the other end of Joshua’s glass dining table with his hands twitching against the cool and clean material, unsure where he should even start. Meanwhile, Joshua is already loading his plate, glancing up at Seungcheol and gesturing toward the food in between them with his fork.
“Help yourself, Cap. I can’t eat all of this by myself and I know that you can.”
Seungcheol gives him a polite smile before taking Joshua’s offer and helping himself. They eat in silence for the first ten minutes until the silence makes Seungcheol restless. “What have you been up to, Joshua?”
Joshua raises an amused eyebrow, tongue poking at his cheek until his sitting up straight. “Well, nothing too eccentric. Surprising, right? For the most part I’ve been updating the gang’s suits. Soonyoung broke his helmet during our little battle—he’s been showing up in the shop almost every day asking if it’s done and at this point I might as well get it done so that he can bother someone else. Oh, and I’ve been working on a newer version of the ol’ Iron Man suit. Less bulky, more techy. It’s gonna be beautiful, you’ll love it.”
“What, no missions anymore?” Seungcheol asks, a joking lilt to his tone even though it’s more of a genuine question. The last time he worked on an assignment with Joshua was over two years ago, the two of them along with Minghao and Junhui, before SHIELD began to expand. Part of him wonders if Joshua is still considered part of the team.
“Well,” Joshua says with a shrug. “There’s no mission important enough for me to care about.”
Seungcheol gives him a look, unable to help the way his eyebrow quirks up. “Not much of a hero type?”
“I prefer my saving to be… behind the scenes,” Joshua smiles tightly. “Have I told you about the charity event I’m planning?”
“Ah. No, you haven’t.”
“That’s right. I haven’t. I can be humble too, you know?
Seungcheol can’t help but tilt his head down, chuckling. He knows better than to doubt Joshua’s intentions. He hates the word philanthropist but it’s what all the articles written about him call him. Joshua Hong, billionaire, young gay bachelor, philanthropist. Someone who is interesting in a way that Seungcheol envies.
“Something is heavy on your mind, Seungcheol,” Joshua says suddenly, pushing his own plate away. “I’ve been told I’m a good listener and an even better kisser. Which do you want to find out first?”
Seungcheol presses his lips together before biting the bullet. There’s really only been one thing on his mind. “Have you heard anything regarding Jeonghan?”
Joshua’s eyes dance across Seungcheol’s face before he’s sighing. “I’m not in the loop with whatever is going on there. I’m sorry.”
He’s honest, Seungcheol can tell by his steady heartbeat and unwavering stare. “Okay. Thank you.”
There’s a beat of silence as Seungcheol continues eating and Joshua observes him. He feels naked beneath the heavy gaze, the constant flicker of Joshua’s eyes as Seungcheol shifts in his seat.
“What was your favorite thing about him?”
The question is so sudden that it takes Seungcheol a moment to process it. He blinks and Joshua stares back at him patiently, waiting for an answer that Seungcheol is more than happy to give once he has his bearings. “There’s… There’s so much, I don’t even know where to start. His humor—that’s the first thing that comes to mind when I think about him. He’s the only person that can make me laugh, actually laugh. Until my stomach hurts. Sometimes, I’d be laughing so hard that I’d start coughing and it felt like my lungs were gonna shrivel up and kill me. And then, Jeonghan would run and grab my inhaler. He would rub my back until I could catch my breath and he would apologize until I got annoyed.” Seungcheol smiles fondly at the memories coming back to him.
“His kindness, too. His selflessness. Everyone around him noticed it too, you know? The soldiers would call him an angel, even with his foul mouth. If he took the last piece of bread, he’d do his best to split it evenly with everyone. If he saw someone shivering, he’d offer the jacket off his own back. He fed a stray dog the only scraps of food we had when we were heading north—God, I must’ve called him stupid about a hundred times and he never got angry. All he said was, ‘dogs need to eat too, Cheollie’ and I shut up so fast because he was right. Always thinking about the less fortunate, putting himself in their shoes. Always the smarter one. Not once did he ever make me feel less than, even when it felt like I was nothing but a speck of dust in this world. When I’m with him, it feels like I’m worth something because he thinks I am—has always thought that even before the serum.”
Seungcheol picks at the skin around his thumb, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth as he inhales shakily. “I’ve never felt like that around anyone else, you know? That’s what’s special about Jeonghan. He makes you feel like you’re worth something, no matter who you are.”
When he looks up, Joshua’s sympathetic focus staring back at him. Joshua looks down at the table, eyebrows raising slightly as he smiles with a hum. “You speak about him in present tense.”
“He’s alive,” Seungcheol replies. “I’m not gonna treat him like he’s ten feet under, not anymore." Not when I know he’s alive.”
“I didn’t mean it like that,” Joshua explains. “I meant… You still talk about him like it’s the nineteen fifties. Like you both haven’t changed.”
Seungcheol blinks, stunned into silence because, well. He hadn’t noticed, more than happy to sit in the thought of Jeonghan longer than anyone has ever let him. “It’s… I don’t know why.”
“Maybe you wish things were how they used to be,” Joshua says nonchalantly. “But change is something that you’ve been forced to barrel through more than most people. Have you ever thought that maybe Jeonghan feels the same way?”
“I… No. I hadn’t thought about it like that,” Seungcheol whispers, an ache starting to bloom in his chest.
“Don’t start feeling guilty,” Joshua says playfully even though Seungcheol knows that he means it seriously. “It’s hard to put things into perspective when your boyfriend comes back from the dead as an assassin. I mean, really—everyone needs to cut you some slack and focus on the true matter at hand.”
Seungcheol presses his lips together, fist clenched on top of the table for a moment before he flattens his hand. “And what’s that?”
“Jeonghan needs help instead of being criminalized,” Joshua says. “A few little birdies told me—sorry, that’s a lie, I looked through the database and asked Wonwoo—but I digress. What I’m trying to say is that I know that he willingly gave up information on HYDRA before he broke out of his holding area—which, we really need to get a better way to house criminals, Jesus Christ. Anyway, he gave up precious HYDRA information that SHIELD has been trying to find for the last several decades. He didn’t kill Minghao either, which tells me that there’s still some good in him, there’s still Yoon Jeonghan begging to come through the Winter Soldier that the rest of us see when we look at him. He needs help finding his way out of whatever the fuck HYDRA put him through.”
As much as Seungcheol agrees, he knows that SHIELD tends to be narrow minded when it comes to grey areas like this. “I don’t think SHIELD would even know where to start with that.”
Joshua leans back, shrugging his shoulders and putting his hands behind his head. “Maybe I can help come up with some things.”
✪
The fluorescent lights are a bright and sudden shift from the grey clouds painted across the sky outside. They’re early—Jihoon tends to arrive an hour before the start of the meetings to set up the coffee station and the table of pastries that seem to be the highlight of these meetings for some people. Seungcheol makes himself useful where he can, setting up the folding chairs in a circle, making sure that no suspicious strangers are lingering for longer than they should be. It’s quiet as Jihoon hums a song under his breath, one that Seungcheol vaguely recognizes as a recommendation Jihoon had given him when they first met. Bruno Mars—Jihoon’s favorite artist.
The melody comes to a halt and Jihoon’s speaking voice is filling the empty air between them instead. “You gonna speak today?”
Seungcheol looks up from where he’s adjusting a chair, dark hair pushed away from his face, the sleeves of his blue long sleeve shirt pushed up to his elbows. He knows that Jihoon knows the answer. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“You never think it’s a good idea,” Jihoon says, pressing a button on the coffee machine, a gentle chime sounding between them. “Have you ever considered the possibility that maybe people that attend these things want to hear what you have to say and don’t just want to ogle you sitting there all broodily?”
“Why would anyone want to hear what I have to say about all this, Jihoon?” Seungcheol snaps. He’s only here because he knows that it brings Jihoon some peace of mind, but that doesn’t mean that he’s deserving of all of this, of all the praise that has been thrown his way since the serum hit his veins. It doesn’t mean that anyone wants to hear the bullshit that comes out of his mouth. “I mean, Jesus. A lot of these people have it worse than me—some of them can’t even get out of their bed most mornings and you think they want to hear me complain about an occasional nightmare I have from time to time? It’s not fair. I haven’t earned half of the respect I’m given, and I’m not gonna sit here and pretend that I have.”
Jihoon turns to face him properly, arms crossed in front of his chest and eyebrows knitted together. His jaw clenches as his tongue runs over his teeth. “You really think this is some sort of Who’s Had It Worse competition? Some pity party these people want to be thrown into every single week? Because if you think that’s the case then you’ve been more in your head than I thought you were. This is about community, Captain. It’s about finding people who can relate even if it’s the smallest, most miniscule thing like—like hearing a loud noise in public and feeling like you’re going to die all over again. And as tough as you are, as tough as you’ve been forced to be, I know that deep down you’re just as human as the rest of us here. I’ve seen it, Seungcheol. But the rest of the people here haven’t and maybe you’re the hope they need that, even if it might feel out of reach right now, it gets better eventually.”
Seungcheol swallows roughly, like there’s a shard scraping down the tissue of his throat. “I can’t tell them it gets better, Jihoon-ah. I can’t lie to them.”
Jihoon blinks, arms dropping as he presses his lips together and steps forward to put a hand on Seungcheol’s muscled shoulder. “Then don’t. Be honest.” Honest. It sounds easy when it comes from Jihoon’s mouth, someone who has no problem with honesty even if it’s brutal. "If you’re not ready today, that’s okay. But I want you to start trying to get there.
“Okay,” Seungcheol says, something like a half promise. “I’ll try.”
✪
As he tends to do during these meetings, Seungcheol blends into the background. He smiles when someone stares, he greets people when they approach him, always in awe. There are new faces every week and he does his best to remember everyone’s name, small details that he can bring up the next time they see each other if they attend again. It’s worth it to see the way they light up the slightest bit, a spark in the dull room that seems to paint everyone in a weary light
He listens to their stories, their small triumphs. They’re all brave in their own way, brave in a way that Seungcheol has never been. They take each day one at a time, sit in their discomfort and sorrow instead of pushing it to the back of their minds. They’re getting help, trying to become better people for not only everyone around them, but for themselves first and foremost.
“I know that it isn’t my fault,” a young man says, hands clasped together in his thighs as he pushes through his words. “But part of me feels like a burden, like I’m in the way of everyone around me. I want to stop feeling like that, but I know that comes with self healing first and… and I’m scared shitless.”
He’s met with a chorus of agreeing hums until he’s finished expressing all the thoughts plaguing his mind. And then come the encouraging words, the kindness, the willingness to be a part of this community and help one another. To encourage each other to put themselves first.
Seungcheol wishes he could be the same, wishes he could put himself first but the thought is always bitter on his tongue. People need him. The country needs him and it doesn’t have time to wait around for him to become the best version of himself.
Maybe this is as good as it gets.
✪
The following week, Seungcheol skips the Friday meeting. He doesn’t tell Jihoon why, but he figures that he’s smart enough to catch on. He’s not much fun when he’s sitting there feeling like a fraud, like the weakest person in the room with the most secrets tucked into his back pocket. He distracts himself in the gym for four hours straight, sweat beading off his temples as another punching bag splits open and pours out at his feet. It’s only when Seungkwan finds him sweeping up the mess that he decides that maybe it’s best if he went home and turned in for the rest of the short night.
The shower burns his skin into a pink hue. His reflection stares back at him behind fogged glass and he doesn’t bother wiping the condensation, knowing that a shell of himself will be staring back at him for minutes on end until he looks like a stranger. He shakes his hair dry, ruffles it with a towel and pats his face, mouth partially opened as he catches a water drop trailing down his neck.
His pajamas are a simple white t-shirt and soft, flannel pants that pool around his ankles in a way that is all too familiar of the past. The lights are all turned off as he drags his feet to his bedroom, lying against the stiff mattress and pulling the comforter up to his chest, staring at the ceiling casting shadows of Seoul from the floor to ceiling windows exposed in the gaps of his curtains.
Eventually, his eyes shut heavily, chest rising and falling as he slips into a partial sleep. This time, there is no dream to accompany him, no memory coming to the surface only to be completely distorted by the broken pieces of his mind. Everything around him feels as if it’s unsteady. The air shifts, the darkness of his slumber starts to shake and he wakes up with a startled gasp that he’s grown familiar with.
Only this time, it isn’t the recollection of a nightmare that greets him.
A dark figure is perched at the end of his bed—hunched over, seeming smaller than they actually are. The silence is broken every few seconds by punctuated, staccato hitching of a breath that does not belong to Seungcheol. Fear seizes Seungcheol’s chest as he goes to scramble for his shield beside his bed, only for all his limbs to freeze when the shift causes the moonlight to beam into his room, a streak of opal light flashing across the figure’s face.
Jeonghan’s frightened eyes snap up, locking on Seungcheol.
He’s crying. Tears stain the smooth skin of his cheeks, shining against the subtle light bleeding onto him. His teeth are clenched tightly, the muscles of his jaw twitching, the spit on his teeth gleaming right at Seungcheol. His dark and unkempt hair hangs in his face, partially blocking his wet eyes and the darkness beneath the tender skin. The most jarring sight that catches Seungcheol’s eye is the blood trickling out of both of Jeonghan’s ears, crimson and heavy, staining the skin of his ear lobes.
Seungcheol’s throat is dry, chest trembling as his mouth twitches around words that he cannot find. He’s still, careful not to startle Jeonghan into leaving again, but before he can think of what else to do to ensure that he stays, Jeonghan’s gritty and broken voice is cracking against the silence. “Cheollie—”
The nickname falls short on his tongue as he shatters, face scrunching up as a sob rips from his chest. This time, Seungcheol moves quickly, lurching across the bed to gather Jeonghan in his arms, relieved when Jeonghan clings onto him desperately.
Jeonghan’s tears are hot and heavy against the fabric of Seungcheol’s shirt, quickly dampening the material until Seungcheol is carefully shifting Jeonghan’s face onto a drier part of his shirt. He can feel the way Jeonghan’s fingers are curling against the fabric, nails scratching at Seungcheol’s skin like he’s afraid that he’ll disappear in his grasp. Seungcheol holds him tighter, a silent promise that he’s gonna stay—all he’s ever wanted is Jeonghan.
He caresses Jeonghan’s back, hands ceaseless in tender touches that press into Jeonghan’s back, his arms, through his matted hair. When Seungcheol opens his eyes, he finds his hand painted a scarlet red, the blood coming from Jeonghan’s ears smudged against both of their skin. He’s gentle as he speaks, kissing the side of Jeonghan’s head before the words leave his mouth.
“Hannie,” he whispers through a sniffle. “You—you need to wash up, baby. Let’s get you washed up, yeah?”
Jeonghan tenses up in Seungcheol’s hold before nodding curtly.
He’s small in Seungcheol’s steadying hold. It’s almost hard to remember that they’re the same height, that realistically Jeonghan is only smaller in mass rather than anything else. But like this, with Jeonghan curled in against Seungcheol, he’s never been so fragile. Seungcheol swallows back the nausea threatening to rise from his stomach and leads them to the bathroom down the hall.
He sits Jeonghan on the toilet as he plugs the drain and fills the bathtub with lukewarm water. Jeonghan is trembling, eyes glossed over when Seungcheol asks if he needs help getting undressed. When he doesn’t answer, Seungcheol tries again, earning a snapped look from Jeonghan before he’s pulling his tattered shirt and sweatpants off himself in a hurry.
Seungcheol slowly eases him into the water, making sure to cast his eyes toward the ceiling in hopes that Jeonghan knows that he still has some privacy, even in a vulnerable state like this. From there, Seungcheol focuses on getting Jeonghan as clean as possible, gliding a soap covered rag over his skin, the water brown and dripping down, staining the bath a murky color as it’s mixed with the crusted blood on his face.
As Seungcheol washes Jeonghan’s hair, Jeonghan sits with his knees against his chest, staring blankly at the water in the tub, his lips pressed into the scars of his knee. His eyelashes flutter slightly as water is gently poured over his head, running clear this time and clumping his eyelashes together with droplets. For a moment, Seungcheol lets his eyes fall onto the tattered scars on Jeonghan’s shoulder where the metal is welded against his flesh. The raised skin travels down his back, marks across his spine and the slight muscles of his stomach. Seungcheol’s hand absentmindedly brushes against the scars, leaning forward and pressing his lips to Jeonghan’s shoulder before swallowing and pushing his forehead against the kissed skin.
The sound of dripping water is subtle. It takes Seungcheol a second to realize that Jeonghan is touching his face, the crooked tips of his fingers trailing on his cheek. Seungcheol looks up, dark eyes shining, eyebrows knitted together in worry. Jeonghan’s mouth parts with a soft sound, lips trembling before pressing together again. He squeezes his eyes shut, hand shaking as he presses his fingers into Seungcheol’s skin.
“Seungcheol,” he says quietly. “I can’t… I’m not… I’m not the same Jeonghan… I don’t—I don’t want you to think… I’m…” He exhales shakily, throat dry and voice hoarse. “I can’t love you like he did.”
“Don’t worry about that right now,” Seungcheol whispers through a thick voice, holding Jeonghan’s wrist gently, kisses the skin of his palm and gets back to the task at hand when he realizes that Jeonghan is starting to shiver. “Come on, you’re running cold.”
When the tub is drained and Jeonghan is sitting on Seungcheol’s bed wrapped in a towel, Seungcheol places pajamas beside Jeonghan, stepping out of the room to go and make him a cup of tea and grab an apple before he can fall asleep. When he returns, Jeonghan is dressed and lying down on his side, back to Seungcheol. When Seungcheol nears him and places the items on the nightstand, Jeonghan reaches out blindly and Seungcheol takes his hand without hesitation, allowing himself to be pulled onto the bed.
They’re nose to nose, the heat of Seungcheol’s body bleeding into Jeonghan’s in a way that makes his body tremble every few minutes. He’s staring at a spot on Seungcheol’s shirt, jaw tight as he breathes in and out slowly, calculated. Seungcheol doesn’t touch him, afraid that any move can be the wrong move. The stillness and silence drags for minutes, almost hours, until Jeonghan is shifting closer, tucking his face into the warmth of Seungcheol’s neck until his inhales and exhales even out into something more relaxed and natural.
Seungcheol closes his eyes despite knowing that sleep won’t come easily, not anymore.
It’s a small price to pay.
Chapter 8: VIII. A Guard Dog With a Death Wish
Summary:
Roadkill - Searows
Notes:
TRIGGER WARNINGS mentions of ptsd, needles, blood, and vomit.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
What if I give up too soon?
A racehorse with nothing to win
Running just ‘cause I’m supposed to
‘Cause they bet too much money on it
And I have nothing to fight with
But I’ll do it ‘cause you asked me to
A guard dog with a death wish
In the center of the ring, I lose
The restless night passes in a blur, filled with pained whimpers leaving Jeonghan’s unconscious body. He doesn’t wake up, something Seungcheol is surprised and grateful for, unsure what his mental state will be upon being pulled out of his rest.
Right now, Seungcheol can make out every minuscule detail on his face for the first time in decades.
The way his skin is still soft, still void of any sort of imperfection. The thickness of his eyelashes, the way they fan across the subtle shift in color beneath his eyes that tell stories of exhaustion, of sleep lost to constant nightmares. The lone mark beneath his eye, like a north star guiding Seungcheol home since the day they met.
Staying here like this, able to memorize every feature again in a way he thought would never be possible, is enough for Seungcheol, but the world outside is still turning and he knows that eventually, he has to tell someone that Jeonghan has appeared again. He’s careful as he removes himself from the space beside Jeonghan, pausing only when he starts to shift and the rustling sheets seem like firecrackers erupting in the silence.
Luckily, Jeonghan relaxes again against the mattress, taken over by sleep. His eyebrows are furrowed, lips tight in a way that Seungcheol knows means that while he may be resting, his mind is still working against him.
The soft sound of Seungcheol’s bare feet padding against the floor follows him until he’s sliding his feet into some slippers and opening the door as quietly as he can, slipping into the hallway and shutting the door behind him in one smooth motion.
What he isn’t expecting is to run straight into Chan who is hovering in front of his apartment door.
He’s equally as startled to see Seungcheol if the frightened hitch of his breath and his wide eyes are any indication. “Hyung—”
“Chan,” Seungcheol starts, looking him up and down. He’s still in his pajamas, a thin long sleeve shirt and grey sweatpants. “What are you doing?”
“It’s—I can’t… I couldn’t sleep,” he stammers out, flinching with the subtle snap of his head. He breathes in and out through an open mouth, opening his eyes slowly before saying, quieter, “Hyung the nightmares, they’re back and they’re… They’re worse.”
Seungcheol freezes. “What do you mean, Chan?”
Chan presses his lips together, straightening his spine and looking Seungcheol in the eyes with a tense jaw. Serious. Seeking answers. “I need you to tell me the truth. Is Jeonghan in your apartment?”
Seungcheol lets out a humorless laugh. “Why—”
“Because it sounds like him screaming in my dreams,” Chan snaps in a hushed whisper, stepping forward so that their chests brush. “I keep seeing snow and a train and you, hyung. Like I’m trying to grab your hand and then… and then I fall. There’s blood—so much blood and—”
Chan is cut off by a grimace and his hands coming up to clutch his head, face contorting in pain as a choked noise leaves his throat.
Seungcheol is quick to pull him into his apartment before anyone can hear the commotion and start searching for the source. The door slams clumsily in his rushed movements and before either of them can do or say anything, a gut wrenching scream booms from Seungcheol’s bedroom.
Chan inhales sharply, eyes closed and hands shaking as he raises his head up, eyes following the sound across the apartment. “Hyung,” he whispers.
Everything in Seungcheol is torn, body hesitating between Chan’s cowering frame and Jeonghan’s scream echoing in his head. But the feeling lasts for only a moment before he kicks into autopilot, rushing toward where Jeonghan is.
The bedroom door is still open and Jeonghan is sitting up with a heaving chest. Seungcheol lets out a breath of relief at the sight—he isn’t hurt and nothing is broken, which is a good sign within itself.
“Hey,” he says, getting closer. “Are you okay—”
A guttural growl claws out of Jeonghan’s throat and before Seungcheol can brace himself, Jeonghan is lurching toward him violently. They collide so forcefully that Seungcheol’s breath is knocked out of his lungs as Jeonghan tackles him onto the floor with a heavy thud. The bedside lamp crashes onto the floor from the impact and the decorations on the shelf above the dresser rattle.
Jeonghan’s metal fist barrels toward Seungcheol’s head, missing when Seungcheol quickly jerks his head to the side. The wood floor beside him splinters, pieces flying into the air and the fine particles landing on Seungcheol’s face and hair.
It doesn’t take long before Chan is running into the bedroom, eyes glowing red along with the tips of his fingers.
“It’s okay,” Seungcheol says quickly in hopes that Chan will trust him and stand down. There is no fight to be had, no battle to be won. He relaxes under Jeonghan’s grip, looks up and finds Jeonghan already staring at him with the same confused and frantic expression he had on the helicarrier all those months ago. He’s trying to make sense of things, Seungcheol can see it. “Hannie, it’s me. It’s Seungcheol— Cheollie. You’re—you’re safe. You’re in my apartment. No one is going to hurt you, Hannie.”
Jeonghan says nothing, still seething, breathing through his teeth as his chest rises and falls rapidly, eyes wildly looking at his surroundings. Seungcheol risks touching him, putting a hand on the warmth of Jeonghan’s flesh hand that is clenched into a fist. The quickness of his breathing slows as his eyes widen, less frantic as he blinks once and then twice.
He calms down slowly, all the tension in his muscles slowly dissipating as Seungcheol’s thumb rubs at the thin skin of his wrist. Without warning, he stumbles up and off of Seungcheol, pushing past Chan and hurrying out of the room, the door to the bathroom down the hall slamming after the sound of footsteps disappears.
Seungcheol drops his head against the floor, lungs finally filling with air the way that they’re meant to. His hand falls on his chest, limp as his heart shakes in his chest and throughout his body. He looks up at Chan, tilting his head back against the floor. Chan stares at him back, upside down in his view with a worried expression etched onto his features, arms wrapped around himself.
Seungcheol’s voice is loud in the quietness. “Call Joshua.”
✪
Through the condensation stains in the mirror, the soldier— Jeonghan— stares back at the reflection that seems to mock him.
Both the flesh hand and metal hand grip onto the sides of the sink, flexing against the cold material as he dips his head down, chin nearly touching his chest as his jaw clenches around the sharpness in his throat and the convulsing in his chest and ribs that makes him sick.
His hands shake as they turn the faucet on, his metal arm clinking against the matte black handle, an image so jarring that he has to squeeze his eyes shut to ground himself. When it turns on with a subtle creak, the sound of metal clumsily colliding with the handle is sharp and it startles him until he’s cursing through gritted teeth, sucking in a breath through his teeth that turns into a low sound in his throat as the tears sting the inner corners of his eyes.
Cold water splashes onto his face, beading on his skin and dripping down his neck as he inhales shakily, lungs burning like a punishment for being alive. His mouth is slack as his hand runs down his face to wipe the excess dampness away. He glances at his reflection again and doesn’t recognize himself.
Long hair, frizzy. Dark. Bags beneath his eyes. Dark. Dull skin, dull eyes. The corners of his mouth turned down.
He looks away quickly, tunes into the hushed whispers exchanged outside. They’re talking about him, he knows they are. He can’t stay in here all day even if it is something he desperately wants to do. Someone will come in to find him, to pull him out and toss him into the eyes of everyone, the eyes of God or whatever entity has the misfortune of overseeing him.
He gathers himself the best he can and steps out, eyes quickly flickering around him to gauge his surroundings. Three voices. Approximately twelve feet away. One is Seungcheol’s—deep, familiar. The other two are familiar as well. Chan, orange hair, glowing fingers. Joshua, confident stature, mechanical red and gold suit. He’s correct, he knows he is and is greeted by the three faces in the opened area of the apartment.
Jeonghan says nothing. His back straightens and his feet are grounded to the floor to stabilize his body. No threats are present. There is tension in every body. Seungcheol’s pacing has stopped, body turned toward Jeonghan. Chan is partially hidden behind Seungcheol, like he trusts that he will be protected like this. Like Jeonghan is someone he must be protected from. Joshua is relaxed, eyes moving up and down Jeonghan’s body like he is trying to figure him out. Jeonghan has already figured him out.
“There he is!” Joshua says loudly, starling Jeonghan. “The star of the show! Other than the little mishap, how’d you sleep?”
“Joshua,” Seungcheol hisses under his breath. Warning. Upset, maybe even annoyed.
Chan is looking back and forth between Seungcheol, Joshua, and Jeonghan. His breathing is unsteady, faltering every time he makes eye contact with Jeonghan.
Jeonghan looks away, throat dry as he swallows but says nothing. There is nothing to say.
“Well,” Joshua starts again with a clap that makes Jeonghan tense up, metal hand flexing at his side just in case any sudden movement catches him off guard." “I’m here for you, Yoon Jeonghan. To help you the way you deserve to be helped contrary to popular belief. I have argued my case with SHIELD and we have agreed that it is in your best interest for me to handle… this.”
“This,” Jeonghan repeats dryly, eyes glancing at Seungcheol for a moment who doesn’t seem all too surprised or against this. “What is ‘ this’? ”
Joshua gestures at Jeonghan. “You know, all of this. You’ve been through more than any of us can even begin to understand and I know that Channie here has somewhat of an idea of what’s going on in that brain of yours, so. First we start with trust. Say, have you ever had an American breakfast?”
Jeonghan’s stomach rumbles. He doesn’t move.
“That’s not a test,” Joshua says. “I’m offering to get you something to eat.”
“Jeonghan,” Seungcheol says quietly. Jeonghan snaps his focus to Seungcheol, jaw clenched as Seungcheol gives him a small nod. “It’s okay. You need to eat something.”
Eat something. Words that should not be so unfamiliar. Jeonghan doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t know what to say.
“Maybe tomorrow,” Joshua says with a kind smile. Jeonghan glares at him. He does not trust Joshua Hong. There is no reason to trust him, but Seungcheol’s expression falls into something that makes Jeonghan’s chest ache. His head hurts.
“I’ll eat,” Jeonghan rasps out. Seungcheol’s eyes widen, content. This is okay. Jeonghan will eat for him.
“Awesome,” Joshua smiles, cocking his head to the side. “Let’s go.”
Jeonghan hesitates before his feet begin to move. He spares one more glance at Seungcheol, unsure of what he wants, but knowing it’s what he needs.
✪
In an attempt to do things, as Joshua puts it, “the right way”, Jeonghan’s days begin with eating breakfast with him and only him.
Seungcheol does his best to push the bitterness aside, to let it go because at the very least Jeonghan is still sleeping in his bed. He still wakes up to Jeonghan beside him, awake more times than not, sleep only lasting for so long before he’s waking up with a scream stuck in his throat. On nights like that, he will get up, create as much space as he can between the both of them. He won’t say a word until Joshua comes to the apartment to collect him.
He should be grateful that Jeonghan isn’t running away this time around, but he can’t help the off feeling that fills him when he isn’t near Jeonghan, which is more often than not since Jeonghan’s days are filled with Joshua trying to break down the concrete walls HYDRA built so high.
He voices this only once. Joshua says that he is emotionally hovering and as much as Seungcheol wants to argue, he knows that Joshua is right. Though, that doesn’t stop the agitating voice in the back of Seungcheol’s head that keeps telling him that if he lets Jeonghan slip through his fingers again, he won’t be as willing to come back.
“Distance right now is probably the best thing for the both of you,” Jihoon tells him when he makes the mistake of voicing that thought on one of their morning jogs. Perhaps he should start keeping things to himself again. As if sensing that thought, Jihoon looks over at him, elbows perched on his bent knees, and leans over to nudge their shoulders together. “Hey, I’m not trying to be a dick. I’m telling you this as someone who wants to see the both of you get better.”
“Get better,” Seungcheol repeats, arms behind him, palms flush against the dewy grass. The sun is out today, warm against his skin even through the chilly air. “What does that mean, then? If you’re trying not to be a dick?”
“It means that your codependency is what got you in this mess to begin with,” Jihoon says bluntly.
Codependency.
Seungcheol lets out a breath, something between a huff and a laugh. “I wouldn’t say that’s the sole factor—”
“The moment you found out Jeonghan was alive you stopped at nothing to make sure that you wouldn’t be separated again.” Jihoon opens and closes his mouth, like he’s trying to find the right words. “I can’t say that I understand because I don’t—there’s no one I’ve ever cared about enough to tear the world apart with my bare hands for, but God, hyung. What happens if you can’t have him forever? Where does that leave you?”
Where does that leave you?
In a grave, maybe. That’s what Seungcheol wants to say, let the honestly drip from his tongue like a parched dog in the face of a spring. Perhaps codependency is the best way to put it. All he’s ever known, all he’s ever been, has been intertwined with Jeonghan since the day they met. The best moments of his life have one constant, one person that had been so suddenly ripped from his life only to find their way back to him, despite all.
So, where does that leave him if he can’t have Jeonghan forever?
“I don’t know,” he answers.
It’s something he doesn’t want to find out.
✪
These days, Seungcheol finds himself in the gym more often than not. His hands are wrapped, knuckles colliding with the red leather of the bag in heavy sounds, mind blank. Every movement is quick, precise and practiced with power and strength.
The doors to the gym open with a whirring sound, disrupting the quiet environment for a split second that makes Seungcheol grab the punching back to steady it. When he looks over his shoulder, he finds Junhui walking in with a hop in his step. He smiles at Seungcheol and Seungcheol returns it with a slight nod of his head.
As the days pass, the tension between everyone has started to slowly dissipate. Nowadays, Seungcheol is trying his best not to hold grudges—not that he should be holding a grudge against Junhui anyway. He sort of owes the sharpshooter some kindness considering Jeonghan knocked him out. Seungcheol hides his smile at the memory, watching as Junhui sets up his targets on the other side of the gym. He takes it as a sign to gather his things—the last thing he needs is to break another punching bag in front of someone.
In the peace of the shower as the steaming water pelts his bare skin, the intercom chimes.
Captain Choi, please report to room thirteen.
He pauses, water cascading down his face, hand on the back of his neck washing the suds off as his thick eyebrows furrow. It’s rare for him to be called to a meeting room like this. So, he shuts off the shower and hurries to dry himself and get dressed.
When he arrives at the room, Seungkwan is standing at the long table in the middle, holding an opened file, eyes scanning across the contents. Seungcheol does a double take when he sees Seokmin fidgeting in one of the chairs, standing when he notices Seungcheol’s presence.
“Captain,” Seokmin greets quickly. “Hi.”
“Hey Seokmin,” Seungcheol nods.
Seungkwan glances up, taking in Seungcheol before humming. “Thanks for making it so fast.”
“What’s going on?”
Seungkwan raises an eyebrow, regarding him once more before looking back down at the file. He tilts his chin toward the table. “Sit. We have an assignment for the both of you.”
“An assignment?” Seungcheol repeats as Seokmin asks, “Wait—me? Us?”
“Yes, Captain,” Seungkwan drawls with a sigh, dropping the files onto the table, palms pressing into the cool glass. “You’re pardoned. Jeonghan is back. That means you have a job that you need to return to.”
Seungcheol nods, understanding. He has a responsibility, expectations that need to be met as the leader of this team.
Despite the logic, it doesn’t feel right to leave Jeonghan like this, to go back to Captain Korea and his duties while Choi Seungcheol is still trapped in Jeonghan’s back pocket.
“It’s an easy task,” Seungkwan tells him like he can read his mind. “Using the coordinate locations Jeonghan provided us with prior to his escape, we were able to locate some HYDRA bases that possibly contain files that could help with Jeonghan’s recovery. There’s a lot we’re trying to figure out—”
Seungcheol’s interest is piqued. It’s the most focused he’s been in a while. “You’re saying there’s a real chance that we… We can get him back…?”
“Well,” Seungkwan tsks. “Things have inevitably changed, Seungcheol. Yoon Jeonghan is a changed man, for better or for worse. But in order for us to begin helping him in a way that will benefit him long term, we need access to his medical files which we believed were scarce up until now. We have reason to believe that this specific abandoned HYDRA base has what we’re looking for, but, as always, we can’t send you alone to a place like this. Abandoned or not, HYDRA likes to cover all of their bases.”
Seungcheol nods, dragging the file toward him with the lips of his fingers. The map shows a barren location, somewhere thousands of miles away. “Why me specifically?”
“Because no one else is as invested in him as you are,” Seungkwan says bluntly. “Like this, we can guarantee that no spot will go unsearched.”
For a moment, Seungcheol feels like he is being stripped back and exposed for everyone to see. But Seungkwan moves on to the briefing and Seokmin seems more concerned with figuring out why he’s been chosen for this, and Seungcheol relaxes until they’re heading toward the assigned quinjet.
It’s quiet as they buckle themselves in. Seokmin has yet to make proper eye contact with Seungcheol, always looking away when Seungcheol tries to regard him. Seungcheol can’t help but question why they chose Seokmin to accompany him, but he doesn’t want to sit here wondering, not out loud at least. If Seungkwan sees something useful in Seokmin, then Seungcheol will have to trust that decision. It’s not like he can argue now anyway.
Two hours into their journey and Seokmin is staring out the dash of the quinjet, silver hair pushed out of his face. His jaw holds tension, silhouette facing Seungcheol in a way that is so closed off that Seungcheol hesitates approaching him. This distance is no use, though and the tension is unhelpful when they’re expected to be working together. He swallows his pride and is the first to speak.
“Seokmin-ah—”
“I’m sorry.”
Seungcheol blinks, taken aback by the sudden apology, but before he can say anything, Seokmin is barrelling on, eyes yet to meet Seungcheol’s.
“I’m sorry for everything that happened in Europe. It—I was blinded by rage, by looking for something to blame for everything—for someone to blame. And when Minghao told me about the Winter Soldier—sorry, Jeonghan. Chan told me that his name is Jeonghan…
“Minghao told me that Jeonghan was a product of HYDRA, of something bigger and more dangerous—and maybe for a moment in time, that was true. It was easier to look at him as this faceless assassin, but now that I’ve seen him, now that I know you better and have seen glimpses of the person you know and love… I can see clearly that he is not all the evil things that have been spoken about him.
“He is a human. He is a human and they used him for their—their corrupt agenda. They used him like they used me and Chan and… Who am I to judge? That’s not fair. I can’t imagine how different things would be if Chan and I were treated the same way. I wasn’t being fair to your friend, Captain, and for that, I’m so sorry. I know that he is important to you.”
Seungcheol watches as Seokmin hangs his head low, the guilt visibly washing over his body.
“I can’t blame you, Seokmin,” he says. “If the roles were reversed, I would have been against me too. I would have listened to Minghao and thought that I was doing the right thing, which—ah, Seokmin. There is no right or wrong. Not anymore.”
Finally, Seokmin’s eyes meet Seungcheol’s. The faintest smile flickers on his lips as he reaches over, squeezing Seungcheol’s forearm.
✪
They land in a flat, dry area. The vegetation is dry, falling apart against the subtle breezes that flutter through the air. Seungcheol squints against the harsh sun blinding his eyes. From beside him, Seokmin’s head is turning in every direction, hands on his hips.
“Huh,” Seokmin huffs. “Are you sure these are the right coordinates?”
“They have to be,” Seungcheol says, taking a few steps against the dirt and rocks. The dried floor is cracking in a lattice of lines spreading out toward the horizon. Hidden in plain sight—HYDRA has always loved the theatrics of this. “Don’t move,” he tells Seokmin when he sees him begin to stray away. Seungcheol observes the ground, looking for an unnatural pattern in the cracks until he’s locking on something that seems… off. He gives Seokmin a short warning to step back before grabbing his shield off of his back, holding the edges and lifting it up and forcefully slamming the thin, vibranium edge into one of the cracks.
Silence, and then a wave of rumbling.
The ground shakes and Seungcheol and Seokmin watch as a patch of the floor begins to sink, revealing an open entrance with a staircase leading down. Seokmin’s eyes are wide, mouth gaping as he looks at Seungcheol.
“Whoa—what the hell? How’d you…?”
“You start to learn tricks here and there,” Seungcheol tells him, patting him on the back with a close mouthed smile. “Come on, we still have things to do.”
As they ascend, the darkness is broken up by automatic lights against the dirt walls that guide them further and further into this man-made, underground facility. They’re careful as they trek through the long hallway until they’re approaching a secured door. Seungcheol takes a look at the security system, finding a dated keypad on the dusty wall.
“Seungkwan said you can bypass the code,” Seokmin says, followed by a quieter excuse me as he steps around Seungcheol, fingers moving quickly, the keypad lighting up in a red color. There’s a humming sound in the dirt walls before the heavy door is groaning, rising up and giving them access. Seokmin blushes bashfully when Seungcheol shoots him an impressed look. “I looked through the files more than once. Or twice. Thirty times. I read them thirty four times.”
A low whistle leaves Seungcheol’s pursed lips, impressed at Seokmin’s skill and grateful that he’s putting in work and not expecting Seungcheol to carry the weight of this assignment. He makes a note to tell Seungkwan that.
The base is one vast room with aisles of files, all in disarray. The pages are dirt stained and dated, some crumpled at the corners and some ripped at the edges. There’s a smashed computer sitting on a dusty desk in the far back and even more tattered files strewn across the floor.
They both step over the papers, necks turning to take in everything.
“Where do we even start?” Seokmin mutters, figure blurred as he dashes across the room, stilling in front of the farthest row of files. “Do you think there’s an alphabetical order or something?”
“Maybe. Do you know cryllic?”
“No, do you?”
“Somewhat.” Seungcheol thumbs at a box of thick papers with a sigh. “We’ll do our best, then.”
It takes them over two hours to go through every file, even with Seokmin’s speed blowing through boxes and boxes at a time, only for him to have to try again when Seungcheol asks him if he’s making sure to look out for indications of the Winter Soldier’s information.
“Why do we have to do this anyway?” Seokmin whines, sitting on the floor now. “Why can’t they have some SHIELD intern come and go through these stupid files?”
“If HYDRA were to burst through those doors right now, do you think an intern would be able to defend themselves against that?”
Seokmin stays quiet, blinking before frowning. “Now I feel bad for complaining.”
Seungcheol snorts. He can’t say he hasn’t had the same thought pass through his head during mundane missions like this, only to be humbled quickly by his own thoughts and reminders that he is fortunate enough to not only be trusted like this, but to be in a position and body that allows him to be safe. “Consider this a good thing. They think you can hold your own.”
“Do they think that? Or do they know that you can save both of our asses?”
“They wouldn’t send me alone either.”
This makes Seokmin perk up with a content hum, going back to the task at hand happily.
It takes time, so much time, so many nerves on high alert at the slightest noise around them, but eventually Seungcheol stumbles upon a chart. Jeonghan’s name in hangul, the rest in cyrillic, certain words that Minghao has taught him standing out here and there.
Observation.
Subject.
Memory.
From there, the files keep appearing, falling into his lap as he pulls tattered paper after tattered paper out of the box—dates ranging from 1953 all the way to 1998, presumably when they abandoned this base for something more up to date.
Seungcheol’s voice is sudden against the quiet rustling. “I think I found something.”
✪
Seungkwan’s lips are pursed as he thumbs through the four boxes that Seungcheol and Seokmin brought back.
“We’ll have to get these translated and looked over,” he mutters. “But from what I can see, these are the earliest notes they have on him which could be exactly what we’re looking for.”
“How soon can we get these looked over?” Seungcheol asks, pushing his hair out of his face, happy to finally have his helmet off.
“We can start tonight,” Seungkwan nods, patting the table twice and raising his eyebrows toward Seokmin. “Quicksilver, you’re dismissed. Go eat something and get some rest.”
“Thank you,” Seokmin says with a slight bow, giving Seungcheol a small smile before heading out.
As Seungcheol goes to leave, Seungkwan stops him with a raised hand. “I actually need to speak with you for a moment.”
Seungcheol’s eyebrows furrow. “Why the formality?”
Seungkwan sighs, pressing his lips together, hands clasped on the table. “There was… An incident when you were gone—”
“Where’s Jeonghan?” Seungcheol asks immediately.
“Safe, alive,” Seungkwan tells him calmly. “Though, he has been transferred to a separate apartment designed to house him and his needs—”
“Needs?” Seungcheol repeats, disbelieving. “What was wrong with my apartment?”
“We believe that it is best if he has his designated living area modified so that he cannot hurt himself and so we can have some surveillance for the sake of his safety.”
Seungcheol’s heart sinks to his stomach. “What happened to him?”
Seungkwan sighs again, running a hand over his face. It’s obvious that his exhaustion is catching up to him. “Well, when you were on your mission, Soonyoung went to your apartment looking for you. Something about an idea regarding your next mission together— whatever. Unfortunately Jeonghan was, unbeknownst to the rest of us, in the middle of a post traumatic stress induced state of… panic. He attacked Soonyoung—nearly killed the poor guy. He’s currently recovering in our medical facility but, I will say, he’s taking it better than most people would. For one, he’s very excited about the scar on his face.”
“Jesus Christ,” Seungcheol manages to choke out, already halfway out of the room as Seungkwan scrambles up to intercept him at the glass doors. “Seungkwan, don’t—”
“You can’t see him like this,” Seungkwan tells him immediately, standing straight with squared shoulders. He isn’t scared of a fight; especially not with Seungcheol. It’s the one thing Seungcheol has known since meeting him. “Not when you’re in a frantic state— it could set him into another episode and we can’t risk that right now and I know that you only want what’s best for him.”
“I just—” Seungcheol breathes in slowly, eyes starting to burn. “I just want to see him, Seungkwan. Please.”
Seungkwan’s face shifts into something more sympathetic, more understanding. His hands find Seungcheol’s arms, squeezing them in a way that is comforting, his voice patient and gentle. “I know, hyung. And you’ll see him soon, but for now get some rest. Eat something. Take a moment to ground yourself. He’s safe and we know exactly where he is, and I’ll let you know as soon as you have the green light to knock on his door.”
Seungcheol nods, knowing that this isn’t something he can argue with.
✪
Joshua finds him in the kitchen rolling an apple between his palm and the marble countertop.
He’s smiling carefully in a way that lets Seungcheol know that Seungkwan has already talked to him. “Captain—”
“Seungcheol is fine.”
“You always say that, but you look more like a Cap or Captain to me.” When Seungcheol can only muster up a smile and a breath of a laugh, Joshua sighs, hip against the counter. “I know you’re not the happiest right now, and hey, can’t say that I blame you—”
“Joshua,” Seungcheol starts with a sigh. The last thing he wants to do is be pitied. “I’m not—”
“Not in the mood, I know,” Joshua says over him. “I’m not here for any ‘I told you so’ or to make you feel worse than you do about this situation. I came to tell you that we need to start discussing a plan to get Jeonghan reintroduced to society.”
“Is he ready for that?”
“Absolutely not. But when he’s ready, I think it’s best to already have a plan in motion and I’m sure you think the same. That, and you’re our key to helping him get readjusted.”
Seungcheol stares at the apple trapped between his hand and the counter. The corner of his lip quirks up in a bitter sort of smile. “You’re the first person who thinks my presence would do Jeonghan some good.”
“I think I’m the only person who knows how deep your relationship runs,” Joshua points out. “Or, as historians would call it, your friendship.”
Seungcheol hums. “Would it make a difference if everyone knew? I’m sure they’ve figured it out already.”
“Speculation is nothing when their respect for you is high,” Joshua points out.
Seungcheol shakes his head. It doesn’t matter. He’s not the only one with a say. “I don’t want to push anything on Jeonghan right now.”
There’s a pause, Joshua’s eyes flickering across Seungcheol’s features for a beat before he’s nodding. “Alright. I can respect that.” He smiles, straightening up and off the counter to leave the common area. Before he’s out of sight, he looks over his shoulder. “Hey, Cap? I think you should go see Jeonghan. He’s asked about you a few times.”
Seungcheol blinks. “Oh. Thanks, Joshua.”
“Anytime, loverboy,” Joshua sings, gone within the second.
✪
Jeonghan’s apartment is located on the floor above Seungcheol’s.
The space is bigger, less decorated with nothing adorning the walls. The kitchen is small with no sharp objects or cutlery, something Seungcheol tries not to think about as he passes through cautiously, eyes dancing around in hopes to find Jeonghan awake.
His hope is rewarded when he walks into the living area and finds Jeonghan sitting on the sofa, back facing Seungcheol, legs criss-crossed and folded.
Seungcheol follows his blank stare, tracing it to the television that is not on, the black screen reflecting his emptiness. Jeonghan’s blinks begin to flutter when Seungcheol nears cautiously, but he doesn’t turn to look.
“Hey,” Seungcheol starts carefully.
He’s not sure what else to say, but is more than surprised when Jeonghan’s voice rings in the air roughly. “Hey.”
Simple but sweet to Seungcheol’s eager ears. He takes it as an invitation, something to hold on to. “Have you eaten yet?”
Jeonghan shakes his head. “Haven’t been hungry.”
“Okay,” Seungcheol says quietly, careful to not push. He knows that every neuron in Jeonghan’s mind is working against him at the moment and he’s more than aware that any sort of wrong move or word can possibly hurt instead of help him. “If you need anything, let me know, okay? I’ll be at my place but I can give you my number—”
Jeonghan shakes his head again, looking over his shoulder, eyes flickering up at Seungcheol’s face before dropping back down to the floor. “Stay,” he whispers, swallowing roughly. “Stay. Please.”
“Okay,” Seungcheol says again, hesitating before finally occupying the empty space beside Jeonghan.
A heavy breath leaves Jeonghan’s mouth. He closes his eyes, leaning over to rest his head on Seungcheol’s shoulder.
Seungcheol stays.
✪
Jeonghan sits on a cold and stiff stool in Joshua Hong’s lab—or maybe it’s an office, possibly a workshop of some sort. It’s bright in a way that makes Jeonghan’s headache, the fluorescent lights dimming only when Joshua walks in, fingers tapping on a blue screen projected from the watch on his wrist.
New technology, new inventions. All these new things that make Jeonghan’s head spin, nausea always on the tip of his tongue nowadays. He’s awake more now, forced to face all the changes he has missed in the last several decades.
There’s a version of himself out there that maybe would appreciate it all for what it is, but that version has been stripped and beaten into nothing but a concept, a what if left for Jeonghan to be envious of.
This version of himself has a fucking headache.
“Jeonghan,” Joshua greets once the blue screen in his face has disappeared. He hops up on the metal table covered in blueprints of machines and suits that are all too intricate to make out. “How do you feel about seeing a therapist?”
A scoff leaves Jeonghan’s throat, eyes scanning Joshua up and down. “A shrink? For what?”
Joshua raises an eyebrow. “We call them therapists now.”
From there, it’s a blur of medical jargon.
Post traumatic stress disorder. PTSD—that’s what Joshua shortens it to throughout the one sided conversation. Jeonghan doesn’t blink at the diagnoses. He doesn’t look Joshua in the eye at his explanations and the reasonings for this—the image of Soonyoung’s blood stained face caused by hands that belong to Jeonghan is burned into his head, choking him into silence even as Joshua tries to crack a joke about how happy Soonyoung is to have a ‘badass scar’. Jeonghan doesn’t think that any of this is all that funny.
The seconds of awkward silence bleed together before Joshua is clearing his throat. “So, SHIELD used the coordinates of one of the HYDRA bases you provided to locate some information about you that they’ve been hiding. Seungcheol and Seokmin went and checked it out and came back with a whole bunch of files.”
“Okay,” Jeonghan says simply, unsure of what that means for him.
Joshua’s eyes flicker across his face, lips pressed together before he’s asking, “Do you remember anything that happened to you while you were under HYDRA’s orders?”
Jeonghan is honest. fragmented memories, flashes of scenes that feel like an out of body experience. It comes back in dreams mostly but when he wakes up, it’s like he’s a blank slate again. And when he does remember something that comes in like a radio going in and out, he can barely grasp onto the images. Melon popsicles. The color blue. Snoring that wasn’t so bothersome. Seungcheol. Cheollie, Cheollie, Cheollie.
Jeonghan tenses with discomfort. The pain in his head is unbearable.
Joshua types notes on a flat surface of his work bench, letters that glow blue beneath his fingertips as he does so. Jeonghan’s lungs fill and empty slowly, stare focused on the piece of technology that disappears as Joshua swipes his hand across the keyboard.
“Do you know anything about cryofreeze?” Joshua asks suddenly. “Wiping? Starting over? Words of that nature?”
Jeonghan’s eyebrows twitch as they crease. He wracks what’s left in his scrambled head. Nothing comes up except for a familiar and cold feeling washing over his body that seems to haunt him when he sleeps and he sighs heavily, disappointed in himself for not being able to give more. “I don’t think so. I remember…” He presses his lips together, squeezing his eyes shut and allowing himself to sit in the chills coating his body. He can almost feel his breath start to shake. “I remember maybe feeling… cold. A lot of… A lot of my dreams are cold.”
Joshua nods, clasping his hands and putting them in his lap. “Cryofreeze is how they… Well, to put it bluntly, it’s how they preserved you. You age still, just like Seungcheol does, but the knock off serum they created doesn’t slow the process down as much as it does with Cap.” He drags his feet against the floor to move his rolling stool closer to Jeonghan, gesturing toward his torso and arms. “It also doesn’t triple your muscle mass which is why you’re still… Can I say scrawny? That doesn’t feel right—you’ve still got some muscle on you, just not as much as one would expect from a super soldier—”
Jeonghan grits his teeth through the pain starting to prick at his temples. “Do you have a point?”
“Surprisingly, yes,” Joshua smiles, tapping on the device on his wrist, displaying an image into the air in front of them. There’s a drawn blueprint of what looks like a cylinder with labels. “They put you into this—a cryofreezer—so that you could be immortal to them. And before they put you in there, they’d wipe your memory.” The image changes to a sepia toned photograph of a stiff seat, metal, prong like contraptions with pads at the end hanging above, straps on the arms and legs of the chair. Jeonghan’s fingers tremble as Joshua zooms in on the metal pads. “Electric pulses were sent straight into the nerves of your brain causing excruciating pain as well as a clean slate for them to bark mission orders at. Sound familiar?”
Again, Jeonghan’s mind runs blank. “No.”
“I figured,” Joshua says as he swats at the projected image, causing it to disappear out of thin air. “You bleed, right?”
Jeonghan wonders if it’s a trick question. “I’m still human.”
“No, I mean you bleed from your ears. When you remember something or on the rare occasion that your dreams stick.”
Jeonghan hesitates before nodding.
“Fascinating,” Joshua mumbles. “Your brain tries to heal itself, courtesy of the serum, and it starts to go haywire, attacking itself in the process and failing to recover any sort of memory that you have left. Of course, some things have slipped through the cracks. You remember your nickname for your Cheollie, his favorite color. You remember more recent and important HYDRA check points and information that is fortunately valuable to us, but why? Why these things? Now, this… We have a lot to work with just from these files—did you know that you have activation words?”
Jeonghan’s chest trembles. It doesn’t sound familiar, but he knows that it must be true. It must be if it’s on paper. “No. I didn’t know.”
“It’s unclear what exactly these will bring if we say them, but we need to find out. How do you feel about being in a controlled environment—something like the holding cell we had you in but more secure. You would be alone, we would be observing you. You’d be secured to a chair so that we can ensure that you don’t hurt yourself or hurt anyone else.”
Jeonghan swallows, fidgeting with his fingers, the metal cold against his flesh. “I won’t hurt anyone?”
Joshua’s face is determined, serious. He shakes his head. “We won’t let you.”
“Do… is that a promise?” Jeonghan whispers, voice cracking at the end of the question. He can’t hurt anyone else. It might kill him, whether it be by his own hands or someone else’s.
Joshua puts a hand on Jeonghan’s knee. “You have my word, Jeonghan.”
Jeonghan does not trust Joshua. But, at the very least, he wants to try. If not for himself, than for someone else, someone worth more. “Okay.”
✪
The cell is empty.
Two way glass stares back at him, his reflection unknown to him as it has been for what seems like a lifetime. His dark hair frames his face, skin dull like some sort of porcelain doll left in an attic to be painted with dust and time. His flesh and metal hand flex against the restraints, the muscles of his arms and shoulders moving beneath the fabric of his red and long sleeve shirt. His feet are restainted as well, trapped even as he tries to move them with curiosity. They’re built well, he has to give SHIELD that.
The floors are padded and the door is steel, heavy. Ensuring that he can’t and won't get out. There’s a speaker in the top left corner, barely noticeable to the untrained eye.
There’s a subtle shift in the air that makes his head snap toward the door where Joshua pops his head in just a few seconds later. “Hey, Soldier! Everything looks good on our end, how are you feeling?”
“Fine,” Jeonghan says.
“All good to go?”
Jeonghan confirms and Joshua gives him a thumbs up before disappearing and the heavy door lock with a loud and booming click.
The speaker crackles with Joshua’s voice only a few moments later. He rattles off the date and the time, the purpose of this test.
Subject: Yoon Jeonghan.
Alias, The Winter Soldier.
Ready when you are.
Jeonghan nods stiffly.
✪
Longing.
Summer.
Dream.
One.
Newfound.
Sudden.
Nine.
Homecoming.
Twenty-three.
Hidden.
✪
Convincing Joshua to let him sit in on this wasn’t easy, but if Seungcheol is one thing, it’s stubborn and persistent. Especially when it comes to Jeonghan.
He watches with his arms braced on the desk they’re at, standing, unable to keep himself still. The words leave Joshua’s mouth slowly, pronounced carefully around the language that is foreign on his tongue, cyrillic syllables sounding against the still air.
He watches the life leave Jeonghan’s eyes for the second time in his life.
Joshua’s breath hitches, glancing at Seungcheol before pressing the button to the mic. “Soldier.”
Jeonghan is stiff against the seat, back erect and jaw tight. The Russian words are sharp on his tongue. “Ready to comply.”
✪
From beside him, Jeonghan is fidgeting.
His leg is shaking, hands opening and closing against his knees, the metal of his arms glinting beneath the bright lights of this briefing room. It’s only for a second, but he spares a glance at Seungcheol and seems to relax the slightest bit. It means something to Seungcheol, so he takes it and holds it close to his chest as Joshua, Seungkwan, and Minghao come into the room as well.
Seungcheol stands, placing himself between Jeonghan and Minghao out of instinct.
Minghao smirks, raising an eyebrow. “Should I have brought my knives?”
“I don’t see why it’s necessary to include other people in this,” Seungcheol tells Joshua, ignoring the way Minghao rolls his eyes and plops into a seat beside Seungkwan.
“Well, my dear, aged pearl,” Joshua sighs dramatically, “SHIELD agreed to let me be at the forefront of Jeonghan’s recovery process as long as it was overseen by these two considering a lot of this mess involved them to begin with. What was it called before? Minghao’s ‘personal assignment’? Technically, that gives him the right to be here and, I mean, Seungkwan was almost killed by Jeonghan—I forgive you for that, by the way—so, yeah. I wish I could give you a better reason but that’s all I really have.”
Seungcheol sits back down after a beat of silence, on the verge of snapping like a petulant child. Jeonghan says nothing, gaze casted toward the floor.
“Our priority, above anything else, is rehabilitating the Winter Soldier back into society,” Seungkwan says calmly. “We’re here to make sure it is done as morally correct and within SHIELD guidelines with no shortcuts or loopholes.”
“I wouldn’t do that to him,” Seungcheol says and Seungkwan nods.
“I’m aware. Let’s focus on the matter at hand, yes? Joshua, I understand that you brought us here to share your recent findings.”
Joshua smooths his dark pants with the palms of his hands, smiling with his eyes crinkled as he rounds the table, pressing a button at the end. A projected image shines in the middle of the table of a brain scan as well as medical charts and a series of notes all in Joshua’s sloppy handwriting. “The test conducted on Jeonghan revealed a lot more than I expected it to, which is great for us. For one, we found that these trigger words originate from things that are personal to Jeonghan—things that he holds close as the person that he is, or, well, used to be.
“Without these words said in this specific sequence they are useless. But as long as they are programmed in Jeonghan’s mind, then he is a threat to society.”
“So, what are you saying?” Seungkwan asks. “Can this be reversed?”
Joshua clicks his tongue, tilting his head from side to side with a dragging and high pitched noise. “Well, no. We would have to access those activation words and bring back the original memories to override the association they currently have with HYDRA.”
“And then what?” Jeonghan asks, staring down at the table with crossed arms. “I’m good to go? Just like that?”
“Not quite,” Joshua says bluntly. “That only solves our ‘this guy might try killing everyone if we say the wrong thing’ problem. You still have severe PTSD, anxiety, depression, physical issues with your vibranium arm that will take me forever to list—”
“Alright,” Jeonghan says loudly over him. “I think they get it.”
Joshua smiles, sweet and wide. “All I’m saying is that all of that needs to be addressed before you can be considered well adjusted enough to be on your own. But we’ll focus on that after we deactivate the activation words.”
“And is there any way to do that?” Minghao asks.
Joshua beams this time, leaning forward cockily in a way that makes Seungcheol wonder if his idea is any good. “You can call me a genius later. I think I know a way.”
✪
Chan fidgets under the stare of five people.
“Is… Is there a reason you called me in here?”
“Yes!” Joshua chirps, sitting on the table and tapping on his chin with his pointer and middle finger before redirecting his digits right at Chan. “A little birdie told me that you’ve been tapping into Jeonghan’s nightmares. How true is that?”
Chan’s eyes go wide. He glances at Seungcheol and then Minghao, mouth gaping as he stammers. “It’s—well. I–I’m not really sure if–if that’s the best way to put it—”
“When did this start?” Seungkwan asks, eyebrows creased in question, unaware of this newfound power of Chan’s if his curiosity is any indication.
“Well, it’s…” Chan sighs, running a hand through his orange hair, only continuing when he meets Seungcheol’s eye and is given an encouraging nod. “It started a while ago. The night Mingyu came and we had that dinner party—”
Minghao sits up straighter. “That was when the Winter Soldier was looking for me,” he says, quiet.
“Yeah,” Chan nods. “It makes sense now, but at the time, I didn’t really know what it was. It wasn’t until I met Jeonghan that I realized where these weird dreams and visions were coming from. With everyone else, it’s like I can feel what they’re thinking but with him it’s… I don’t know why, and I don’t know how, but it’s like his thoughts are so loud that I can hear them— see them.”
Jeonghan presses his lips together, swallowing roughly and looking down at his intertwined fingers, the knuckles of his flesh hand white with pressure. “I’m sorry.”
Chan shakes his head quickly. “No. You shouldn’t be the one to apologize. It’s… I’m sorry that you have to be trapped with those memories. With that pain.”
Jeonghan says nothing else. Joshua speaks instead. “Chan, if you can see what he’s seeing in his dreams, or the memories that are stuck in there, then maybe… Maybe you have the power to dig in deeper, to help him reach these memories that HYDRA tried replacing—maybe you can strip away all the–the poison and bring some parts of him back.”
Chan glances at Jeonghan who has yet to look up again. “I can try, but I can’t promise anything.”
“Trying is better than nothing,” Joshua claps. “Alright, Chan, come with me, maybe we can try getting you ready for this because I know it’s gonna be tough to navigate.”
Chan agrees, standing up gracefully, but not before glancing at Seungcheol and Jeonghan one more time. “I hope I can be helpful.”
The genuine tone makes Seungcheol’s lips twitch into something of a smile. “Your willingness is already more helpful than you know.”
With that, Chan is pulled away by Joshua, followed by Seungkwan and Minghao with hushed conversation between the two of them.
Jeonghan doesn’t move. Seungcheol hesitates, staying seated and waiting for Jeonghan to be the first to get up. He’s surprised when Jeonghan’s voice cracks through the silence, “What if,” he starts quietly, “what if they can’t fix me?”
Seungcheol’s shoulders drop, something heavy settling in his throat. “Hannie—Jeonghan, don’t—”
“It’s a possibility,” Jeonghan says, dark eyes focused on his clasped hands. “There’s no guarantee… What happens then, Seungcheol? I’m no good to you if I can’t–if I can’t even function without the possibility of hurting someone. Of hurting you.”
“Don’t say that,” Seungcheol tells him gently, sliding off the chair and sinking to his knees on the floor in front of Jeonghan. He puts his hands on Jeonghan’s, rubs the skin and the metal beneath his thumb. “If this doesn’t work, then we come up with a different plan. And if that plan doesn’t work, we come up with a different one and then a different one and then a different one until we find something that works.”
“Seungcheol,” Jeonghan breathes through a breaking voice, eyebrows creased and mouth pressed tightly before he speaks again. “I’m not worth all this—”
“You’re worth all this and more. Come on. Do you think I’d let you fail?”
A tear escapes from the corner of Jeonghan’s eye as they close. He says nothing, gently breaking his hands from Seungcheol’s touch.
When he gets up and leaves, Seungcheol lets himself break.
✪
Lately, Jeonghan’s mind has been silent.
Maybe it’s a good sign. Hell, maybe it’s trying to tell him something, like HYDRA scrambled his brain so much that he can’t form a thought any more complex than what’s right in front of him. He tries not to think about it—he tries not to think about much lately. He doesn’t need to be reminded of his failures, his misfortunes, the way Seungcheol keeps looking at him like he’s expecting for all the cells in Jeonghan’s brain to rewire, for all the memories, good and bad, to come flooding back.
Waiting for something almost impossible, something so out of reach. Something Jeonghan can’t give him which makes his chest ache in a way that is so foreign—but that has to mean something, doesn’t it? Seungcheol’s favorite color is blue. Melon popsicles sit on Jeonghan’s tongue like the ghost of a memory. Seungcheol doesn’t snore anymore.
It’s all gotta mean something.
A buzz knocks Jeonghan out of his thoughts. He stands abruptly, knee knocking against the wooden coffee table and sliding out of its place. He sighs, running a hand down his face as his heart races in his chest and he fixes the jostled item. When he cracks open the apartment door enough to see who it is, he blinks. Red hair, narrowed eyes, lips straight.
Black Widow. Xu Minghao.
According to more than one person, they know each other. There’s some history there, one that still stains Jeonghan’s hands in colors only Minghao can see.
Jeonghan looks him up and down. “You lost?”
“No,” Minghao says simply, hands behind his back. “This is where I was hoping to end up.”
Jeonghan studies him. Relaxed breathing, no tension in any of his muscles. There’s nothing behind his back, no weapon or sign of a threat. Even if he does have something on him, it’s not like Jeonghan can’t defend himself—he’d just prefer not to. “Alright,” he says.
Minghao raises an eyebrow in the silence. “You gonna let me in, soldier?”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Why you and Cap hate that, I’ll never understand,” Minghao chuckles. “Two of South Korea’s best soldiers and they hate the title. It’s sort of funny.”
Jeonghan doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t deserve to be something this country is proud of. Seungcheol on the other hand… that’s a different story. Jeonghan has seen all the newspapers with his face plastered on the front, the countless awards and medals given to him. Seungcheol is a soldier through and through. Jeonghan is a beaten racehorse crawling toward the finish line, watching all the others pass him by. Seungcheol’s got gold slung around his neck and Jeonghan is choking on the dust coming in from the horizon.
Minghao rolls his eyes. “Tough crowd. I’ll make sure to stay away from nursing homes. You want some company?”
The no is heavy on the tip of Jeonghan’s tongue, almost slipping out until he catches himself. These are bridges that need to be burned—Joshua’s shrink had mentioned that a few times during their one on one sessions. Things are moving quicker than Jeonghan can keep up with. Minghao is The Winter Soldier’s target, not Jeonghan’s. “Sure,” he mumbles, pulling the door open further.
Minghao steps over the threshold easily, toeing his shoes off and venturing into the apartment without any sort of care for manners. Jeonghan follows cautiously, eyes darting around at Minghao’s every small movement.
Minghao doesn’t regard him as he goes to the small dining table, pulling out one of the chairs and slapping a deck of cards onto the surface. Jeonghan doesn’t blink, eyes flicking up to meet Minghao’s.
“Deck of cards,” Minghao says slowly, punctuated as his hand fans out the cards against the table. “Surely they had these around during your youth.”
“I know what they are,” Jeonghan says. “What am I supposed to do with those?”
“I was hoping we could play,” Minghao shrugs. “I’m fond of blackjack. You know how to play?”
“I can figure it out.”
Minghao gestures at the seat across from him. “Be my guest. Can you shuffle a deck?”
Muscle memory is a funny thing. Jeonghan sits, taking the now neatly stacked deck from Minghao and splitting them in his hands. Overhand shuffle, weaving the cards between one another, pile shuffle. The cards flutter with an airy noise as he finishes up, the corner of his mouth tilting up when he sees Minghao’s impressed expression.
“I’ll be the dealer,” Minghao says, taking the deck and dealing the cards with precision. “Get as close as you can to twenty-one without going over.”
Jeonghan raises an eyebrow, looking at Minghao from beneath his lashes and the fringe in his face. “What are we betting?”
“Apologies,” Minghao chirps. He slaps a card down. In front of Jeonghan—3. Then, in front of himself—5.
“Hit me.”
7. Minghao deals himself another card face down.
Jeonghan presses his lips together. “Hit me.”
2.
“Luck’s on your side.”
Jeonghan clicks his tongue. “One more.”
8.
“I’ll stand.”
Minghao raises an eyebrow, flipping his second card over. 5. He deals himself another. 7. Another. 6. He huffs. “Bust. Damn, I really thought I’d win that.”
Jeonghan lets out a breath almost like a laugh. “Beginner’s luck.”
Minghao hums, sitting back in the chair as he gathers the cards back into a pile. There’s a stretch of silence until Minghao is sighing, leaning forward with his arms on the table. “I believe an apology is owed.”
“That’s alright,” Jeonghan says. Nothing to apologize for if there’s nothing to remember. At least, that’s what he thinks is fair—but what does he know? “‘s just a game—”
“It’s not about the game,” Minghao says, meeting his eye with nothing but seriousness. “I owe you an apology, okay? So, let me. I don’t do this often.”
Jeonghan blinks, metal hand curling against the table. He lifts his fingers slightly. “Okay. Go ahead.”
Minghao presses his lips together and nods. “A simple ‘sorry’ won’t be enough, you and I both know that. I was caught up in trying to avenge something that hurt more than just me. I was so focused on the downfall of the Red Room that I was blinded by my rage and my stupidity and I threw the blame on you because, at the time, it made the most sense. It was the easiest thing to do. It was easy to see you as this killing machine with no heart or mind and what HYDRA turned you into, not who you truly are.
“I hated Seungcheol for turning against me, and I hated you more for causing that. But I should have known I was wrong. Seungcheol tends to be on the right side of things even when everyone is against him—that should have been my first sign that I was being irrational. But I can’t change the past. So, I’m trying for a better future. With that being said, I could learn a thing or two from the world’s deadliest assassin. Well, the world's former deadliest assassin. What do you say? We can spar it out sometime soon if you’re up for it.”
A small smile creeps onto Jeonghan’s face. He chuckles under his breath with a nod. “I’ll accept your apology when you can kick my ass.”
This time, Minghao laughs, loud and sudden. “Alright, yeah. That’s fair.”
✪
For the second time in a week, someone is knocking on Jeonghan’s door.
This time, it’s Chan. He looks more unsure of himself than Jeonghan is, eyes widening when Jeonghan opens the door like he hadn’t expected to get any sort of answer. For a moment, Jeonghan wonders if he’s got the wrong place, but Chan is speaking.
“Hi, sorry—I… I wanted to stop by before we start the process of retrieving your memories,” Chan explains, words spilling from his lips in a rush. “Just so we could build some trust. If it was the other way around, I know I’d be hesitant to let some stranger get access to all my memories and thoughts—”
“Come in,” Jeonghan tells him. It’s probably better that they have this conversation somewhere other than the hallway.
Chan complies, coming in and hovering by the door until Jeonghan is cocking his head, gesturing for Chan to follow him into the living room. When Chan goes to grab the remote, Jeonghan makes a noise.
“Sorry, it’s—the sound,” Jeonghan explains, embarrassed. “The sounds make my head hurt sometimes. Still getting used to speakers being so loud.”
“Of course,” Chan nods, sitting on the sofa with his hands in his lap like a child scolded and slapped on the hand. “I should have—”
“You’re okay,” Jeonghan tells him. “Did—ah… Did you want water or anything?”
“No, no, thank you. I’m okay.”
Jeonghan presses his lips together in what he hopes is a smile and sits in an armchair near the sofa with enough distance between them for Jeonghan to feel comfortable relaxing into the cushions. “So. You’re here to get my trust?”
“Yes,” Chan nods, sitting up straight. “I think it would help both of us—I won’t be scared to push through everything and you’ll be able to let your guard down. Maybe it’ll help everything come forward—I don’t know, I’m just trying to think of ways to make this all easier for you.”
“I don’t think it’ll be easy, kid,” Jeonghan tells him honestly. Things are more complicated nowadays—at least that’s how it seems. Everyone’s got an answer for everything now, and if they don’t, they’re trying their damn best to find one. “But I appreciate you coming and trying.”
“Thanks,” Chan smiles. “Is there anything you wanna do? I can keep you company.”
Jeonghan hums in thought, looking around. His gaze falls onto the deck of cards Minghao left on his coffee table. “You ever played blackjack?”
✪
Chan is a quick learner and determined to win. It’s amusing, watching the glow of his eyes when he’s thinking a little too hard about his next move, about what card is gonna be presented in front of him. It’s sort of nice being around someone like this, someone who’s not so focused on saying or doing the wrong thing, on trying to mend all the broken things Jeonghan is made of.
“Hit me,” Chan says after a minute of deliberation.
Jeonghan flips the card over and tsks. “Ah, Channie. That makes it twenty-four—close, but no cigar.”
“Damn it,” Chan huffs, pushing the cards back toward Jeonghan. “You make it look so easy, hyung! Wait—ah, sorry. Can I call you ‘hyung’?”
A smile plays at Jeonghan’s lips as he shuffles the cards for Chan. “You call Cheollie ‘hyung’, right?” Chan nods. “If he doesn’t mind it, I don’t mind it. You wanna go again or do you wanna be the dealer?”
Chan doesn’t answer. When Jeonghan looks up at him curiously, his eyes are flickering red, eyebrows furrowed and mouth parted. He blinks once and then twice, his hand coming up to touch his temples as he squeezes his eyes shut.
Jeonghan sits up carefully, putting the cards back on the table. “You alright?”
Chan opens his eyes with a small gasp. Slowly, he begins to stand from the chair. “This—this might be weird, but…” he steps toward Jeonghan, dropping to his knees in front of him, hand shaking as he reaches up toward Jeonghan’s forehead with trembling fingers. “Can I…?”
Jeonghan blinks, but leans forward.
Chan’s fingertips touch his forehead and—
A letter. Drafted, that’s what it says. Fuck. It’s gonna break Cheollie’s goddamn heart. He’s gonna do something stupid—
Girls. Two girls. Seungcheol isn’t happy, but fuck, I gotta protect him, even when I’m gone. A show—the future, right there in front of them. A streetlight, a poster. WE NEED YOU! You’d die out there. Maybe I will, but fuck, do you have to say it like that? What happened to a proper goodbye, sweetheart, I think we deserve that—
Training, bootcamp. Rainy days, gunshots and sleepless nights in tents. A raid—captured. Cages. Needles. Things are foggy—God, where’s Cheollie? Please keep yourself safe, baby—
Like a dream. Seungcheol. He’s bigger, he’s still so beautiful. When he’d get so big? Maybe I am dreaming. Maybe we can go home in this dream. Almost, Seungcheol says, almost—
A dingy bar. Seungcheol right there, within touch. You were never weak, Seungcheol. Always been stronger than me. Do you think I’d let you fail? No, not at all—
Take out all the HYDRA bases. Be Seungcheol’s right hand man. Keep Seungcheol safe—easy as breathing. Snow, a train. HYDRA agents. A blast, the cold air biting skin. The creaking of an iron bar. Seungcheol’s voice. “Grab my hand!” You’re too far, doll. You’ve never been farther. A scream. Cold. Cold. So Cold. Blood, mangled arm. Pain, pain—so much fucking pain—
A nameless face. Dragged through the snow—
Facility, nameless faces surrounding. “It’s a miracle he survived.” Am I still alive? This isn’t a dream I want—God, where’s Seungcheol—
Metal welded onto a bare bone. Screaming. Muffled screaming, something’s between my teeth, there’s something on my head—
Still so cold—
Cold—
The Soldier is cold.
The Soldier is numb.
Nameless face beneath his arm, glinting in the dimmed light of an office. Choked pleads falling on deaf ears. The soldier grips flesh, squeezes until there’s no air in these lungs. There is still a struggle. The soldier pulls out his gun, presses it to a temple. Pulls the trigger. Stares at the red until he’s cold again.
Ready to comply.
✪
Seungcheol splashes cold water on his face, patting a white hand towel on his damp skin as he raises his head and is met with his reflection staring back at him. He looks away just as quickly, plucking his white t-shirt from where it’s draped on the side of the sink.
Just as his head pokes through the collar, a distant thud sounds on the floor above his. He pauses, ready to pass it off as something unimportant, but deciding to go investigate when another thud sounds and Chan’s panicked voice hits his ears like the abrupt clanging of a cymbal.
He’s running barefoot out of his apartment and up the emergency stairs until the noise leads him to Jeonghan’s apartment. He doesn’t think as he rams his shoulder into the thick door, denting it before he repeats the force, dislodging it from its hinges completely.
Chan is at the dining table, hands glowing red and face strained as he tries to control something. Seungcheol follows his line of sight and finds Jeonghan trembling, hands surrounded by wisps of red, bound to his sides by Chan’s powers. There’s vomit on the floor, on the front of Jeonghan’s shirt. He’s shaking like a leaf in the winter wind, sobbing through clenched teeth. Blood drips his ears and from the seam of his flesh and metal arm, soaking his grey shirt and falling down his arm in a series of tracks intertwined and straying away from each other.
“I need it off,” Jeonghan chokes out, pained and through a sob. “Cheollie—I need it off— I need it off—”
Seungcheol is frozen in place, tears brimming his lashes as he whispers, “Chan, what—what happened?”
“He—he was clawing at his arm,” Chan explains through tears streaming down his face. “He—I saw so many things, Seungcheol hyung. So many—”
Before Seungcheol can think of something to do, someone barrels into the room.
Joshua is in a robe, bare chest on display and pajama pants wrinkled as he steps over the broken door and rushes toward Jeonghan. “Don’t let him go,” he tells Chan. “Jeonghan—you’re safe, okay? This is gonna help the pain.”
Without hesitation, Joshua steps behind Jeonghan and plunges a needle into his neck. Jeonghan’s eyes flutter shut, mouth slack as he goes limp, falling onto the floor with a thud when Chan lets him go.
Seungcheol rushes toward him, dropping onto the floor to gather Jeonghan in his lap. “What did you do to him?” he asks, panicked.
“Super soldier sedative,” Joshua says, out of breath and pushing his freshly washed hair out of his face. “Or, as I like to call it, Triple S. Bad joke, sorry.”
“His arm,” Chan whispers, arms wrapped around himself as he kneels beside Seungcheol and brushes the hair out of Jeonghan’s face. “I—he almost ripped it off.”
Joshua sighs. “I’ll call the medical team.”
Seungcheol runs his knuckles down Jeonghan’s cheek, trying to keep it together even though it feels like everything is falling apart again. “Can I—?”
“You can follow,” Joshua says. “I’m sure he wants to wake up to a familiar face.”
✪
Jeonghan wakes up two hours later, restrained to a hospital bed mostly healed up and weakly tugging at the straps specially designed to handle their strength. The same ones they used on Seungcheol when he woke up seventy years in the future.
“Ha,” he says weakly and Seungcheol startles, standing up from where he was sitting in an uncomfortable chair. “Are these really necessary?”
“You tried tearing your arm off, Hannie,” Seungcheol tells him. “Do… Do you remember that?”
Jeonghan blinks, looking down at the white sheets. “Yeah.”
Seungcheol bites his lip, inching closer. “What happened?”
Jeonghan shakes his head and shrugs. “Chan… He got in my head and things started—they started flooding back. Some things stuck, but the others… I don’t know. I don’t know.” Seungcheol sits on the edge of the bed, his knee touching Jeonghan’s leg, waiting for Jeonghan to continue and speak on his own terms if he wants to. Jeonghan’s voice is like a bell in the midst of bombs. “We never said goodbye.”
Seungcheol blinks, looking up at Jeonghan with furrowed brows. “What…?”
“You were busy looking at that stupid poster,” Jeonghan croaks. “And we got into it. We didn’t get to say goodbye before I left.”
Something shatters in Seungcheol’s chest, mouth dry as he lets out a breath caught between a sob and a laugh. “You— yeah. That’s… It’s all I thought about after you left. I hated it. I hated myself for that.”
“Both of our faults,” Jeonghan whispers with somewhat of a smile. “Stubborn as all hell, the both of us.”
“Yeah,” Seungcheol agrees with a small laugh, wiping the corners of his eyes. “Always will be.”
There’s a thick silence, one that weighs heavy on Seungcheol. Jeonghan is looking at him, staring at him like he’s trying to figure him out. Then, he’s leaning forward. Their noses brush and Seungcheol’s breath hitches, eyelashes fluttering against Jeonghan’s.
Jeonghan kisses him softly. So softly that it almost feels like nothing, like a ghost trying to make their presence known.
It’s not right.
“Hannie,” Seungcheol whispers, pulling away.
“Isn’t this what you want?” Jeonghan asks, voice cracking. His eyes flicker between Seungcheol’s, shining with wetness. “This is what you’ve wanted—”
“Not like this,” Seungcheol says through the lump in his throat.
Jeonghan swallows with a tight jaw, throat bobbing and nostrils flaring as his eyes scan Seungcheol’s face. When nothing else is said, his face crumbles. “I’m… I’m so tired, Cheollie.”
He falls into Seungcheol heavily, body shaking as cries tear through his throat. Seungcheol holds him, his own tears spilling over onto Jeonghan’s head. He feels the exhaustion in his own body like he’s being told that it’s no longer 1950. That things are no longer the same. He feels it in his bones with every ache in his throat and chest, with every sob tumbling out of Jeonghan’s mouth.
“I know, baby. I know.”
Notes:
firstly, im so sorry. it gets worse before it gets better. secondly, fun fact i used bitlife to write the blackjack scene if u know u know.
if u wanna know my thoughts
summed up on writing the rest of these chapterskudos + comments appreciated--see u for the next update (2 chapters left!! ahh!!) <3
Chapter 9: IX. Pulling Thorns
Summary:
Souvenir - boygenius
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Pulling thorns out of my palms
work a midnight surgery
When I cut a hole into my skull
do you hate what you see?
Like I do
“You accessed a new memory. New memories. Plural. More than one—”
“I didn’t mean to I—I could just feel something and I touched—I touched him—”
“Chan— Chan,” Joshua says over him, rolling his stool toward Chan. “ This is good, I know it seems like we took ten steps backwards but we took a fucking leap forward. The memories are rushing to the surface and while Jeonghan may not realize it, you can.”
“I’m telling you,” Chan says with a groan. “I didn’t mean to—I don’t even know how I did it—”
“Okay, just start from the beginning again. I need to make sure I don’t miss any details—”
Chan is drumming his fingers impatiently on the metal table in Joshua’s lab “I have given you everything I know. There is nothing left, I would have told you if I knew—”
“We need every detail possible,” Joshua says over him. “If we’re gonna try and reverse the activation words we need to be able to figure out how you managed to tap into all the things trapped in his head on a random day of the week.”
Seungcheol shifts from where he is leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, watching Joshua interrogate Chan for the fifth time in the last hour. He speaks up when he sees Chan roll his eyes for the nth time. “Go easy on him, Joshua. He’s remembering what he can.”
Joshua huffs, plopping down on his stool and running a hand through his already disheveled hair. “This is me going easy on him, Cap.”
Seungcheol looks him up and down, notes the way the skin beneath his eyes is darker than it’s ever been—he’s serious about his skincare routine, even Seungcheol knows this. What he also knows is that Joshua has been working hard for the last two weeks since Jeonghan’s hospital visit, constantly in his workshop, pouring over all the old and new information, trying to find solutions to things that haven’t even reached his files yet.
“Shouldn’t Jeonghan hyung be in here too?” Chan asks before Joshua has the chance to continue pestering him.
“He’s sleeping,” Seungcheol tells him.
Mr. Yoon needs rest, lots of rest is what Seungcheol had been told after visiting Jeonghan before his discharge. He had been lethargic the entire time, eyes heavily blinking as Seungcheol talked to him about everything and nothing. And when Jeonghan spoke back, his words were dragged out and spacey, like he couldn’t remember where his train of thought was trying to take him.
Seungcheol gathered information from the medical staff carefully—Jeonghan is required to get as much sleep as possible for the next several weeks. Between the nightmares and the restlessness, he’s been sleeping no more than two to four hours a night, hurting his brain and body more and more each day as it tries its best to repair something, but with no fuel comes no power, creating an endless loop of forgotten nightmares and panic attacks. To aid his brain in trying to heal itself from all the damage brought on by HYDRA, a sleeping aid created by Joshua Hong and the medical team designed to withstand Jeonghan’s supersoldier metabolism has been prescribed. Which is great. Jeonghan gets all the sleep he needs, is healing little by little in ways that seemed impossible months ago, and Seungcheol gets some sort of peace of mind.
As much as Seungcheol has gone out of his way to see Jeonghan, he’s also given him the space needed with Jihoon’s words ringing in his head from all those weeks ago.
After all, he was right. Jeonghan needs to find himself all over again—the version that exists now, in this future. He deserves to do that without Seungcheol breathing down his neck, searching for something lost the moment Jeonghan fell into the hands of HYDRA.
Maybe the future isn’t made for them. Maybe this time around, their paths aren’t meant to be so intertwined.
Seungcheol tries not to think about that.
Joshua’s voice cuts through his thoughts quickly. “Hey, Cap, when Jeonghan wakes up can you send him in here—” he pauses, pointer finger pressed to his lips as he looks Seungcheol up and down, shaking his head. “Actually, never mind. I’ll go get him. You… You go hang out with Jihoon or something.”
Seungcheol smiles, tilting his head down as he pushes off the wall. “Just so you know, I had plans to see Jihoon anyway.”
Joshua cackles and waves him off. “Alright, Chan, just me and you again. One more time, from the top.”
Chan groans, looking at Seungcheol desperately. “Hyung—”
“Sorry, I’ve been kicked out,” Seungcheol says, already leaving.
He hears Chan sigh and start again.
“I went to see Jeongahn hyung. He asked me if I knew how to play blackjack…”
The door closes behind Seungcheol with the sound of a lock latching. He shoves his hands in the pockets of his bomber jacket and makes his way toward the elevator, stopping when the wall beside the steel doors warps and Wonwoo steps through.
“Oh,” Wonwoo blinks. “Captain. It has been a while since I last saw you.”
Seungcheol regards him with a nod, trying to think back to the last time they ran into each other like this, which has to be right before Wonwoo was sent on an assignment for nearly a month. “Yeah, it’s been weird seeing Chan without you somewhere near,” he jokes only for it to fall short as Wonwoo nods sincerely.
“Yes, it has been odd without his presence. But I suppose this assignment helped me realize that perhaps distance does make the heart grow fonder. Of course, that is a Roman saying commonly used in English speaking areas, but upon discovering it, I have found it to be true. I assume that is why you are so dedicated to Mr. Yoon—you, too, resonate with this saying.”
“Yeah,” Seungcheol says through a soft smile. “Something like that.”
“Your heartbeat is elevated.”
Seungcheol straightens his back, does his best to even out his breathing so that his heart returns back to its normal speed. It’s funny, really. He could make a joke about this, about Jeonghan being in his blood, running through every chamber of his heart. He doesn’t. Instead, he smiles politely. “You know, Chan is currently being tortured by Joshua—”
It’s meant as a joke, but Wonwoo’s eyes widen, jaw tightening in determination. His feet lift off the ground in a very serious manner as the stone on his head glows a bright yellow.
“Sorry, that was an exaggeration,” Seungcheol backtracks immediately. The last thing he needs is Wonwoo’s laser vision blowing a hole through the wall and it all being blamed on him. “What I meant was that Chan needs a break from the valid but persistent interrogation Joshua’s been putting him through all morning. He’s in Joshua’s workshop—I’m sure you’re the first and only person he’d want to see right now.”
Wonwoo blinks, feet back on the floor. “Do you believe that sincerely?”
“He’s missed you,” Seungcheol says simply, truly.
“Well,” Wonwoo says, clearing his throat. “It would only be polite to inform him of those feelings I share. Of missing, I mean.”
“I get you,” Seungcheol tells him, patting him on the shoulder and continuing his path toward the elevator. “Good luck. Take him out to eat.”
“That is a good idea, Captain. Thank you.”
Seungcheol steps into the elevator, turning just before the doors close to give Wonwoo a small salute and a wink.
✪
In a way, Seungcheol was telling the truth—he actually was planning to meet Jihoon later in the day instead of midday, but with nothing else on his schedule and Jihoon’s skill at convincing Seungcheol to do things that he normally wouldn’t do, he finds himself in the parking lot of the VA center.
Jihoon stands with his phone in one hand and the other hand in the pocket of his denim jacket. His hip is jutted out the slightest bit, entirely oblivious to Seungcheol parking his motorcycle and heading toward him.
“You really should be aware of your surroundings.”
Jihoon startles, fumbling with his phone as a curse slips off his tongue. “Jesus, fuck. I am aware of my surroundings… most of the time.”
Seungcheol huffs, amused even when Jihoon scowls. “Well, if you put that phone down—”
“Don’t do that,” Jihoon chastises quickly, pocketing his phone. “You sound your age when you say shit like that, like my grandpa—”
“Alright, don’t do that.”
Jihoon cackles. “We’re even, then.”
With that, Jihoon is playfully bumping their shoulders and cocking his head to gesture for Seungcheol to follow him inside. Even with his visits multiplied nowadays, Seungcheol still feels like he stands out, like there’s a spotlight burning into his skin and putting him on display for all these people trying to take it one day at a time. He’s still an outsider, unsure of himself more than he’s ever been. But he’s trying to be kinder to himself. This is a space for him too (according to Jihoon) even if every single one of his steps feels like they’re weighed down by cement in his shoes made from all of his insecurities. He pushes it aside the best that he can, more than willing and happy to sit and be of support to the people here because they matter more than he does—the least he can do is show up.
The meeting passes by smoothly with Jihoon leading the conversation to something more positive. Accomplishments, big or small. Moments that feel like a step forward instead of a step back. Things that brightened someone’s day, even if it was just for a moment. Seungcheol listens to people speak with a newfound spark in their eyes and can’t help but sit in the warmth that seems to fill the room.
After everyone files out with their goodbyes directed more at Seungcheol than anything, Jihoon judges his shoulder. “Restless?”
Seungcheol laughs, rubbing a hand over his face with a nod and realizing that his fingers are shaking. “I guess so.”
“Come on,” Jihoon urges. “Let’s take a walk.”
With spring starting to leave its traces and winter already melted away, the breezes that float around them and tousle their hair are fresh and welcomed. Everything feels light—the sky, the clouds, their syncopated steps, the air filling Seungcheol’s lungs.
“How are you doing?” Jihoon asks over the comfortable silence.
“Have my head on my shoulders, that’s all I can ask for—”
“I’m asking how Choi Seungcheol is doing, not Captain Korea.”
Seungcheol blinks, unsure of when the two started to blend back together. “I’m… I’m doing alright—trying to take it one day at a time with Jeonghan—”
Jihoon shakes his head, cutting him off again. “No, you, Seungcheol. Outside of your duties, outside of Jeonghan. How are you?"
Me? Seungcheol thinks. How am I?
It shouldn’t be a difficult question. Someone should be able to answer it quickly, easily, without the hollow twitching of their mouth, without the thoughts vanishing from their thick skull like it’s stumbles across some sort of riddle destined to remain unsolved. But here is is, steps faltering, stumped in a way he’s never been before this moment.
How am I?
“I don’t know,” he answers, the most honest he’s been in front of someone in a while.
Jihoon smiles. “See? That I believe.”
“Huh," Seungcheol chuckles, tonguing his cheek. "Not sure how I should feel about that.”
“You don’t have to feel any way about it,” Jihoon tells him. “It’s the truth—you just have to let it exist. It’s okay if you don’t know how you’re doing—that’s better than just saying you’re fine to get me off your back.”
“I guess," Seungcheol hums, looking over Jihoon’s head at a flock of birds passing through the sky. Part of him wants to know what to do with this, with the uncertainty, the not knowing himself anymore, not recognizing the person he’s become.
What does he do when the closest he’s felt to being a human is when he’s with Jeonghan?
“What’s on your mind?”
“Outside of Jeonghan,” Seungcheol starts, “I don’t know who I am or who I’m supposed to be.”
Jihoon sighs. “You don’t see a problem with that?”
“It isn’t so bad to me. It’s been like this since before the war.”
“Maybe that’s the problem,” Jihoon says. “For both of you.”
“Jihoon—”
“I don’t mean that you should stop loving him,” Jihoon says over him, like he knows what Seungcheol is going to say. “I know that’s unfair to ask of you. What I mean is that… Ah, hyung. It’s been seventy years, things aren’t the same. Things won’t be the same. I think you both have to realize that and stop searching for the version of your relationship that was left behind a long time ago. You spent so long grieving him, hyung, and when he came back, it consumed you again until you almost disappeared in the chaos. Who are you outside of the grieving? The chaos? Outside of Jeonghan? Who are you?”
This time, Seungcheol doesn’t have an answer.
✪
Jeonghan wakes up from nothingness.
The days seem to pass quickly while the nights drag on, mind consumed by nothing for the first time in so long. It’s odd to sit in it, like he’s somehow betraying himself by being met with silence and peace in his dreams instead of whatever his subconscious can bring forward for the sole purpose of startling him awake. The nothingness is welcomed, but it feels like a reward he doesn’t deserve.
The sound of the apartment door unlocking makes him sit up, blinking harshly to try and wake up properly, but he’s still drowsy from the dead sleep. This goddamn medication makes him so fucking tired all the time, like he’s beneath water watching everything pass him by, but it’s better than going off the rails, so he doesn’t complain. Feeling partially human is better than not feeling at all.
He stumbles out of his room after a good few minutes, mouth stale and legs shaky as he goes down the hallway and finds Joshua looking around, hands opening a drawer in the kitchen.
He hums, impressed. “Wow. They really took all your sharp object privileges away. I thought that were kidding about that. I laughed and everything—”
“What do you want.”
“So polite,” Joshua smiles, closing the drawer with his hip. “I thought we were friends, Jeonghannie.”
Jeonghan says nothing, looking Joshua up and down cautiously.
“Come on,” Joshua says, pushing off where he’s leaning against counter and tilting his head for Jeonghan to follow. “I’m trying to get some things together before we let Chan into that brain of yours again.”
Jeonghan looks down at himself, taking in the crinkled and baggy shirt and sweatpants he’s wearing. “Can I change?”
Joshua laughs. “I was hoping you would.”
✪
An hour later Jeonghan finds himself sitting on a stiff stool in Joshua’s workshop. He’s still, unmoving as Joshua pokes and prods at his metal arm wordlessly, jostling Jeonghan into all sorts of positions to get whatever he needs from him. In between each observation, Joshua writes down a handful of notes on the hologram that is flat against the table, tapping the black pencil-like object against his lips, fingers pinching at the screen to rotate and move the images around.
Jeonghan watches in curiosity, finding the technology a bit obnoxious but fascinating. He can barely decipher the sloppy handwriting, only catching some numbers and dimensions here and there as well as the VIBRANIUM!!! written at the very top.
“Don’t move,” Joshua mumbles, grabbing a large device from under one of the tables and standing, snapping photos of Jeonghan’s arm from above, the side, and beneath.
“‘s that?” Jeonghan asks, voice raspy from disuse.
“X-ray,” Joshua explains vaguely, already putting it away and moving on to his next task which is pulling the images up on the holographic screen. He hums, nodding to himself before pointing at one of the images of where Jeonghan’s arm meets his shoulder. “The bone here is welded with the vibranium. And your nerves, they’re all intertwined with the nanotech like the metal is your second skin. It’s sort of revolutionary—I hate to give HYDRA any credit, but I’ve seen nothing like this. They knew what they were doing.”
Jeonghan’s stomach twists uncomfortably as nausea crawls up his throat.
He wants to claw the stupid thing off. It hasn’t done him any good—has only hurt more than helped and it’s welded into him like it’s a part of him. And it is a part of him, as distant as he wants to feel from it. It’s welded into his fucking bones—into his every memory that is stored in the depths of his mind, too horrid to see the light of day, to even be remembered by his fried brain and abused body—
Joshua pulls the hologram into the air with a swift motion that snaps Jeonghan out of his thoughts. It displays a detailed and rendered drawing of a metal arm that is not Jeonghan’s. It’s a dark grey, sleek, so dark that it’s nearly black. The plates are slim and broken up by silver accents. One thing stands out more than those new features—the red star is gone.
Jeonghan sits up, leaning closer. “What—?”
“This is just an idea I’m throwing out there,” Joshua says, waving his hands flippantly. “The arm causes you discomfort, right?”
Jeonghan’s metal hand clenches, the plates on his fingers scratching against each other. “I don’t know.”
Joshua gives him a small smile. “It’s not a test, it’s a genuine question. How does it make you feel?”
Jeonghan looks down at it, can barely stomach looking at the thing for more than a few seconds before squeezing his eyes shut in horror and disgust. It’s stark against his body, like something foreign and unknown. Something that doesn’t even feel like it belongs to him because it doesn’t nut it also does . It’s there, it’s on him. It consumes him—it feels like a reminder of all that he’s done, of all that he’s capable of. It reminds him that for a moment of his life, he was weak and a pawn. It reminds him of everything he doesn’t want to be.
“I hate it,” he says, voice rough.
“Thought so,” Joshua nods. “That’s why I designed these. Potential new arms for you, still made of vibranium, still functional. Just… better. Something that suits you better.”
A smile graces Jeonghan’s lips for a fleeting moment. “Thank you,” he whispers, throat aching.
“Don’t thank me, just wear it proudly.”
Jeonghan lets out a small laugh, shaking his head and running his hand through the hair that falls in his face. “That won’t be an issue.”
✪
Therapy isn’t something Jeonghan can talk his way out of. Not that he would try anyway—his smooth-talking days are long gone, replaced by a grating voice rough from disuse and words that can’t seem to find their way off his tongue. Even if he somehow could remember how to be personable again, it would be no use, would fall flat against the still air and land on the floor with a dull thud, left to be crushed by the careless soles of anyone passing by.
So, he finds himself sitting upright on a burnt orange, leather sofa with his flesh and metal hand clenched into fists sitting on top of his thighs. The therapist is older—how old, he’s not all too sure. Could he say older than him? That wouldn’t be right. No one around here is older than him except for maybe Seungcheol by a few months. She’s younger than him, that’s certain, but she looks older. Mid to late forties. Like she’s lived a life—like she’s living her life and Jeonghan is just another story to tell.
She’s older and she’s wearing red lipstick that makes Jeonghan’s teeth grit uncomfortably when she starts speaking, mouth highlighted and agitating his head until he’s being reminded of something distant and familiar.
Her lipstick is red, like the girls he used to kiss in front of neighbors. He’d make a show of it, pretend to be drunk off his ass, stumbling around to make as much noise as possible to draw attention. He can almost hear the wolf whistling, can almost taste the staleness of the saliva exchanged between them. Can almost feel his stomach start to twist the same way it used to.
Bitterness coats the inside of his mouth and the knot in the depths of his gut tightens as the memory pushes its way forward as the therapist begins to talk. She’s kind in a way that seems genuine, but has the same demeanor that Jeonghan has come to recognize is because of him. Careful words, body angles toward an easy exit point, eyes constantly surveying every one of his miniscule moves.
Beneath the kindness, she is afraid.
Beneath his anxiety, he is the Winter Soldier.
How can he blame her when he can’t even stand to look at his own reflection most of the time?
Jeonghan tries to stay still and listen to her as she properly introduces herself.
Dr. Seo, she says. Jeonghan’s leg won’t stop shaking up and down as her words leave her red mouth, unable to shake the new memories already starting to haunt him. Through the blurry fragments, she tells Jeonghan what the sessions will consist of, what type of skills he’ll learn and develop to manage his PTSD symptoms, how this will help his self confidence and how he views himself. It’s like she’s in his head already and he wants to throw up.
He says nothing when she finishes talking. The air is heavy and silent as he looks down at the carpeted floors, afraid to make eye contact with her in case she starts to peel back his layers without warning. He’s not even sure what he’s made up of at this point, but he has no intentions of finding out.
“How about some ice breakers?” she offers kindly, sitting up straight and crossing one of her trouser clad legs over the other.
Jeonghan shrugs and she smiles.
She has a husband and two daughters that are starting junior high soon. She gardens and reads during her free time. “What about you, Mr. Yoon?” When Jeonghan still can’t choke out words to let her know that he’s, at the very least, listening, she smiles again. “That’s okay, it’s only our first time meeting. There’s absolutely no pressure, we move at your pace.” She waits for him to speak and again is met with nothing expect for Jeonghan’s eyes meeting hers for a fleeting moment. “Is there anything you’d like to share before the session ends?”
Jeonghan shakes his head stiffly. “Can’t think of anything,” he manages to rasp out.
“That’s okay,” she says again. “Maybe next time.”
The session ends with Jeonghan trying to keep himself upright as he leaves the room. When he gets into the hallway, his knees lock beneath him, hand coming out to touch the wall in an attempt to balance himself as he rushes toward a bathroom down the corridor. He throws up right as he slams a stall door open, legs finally giving out and clashing against the linoleum floor as he retches into the porcelain bowl.
He comes to as he washes his trembling hands, the water droplets practically vibrating off the metal of his fingertips. He presses his lips together roughly, choking on a hum as he does his best to keep the tears from spilling over.
He avoids his reflection on the way out.
✪
Somehow, his appetite catches up with him. In the quiet elevator ride back to the apartment, his stomach grumbles in a painful way. He blinks, trying to recall the last thing he ate and coming up short. From there, he detours, entering the communal kitchen where he knows the fridge is stocked. That, and it’s almost always empty, the rest of the residence—team?—tending to keep to themselves or be called into assignments that leave them vacating the premises for days at a time.
As expected, the area is empty. Jeonghan takes careful steps toward the bowl of fruit tucked in one of the corners beneath the cabinets, plucking an apple with his flesh hand and observing it. Red and shining beneath the artificial lights. If he looks close enough, he can see his reflection staring back at him.
In the distance, footsteps sound. Jeonghan looks over his shoulder, expecting it when the elevator doors slide open a few moments later and Jihoon is stepping out. He looks almost the same as the last time they interacted. His hair is a little longer, face a little cleaner. He still has the same narrowed expression, shoulders broad and back straight, puffing out his muscled chest.
When he finally notices Jeonghan, he does a double take. “Have you seen Seungcheol?”
Jeonghan blinks. No one’s asked him about Seungcheol in a while. “No. I haven’t seen him.”
And that’s the truth. He doesn’t see much of Seungcheol anymore. It’s like he disappeared. Maybe that’s for the better. Maybe he’s finally realized that Jeonghan was never really worth all the stress. Too many broken parts—used goods that don’t hold up like they used to. There isn’t much fixing to be done when Jeonghan can barely run on the fuel trying to keep him going.
“Ah,” Jihoon nods, putting his hands in the front pockets of his blue jeans. “How have you been?”
Jeonghan looks him up and down. This must be a test. “Still breathing.”
“I can see that.”
“Good, then. There isn’t much to wonder about.”
Jihoon tilts his head to the side curiously, like he can see right through Jeonghan. Hell, maybe he can. Jeonghan doesn’t know what kind of powers he holds—seems like everyone’s got something these days. “Has Seungcheol ever mentioned the VA?”
“VA?” Jeongha repeats. “Doesn’t sound familiar.”
“Veterans Affairs,” Jihoon explains. “That’s where I work outside of this. We help veterans get reacquainted with civilian life and offer resources to make the transition easier.”
Jeonghan frowns. “I’m already seeing a shrink. I don’t need another one.”
“It’s not like that,” Jihoon says, rolling his eyes. “It’s a support group. Everyone is on the same boat.”
“What do I need support for?” Jeonghan asks, mostly to be a dick but also because he doesn’t know what the fuck Jihoon is trying to imply. He’s already trying his best, already giving up all of his blood and tears to strip every piece of his flesh apart in the eyes of people he doesn’t trust, all for the chance at being someone worth Seungcheol’s time. What else can he possibly do to prove that he wants to be enough again?
“To know you’re not alone,” Jihoon answers simply.
“Who said I feel alone?”
Jihoon doesn’t humor him. Instead, he gives Jeonghan a once over. “I know what it’s like to be a soldier, too.”
With that, he’s turning back and the elevator opens with a chime.
Jeonghan swallows roughly, fingers clenching around the red skin of the apple, appetite gone once again.
✪
Joshua’s workshop has quickly become a second home to Jeonghan. Not that he’s fond of it all that much—quite the opposite, actually. It’s loud at times with music blasting from a sleek speaker or with the clattering and clanging of Joshua’s tools. It’s cold in a way that makes his skin prickle with a sense of familiarity that makes all the muscles in his body tense, like they’re anticipating shutting down and awaiting commands at any given moment. The stools are stiff and his ass aches more often than not by the time he’s standing to leave or fetch something that’s out of Joshua’s reach.
The only thing that occupying a small space in the workshop is good for is keeping Jeonghan distracted and busy. Right now, he listens to Joshua’s request to extend his metal arm out and bend it. Joshua rolls his stool closer, pressing something on the side of the clear glasses he’s been wearing more often than not. A small, green circle lights up around the iris of his eye (magnification, if Jeonghan remembers correctly from the one time he had the courage to ask what it was) and Joshua pushes at the shifting plates with a hum before pushing away and quickly typing something on the holographic keyboard left hovering near pieces of vibranium and tools he had abandoned after shifting his attention to the mechanics of Jeonghan’s arm.
“Hold it above you like this,” he instructs, raising his arm straight in the air.
Jeonghan copies him, feeling odd with the sleeve of his shirt riding up so that his armpit is on display. “I’m having a hard time believing that you need to see this.”
“Good news: your armpit is human,” Joshua says with a grin, the green light around his eyes growing slightly as he adjusts his sight. “Lot of scarring. Hm. They must have patched you up here more than once—you said it would short circuit sometimes?”
Jeonghan nods, dropping his arm when Joshua gestures for him to do so. “Yeah. Got a disk thrown in there once and it—it fucked up all of the functions. Couldn’t move it and it hurt like hell. They had to recalibrate it—”
He pauses, the memory having slipped past him, suddenly clear. Wipe him and start over. He swallows thickly.
“Interesting,” Joshua hums, eyes carefully observing Jeonghan’s face. “Was it a simple process?”
“I don’t remember.” It’s the truth. Jeonghan can taste burning flesh on his tongue.
“That’s alright. I not only have the beauty, but also the brains—I’m sure I can figure something out—”
The doors unlock with a loud click. Jeonghan snaps his head up, standing on instinct with all of his defenses on high alert. He only sits down when he hears a familiar voice, body stilling and knees buckling.
“Hello? Anyone home? Iron Man sunbaenim?”
“Soonyoung!” Joshua beams, standing up as Soonyoung comes into view, poking his head in, blond hair styled and sticking up in various places that should look ridiculous but somehow doesn’t. “No need for the sunbaenim, we were fugitives together once, I think we’re past formalities. Hyung is fine.”
“Hyung ,” Soonyoung whispers, walking into Joshua’s arms and hugging him, cheek squished to his shoulder. “Thank you, hyung. I’ll cherish this.”
Joshua pats Soonyoung’s back and laughs, pushing him off gently. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”
“Oh, right!” Soonyoung beams. “I have design ideas for my new suit! Listen, I was thinking, for convenience of course, of adding straws to my helmet just in case I get thirsty when my missions get longer—easier access, you know?”
“Hold that intriguing thought,” Joshua tells him quickly. “I actually have a prototype for your new helmet ready—”
“With straws?”
“Ah, no. Sorry, it wouldn’t work—logistics and all that fun stuff. Stay here, let me go grab it.”
Joshua is up and out of sight before Jeonghan can think about moving as well.
He’s stiff, back straight, hands clenched on his thighs as he carefully breaths in and out to keep himself from spiraling— breathing techniques, something he learned in therapy recently. Part of him hates to admit that it’s actually sort of helpful, especially when his body goes into fight-mode like it’s been conditioned to do throughout the decades. Soonyoung isn’t a threat. Soonyoung is not a threat. Soonyoung is not a fucking threat—
“Oh, hey! I didn’t see you there!”
Jeonghan startles at the sudden voice cutting through the mantra flooding his thoughts. He inhales sharply, wild eyes snapping toward Soonyoung who doesn’t seem bothered by Jeonghan’s jerky motions. “Sorry,” he croaks out with a sniff. He can’t bring himself to properly look at the poor kid, the blurred memory of their last interaction staining his mind and hands coming to him in frames that feel like gunshots. A terrified look on his face; blood dripping from his eyebrow and into his eye; his hands trying to block his face from the hits coming from Jeonghan’s flesh fist. Nausea takes him by the throat and he squeezes his eyes shut.
“You look so cool in the shadows,” Soonyoung praises sincerely. “One day I’ll be as cool as you—look, I’m almost there! I have this sick ass scar now and I look more intimidating—”
“I’m sorry,” Jeonghan chokes out. The universe must be mocking him.
Instead of accepting the apology and punching Jeonghan in the jaw like a sane person would, Soonyoung says, “No, why? Why are you sorry? Check this out!”
Jeonghan forces himself to look up, met with Soonyoung morphing his expression. Furrowed eyebrows, looking beneath them with narrowed eyes and a tight mouth, the scar stark and running down from his mid eyebrow to his eyelid and then continuing beneath his bottom lashline. Along with muscles in his arms flexing as he clenches his hands at his side, Jeonghan can’t help the laugh that crackles out of his chest at the contrast—he really does look more intimidating.
Soonyoung laughs too, eyes squinting in joy and mouth wide, elated. “What do you think, huh? Cool, right?!”
Jeonghan nods, looking down at his hands that are flat against his thighs now. “Yeah— yeah. If you think it’s cool, then yeah.”
“Of course I do, I get to tell the people that I had a run in with the Winter Soldier!” Soonyoung says. “I know you feel guilty, but honestly, don’t. I wear this scar like a badge of honor. That, and now you owe me a favor.”
“A… A favor?”
Soonyoung’s smile spreads slowly on his lips. He’s a bit terrifying. “A favor,” he whispers just as Joshua comes back holding a silver and red helmet.
“Alright, see if this fits—” Joshua pauses, looking back and forth between Jeonghan and Soonyoung a few times with furrowed eyebrows. “The vibes are weird. Why are they weird? What did you do?”
“Nothin’,” Soonyoung chirps sweetly, grabbing the helmet from Joshua and shoving his head into it. He blinks behind the red visor where his eyes are barely visible. “Uh. It’s a little tight. Ha. Wait, uh… A lot tight—does this have an airway or something…?”
Joshua’s eyes widen. “Ah… That’s what I forgot.” Soonyoung passes out and Joshua sighs. “Well. Can you help me pop his head out of that?”
Jeonghan stands and pulls Soonyoung over to a less crowded area on the floor, tilting his head as he observes the limp body. “How’d he pass out so fast?”
“He’s a nervous fainter or something,” Joshua explains too nonchalantly. “I’ll hold his neck while you pry that thing off of him.”
Jeonghan shrugs to himself. Sure, why the hell not, he thinks vaguely. This guy already turns fucking ant-sized. This is his life now.
He doesn’t mind it so much.
✪
It’s just before sunset when Seungcheol gets home from a potluck at the VA. He brought something small—a spicy cucumber dish that Jihoon made at his apartment and was willing to let Seungcheol take all the credit. As much as he wants to say he enjoyed himself, he knows that it would be an unconvincing lie. It was alright—he socialized, did his best to blend in even though he seems to stick out like a sore thumb everywhere he goes. Or, maybe that’s just him thinking too much about things that aren’t important anymore. Either way, he went, stuck around until Jihoon told him to go get some rest.
Joshua is standing in his apartment, looking around like it’s his first time visiting. When Joshua turns around, Seungcheol is raising an eyebrow at him.
“You lost?”
“I’m right where I need to be,” Joshua says easily, gesturing toward the sofa like it belongs to him. “Make yourself comfy.”
Seungcheol doesn’t move, curiosity prickling at his skin. “If I did something wrong just tell me—”
“Now, why would you think that?”
Seungcheol presses his lips together. “What do you need, Joshua?”
Joshua smiles and puts his hands in his pockets as he takes a step closer to Seungcheol. “Do you remember that charity event I talked to you about a few months ago?”
The conversation sounds familiar. “Yeah, I remember. What charity?”
“It’s for LGBTQ youths,” Joshua explains. “I’ve been organizing it for a while now. It helps fund resources that they’d need—therapy, homes, doctors visits. You name it and I’m trying to make sure they have it.”
Before Seungcheol can reply, he continues quickly. “I thought it’d be worth asking if you could attend it. I’d like to draw as much publicity as I can and who better to do that than the nation’s great Captain Korea? Maybe you could make a speech, encourage people to donate. Things like that.”
Something in Seungcheol hesitates—old habits die hard or something along those lines. “Why me?”
“Don’t worry,” Joshua says, sincere and quiet. Less theatrical than he normally is. “I’m not trying to out you or anything—that’s not my intention promise. It’s just… You’re one of the most respected members of SHIELD. Everyone idolizes you, Seungcheol. If you were a kid out there terrified of the world and you saw Captain Korea on your side, supporting you openly, wouldn’t that give you some sort of hope? Even if it’s just for a moment?”
Seungcheol is quiet as he thinks. If it was him on the other end, he isn’t sure what he would do. But that’s not the reality. He can be brave, if not for himself, then for that kid out there feeling like it’s them versus the world. The answer is easy. “I’ll do it.”
Joshua beams, his bright smile nearly splitting his face. “Atta, Captain! Now, give me your measurements so I can order you a nice suit—I want you looking real pretty.”
✪
The last person Seungcheol expects to see while getting some fresh air is Jeonghan.
He’s sitting in the outdoor area of SHIELD, on an iron bench, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. His hair is tucked behind his ears, eyes casted down so that his lashes fan against his fair skin. Around him, the artificial grass’s stillness is disrupted by a summer breeze carrying dried leaves, scattering them through the blades. Potted plants line the sidewalk that leads back into the building, flowers blooming from the leaves of some.
Seungcheol freezes immediately, his presence still unknown. He should turn around. He should let himself be unknown, let the moment pass and find somewhere else to sit with his empty thoughts, but he can’t find it in himself to take the first steps to walk away.
Grasping the opportunity and settling in his selfishness, Seungcheol takes the chance and slowly approaches the bench, sitting in the empty space beside Jeonghan.
Jeonghan startles for a moment, but when his wide eyes meet Seungcheol’s, his shoulders relax and he lets out a breath. “Oh. It’s you.”
“Sorry,” Seungcheol says, fidgeting with his fingers in his lap. “Expecting someone?”
“Expecting…? No, it’s not that,” Jeonghan huffs with a small laugh, looking down. His eyes flicker around the ground. “It’s—I was trying not to be found, that’s all.”
Seungcheol nods, understanding the implications, the hidden message that Jeonghan is too kind to share. “Ah. I’ll leave you to it, then—”
“No,” Jeonghan says again before Seungcheol can properly rise. This time his metal hand is quickly grabbing Seungcheol’s wrist, keeping him from going any further. There’s a pause as he drops his hold, retracting his touch like he’s burned Seungcheol. “Sorry, I just—stay. That’s what I meant to say. Sit with me for a bit, yeah?”
Seungcheol’s soft gaze dances around Jeonghan’s features and he nods. “Yeah, Hannie. I can stay.” Jeonghan smiles at him, something personal and genuine that almost seems foreign, but it’s familiar, so familiar that Seungcheol has to look away. “How have you been?”
“Well, I’m still alive,” Jeonghan says with a chuckle, shaking his head as he focuses back on the ground, hands clasped together on his thighs. “Things have been moving. I’m seeing a shrink—isn’t that funny? I used to think it was all a load of bullshit but… Ah.” He tilts his head back toward the sky, shaking his head again with an open mouthed smile, like he can’t quite believe himself. “Would you laugh if I said that I think it’s working?”
“Why would I laugh?” Seungcheol asks, a sense of relief flooding over him. Jeonghan is doing fine. Better than he would have been if Seungcheol hadn’t listened to Jihoon and stuck to him like a leech to flesh. “I’m happy for you—you’re… You seem like you’re doing good.”
“I’m trying my best,” Jeonghan says, voice quiet. “But… Can I be honest with you?”
“Of course. Always.”
A grin spreads on Jeonghan’s face and it’s like they’re sitting in a wood-rotted apartment with nothing but love in their pockets. “I… I could really use a fucking cigarette.”
A laugh punches out of Seungcheol’s gut at the sudden confession. “You— ah. You know, you could ask anyone here for one and they’d give you it. You deserve it.”
“Don’t want it,” Jeonghan replies, shaking his head. He looks over at Seungcheol, quiet as his eyes flicker across his features, the breeze pushing his hair into his face. “The smell messed with your asthma. I remember that. You hated when I kissed you and I tasted like ash.”
A blush spreads across Seungcheol’s face at the memory, at the thought of Jeonghan starting to recall their intimate moments like this. “Well, that was then. It isn’t really a problem now—the asthma, I mean.” The kissing, too, he wants to say. You don’t kiss me anymore, so it wouldn’t matter how you taste.
“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Jeonghan hums. “Still wouldn’t wanna risk it, doll.”
With that, Jeonghan is standing, giving Seungcheol a timid smile before disappearing back into the building, leaving Seungcheol with a burning face and a fluttering stomach.
✪
The suit Joshua ordered for Seungcheol is a dark, navy blue. Tailored to perfection, hugging every muscle it’s supposed to and allowing room in the places it should. Seungcheol stands in front of the full sized mirror in his bedroom, pulling at the sleeves of his jacket in hopes to feel as confident as he should—as confident as people expect him to.
Admittedly, it’s the best he’s looked in his life. Polished, put together. Hair styled neatly, long enough to brush the space between his jaw and neck. Joshua was kind enough to send his makeup artist down to Seungcheol’s apartment, leaving him with glowing skin, a subtle blush, and rosy lips.
Joshua kept his promise well—he does look real pretty.
The self admiration only lasts so long before Seungcheol starts to feel a bit ridiculous. There’s no time to feel insecure, not when the car Joshua ordered arrives to pick him up and take him to the event.
The ride seems like it stretches for hours. Seungcheol’s heart hammers in his chest like it’s trying to tear its way out of his skin and crawl beneath the seats before he can notice it's gone. His knee won’t stop bouncing and he’s picked at his cuticles enough times to see them bleed and heal more than four times.
Without any sort of warning, the vehicle is coming to a smooth stop and the driver is informing Seungcheol of their arrival. Seungcheol swallows, eyes widening as he wills himself to look out of the incredibly tinted windows of the vehicle.
All sorts of reporters and photographers are readying themselves in anticipation of the reveal—of Seungcheol. He can see the necks craning, can hear the hushed whispers; maybe it’s him, maybe it’s Cap. Seungcheol’s hands shake as he adjusts his trousers and clumsily messes with the cuff links—made to look like his shield—to try and ground himself before he steps out and is perceived in a way that is all too new, all too terrifying to do alone.
For the nth time in all his years alive, he finds himself wishing that Jeonghan was here. Though, it’s different than all the other times when he’d sit there guessing what witty remark Jeonghan would make, how he would touch or kiss Seungcheol to ease the nerves for just a moment.
Now, he wonders what Jeonghan would do, if he’d even look at Seungcheol or if he, too, would be sitting beside him with his heart in his throat, confidence shrunken down to nothing but an idea at their feet.
Somehow, that brings him more comfort than anything else he could conjure up.
With squared shoulders and an inhale that fills his lungs, Seungcheol opens the door and steps out, met with the flashing of cameras and voices all fighting to be heard. He looks up with a charming smile, one that makes his dimple stand out and nods at every person he makes eye contact with to regard them and ensure that everyone is seen, everyone is heard.
When the attention shifts to the arrival of someone new, Seungcheol looks over his shoulder, surprised to find Minghao and Junhui stepping out of a sleek and black vehicle. They’re both dressed similarly—Minghao with black pants that make him look taller than he is and a sheer, button up shirt with floral lace offering peeks of his bare skin beneath it while Junhui wears a black suit with the blazer embroidered with black flowers.
Minghao is the first to meet Seungcheol’s eye, offering him a smile and a nod, elbowing Junhui in the side until he greets Seungcheol too.
The photographers hurry to catch the interactions with a series of shuttering sounds and rapid flashed, and Seungcheol is soon ushered inside to find his seat.
Luckily, Junhui and Minghao are only a few minutes behind him, occupying two out of the five seats left at the table, saving Seungcheol from the possibility of having to mingle with politicians and socialites.
“Fancy seeing you here,” Minghao grins, elbows on the round table as he leans forward to be heard over the buzzing conversations around them. “How’d Joshua drag you into this one?”
“Didn’t take much convincing,” Seungcheol tells him. “What about you? I thought you were too cool for this sort of stuff.”
“Only sometimes,” Minghao jokes with a smile before shrugging. “Junui and I thought what better way to wean the public into the idea Black Widow and Hawkeye kissing behind the scenes than to make an appearance and show some support. We’re donating too, so don’t call us selfish.”
“Wasn’t thinking that,” Seungcheol says, unable to shake the bitterness that starts to unexpectedly nip at him. “Wow, though. That’s… That’s a big decision.”
“Is it?” Minghao hums. “It doesn’t have to be a big deal if we don’t want it to be. And we don’t want it to be, so. Here we are.”
Seungcheol glances at Junhui who seems far removed from the conversation, looking up at the fancy chandeliers with childlike wonder. “Does he agree or is he ignoring you for fun?”
“He turned off his hearing aids before we got out of the car,” Minghao explains with the wave of his hand, accidentally getting Junhui’s attention in the process. Minghao shakes his head, rolling his eyes and signing something with his hands that makes Junhui nod and return back to his gazing up at the ceiling. Minghao looks back at Seungcheol. “And yes, he agrees. What kind of question is that?”
“I don’t know,” Seungcheol answers with a shrug. “So… Just like that? You’re opening yourself up to the world?”
“Seungcheol,” Minghao laughs. “There’s nothing scary about being human.”
Seungcheol blinks, mind going blank as Joshua comes into view, well put together in a white and baby blue suit, spreading his arms out and beaming.
“You all made it! And you’re early, too! That must mean you really love me.”
“You promised champagne,” Minghao says, the corner of his mouth tilted up in a smile.
“That I did,” Joshua nods, flagging down a waiter and requesting for a bottle to be brought to the table. When he turns back around, he grins at Seungcheol. “And oh captain, my captain. You look just as pretty as I was hoping you would.”
Seungcheol looks down at himself with a bashful laugh, hands smoothing out the crinkles in his jacket. “I can’t remember the last time I wore a suit,” he admits, earning a loud laugh from Joshua.
“You’re like my little Cinderella—I love it. I’ll be sure to get you home before midnight—say, you have your speech ready, right? You’re not gonna bail on me?”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Seungcheol promises even though it feels like his stomach is turning in on itself. Now’s not the time to start second guessing, though. “I’ll make you proud.”
“Just be yourself,” Joshua says genuinely, patting Seungcheol’s shoulder. “I like Choi Seungcheol more than Captain Korea, and I guarantee you everyone else will too.”
“Right,” Seungcheol manages to say through a thick tongue. “I’ll… I’ll do my best.”
✪
Minghao and Junhui get tipsy off the endless bottles of champagne brought to them every hour. Seungcheol watches them with jealousy flaring in his chest, wishing he could still get shitfaced and maybe gather enough liquid courage to not be trembling in his skin when Joshua announces his name at the podium.
“And now, it’s an incredible honor to present our next speaker and one of our charitable donors. Captain Korea!”
His arm is extended out toward where Seungcheol is rising from his table, a spotlight nearly blinding him as he wipes his hands on his thighs and forces a smile onto his face. He straightens up, walking to the stage with a straight spine and practiced confidence, shaking Joshua’s hand when he reaches the podium and taking the space that Joshua was previously occupying. The applause dies down as he adjusts the small mic to point up toward his mouth. His hands find comfort on either side of the podium, and he’s taking a deep breath, unable to see any faces in the crowd due to the blinding light still in his eyes.
“The honor is all mine,” he starts, chest tight with nerves. “Thank you to Joshua Hong for not only inviting me and trusting me to speak at this event that I know is very close to his heart, but for putting so much time, effort, and care into organizing this and ensuring that it is handled with all the respect it deserves. It’s… I—”
He freezes, words lost on him even though he knows the speech he wrote by heart, like the back of his hands. Everything comes back blank and empty. Hollow.
Through the darkness, he finds Minghao and then Joshua.
There’s nothing scary about being human.
I like Choi Seungcheol more than Captain Korea. Everyone else will too.
“This… This event is close to my heart for many reasons, too. It offers hope, something that I find myself thinking about time and time again, as I’m sure many of us do during our low points, and even our highest ones. This charity is important for a number of reasons, but one that stands out, above everything else, is hope. Hope, at its core, is what keeps us going. The promise of a better tomorrow, of a better future for not only the people around us, but for ourselves.
“One day, this fear will be gone and replaced with bravery fueled by every person who held onto the hope of that better future, and I hope to be there to see it and to hold that same bravery with me, starting now. With my donation, I promise to live as authentically as possible. To be a symbol of hope for someone out there that is searching for something to hold onto, someone to see themselves in when it feels like the world is against them, because I know that’s what I would have wanted when I wondered if loving a man would strip me of my worth.”
Gasps and hushed whispers sound along with the shuttering and flashing of cameras. Minghao drops his champagne glass. Joshua is the first to start the applause.
“Thank you,” Seungcheol laughs wetly, ducking his head down as he exhales shakily, shoulders lighter. “Everyone, let’s… let’s live as happily as we can.”
“To Choi Seungcheol!” Joshua hollers, holding up a bubbling class of champagne.
Everyone follows with an echo that rings in Seungcheol’s ears like a promise.
✪
The rest of the night passes in a blur of conversations, congratulations, and celebration. As kind as the attention is, it makes Seungcheol’s head spin in a way he hadn’t expected it to. He doesn’t regret his speech and the honesty he’s been itching to share, but it’s all a bit too much too fast. Life is still moving, something he had hoped for, but where does he go from here? Where does this path lead for him?
For now, it takes him to the museum where his exhibit is miraculously still being displayed. He wonders how long it’ll take for them to take everything down after tonight.
The security guard doesn’t look up from his phone as Seungcheol approaches, chewing gum as he says, “We’re about to close—” He pauses, looking up and quickly pocketing his phone and straightening his back. “Captain Korea—hi—um, yes. Right this way. There’s a few people in there, but we’ll start closing up soon, sir. I could ask if they can keep it open—”
“I won’t be long,” Seungcheol tells the kid, patting him on the shoulder. “Thank you.”
“Of course, sir.”
The museum is empty. A janitor walks by, the wheels on his cart rolling noisily past Seungcheol without a second glance, music bleeding through the small headphones on his head. Seungcheol makes it to the exhibit quickly, his suit missing from where it was previously displayed. He smiles to himself, knowing that it’s hanging up in its closet with all its bright colors that Seungcheol hated so much then. Just as he makes a mental note to thank Junhui, he notices someone out of the corner of his eye.
Their back is to him, a hat perched on their head, hands in the pockets of their black utility jacket. They’re staring at one of the last displays, the one with Jeonghan’s photo and information displayed.
Seungcheol is careful as he approaches Jeonghan, standing beside him and looking up at the vague information written by historians who have barely scratched the surface of anything related to Jeonghan. They could never understand that this, the war, his death, was never the most interesting thing about him. It’s not like they’d care to get it right.
Surprisingly, Jeonghan is the first one to speak. “You know,” he starts quietly, eyes flickering across all the words and photos. “This is all different from how I’ve been remembering it.”
Seungcheol nods. Jeonghan’s old military photo stares back at him. Young, far from home. Bags under his eyes and the corners of his mouth downturned. “Yeah. They didn’t get it all right.”
“Childhood friends,” Jeonghan reads with a rough laugh, shaking his head. “That’s… I know that ain’t right.”
Seungcheol smiles, chest shaking with laughter. “Couldn’t be further from the truth.”
“Six months before the war ended.” Jeonghan’s teeth pull at his bottom lip. “Six months… Only six months until we could’ve gone home, huh?” Finally, he turns his head and looks at Seungcheol. “Do you ever wonder what it could have been like? If we made it through the war?”
If someone were to ask him this a year and a half ago, Seungcheol would say, yes, all the time. It’s all I think about, all I wonder. But right now, he can’t think of it being any other way. “No,” he answers truthfully.
Jeonghan smiles, looking down at the floor. “Good. That’s good, then.”
✪
It’s rare that anyone asks Seungcheol to spar. Well, anyone outside of Soonyoung.
Minghao prefers to spar by himself. Jihoon claims that it’s an unfair fight anytime Seungcheol so much as hints at a sparring session. Chan is hesitant to actually put his hands on anyone and Seokmin’s speed makes it a real unfair fight. Hansol deflects the conversation if it’s even hinted at and Mingyu hasn’t visited in these last few months. Joshua is always too busy and Seungkwan never indulges him even though Seungcheol has seen him knock someone out with one punch.
Not only that, but it’s been a while since he even considered sparring with anyone. Between trying to fall back into a routine and wondering where he stands with Jeonghan so close yet so far still, Seungcheol does his best to take it one day at a time. So, it’s a bit of a surprise when Junhui pats him on the back when he’s hanging up a red punching back and asks him if he needs a sparring partner. It takes Seungcheol a moment to process the question, but he finds himself agreeing with a bit of a thrill running up his spine.It’s been a while since he’s had a moving target.
Seungcheol is equipped with his shield while Junhui has his fancy bows and arrows. Adamantium, Seungcheol remembers vaguely as one whizzes past his head. Junhui’s movements are practiced and careful and Seungcheol watches intently as he takes two steps back, twisting his body so that he doesn’t lose sight of Seungcheol, arrow pointed toward his ankles.
Seungcheol’s feet leave the ground as he dodges the arrow, using the jump to lunge at Junhui, shield driving down with his fist, barely grazing Junhui’s hair as Junhui drops into a somersault, standing quickly and sending another arrow over his shoulder that hits Seungcheol’s shield with the harsh sound of metals colliding. In the
blink of an eye, another arrow is spiraling through the air and brushes the top of Seungcheol’s head, the stray hairs shaking in the wind caused by the speed. Junhui lets out a laugh that is cut off when Seungcheol throws his shield with partial force, barely missing Junhui by an inch as he drops to the floor, body flat on the ground.
Before either of them can make another move, the doors are opening across the vast room and Seungkwan is walking in, hands behind his back and each of his steps calculated and graceful all at once. He stops just before he reaches the black, cushioned mats and raises an eyebrow, tilting his chin toward Junhui who scrambles up, hand at his ear to turn his hearing aid up.
“Junhui,” Seungkwan says. “I heard Minghao is looking for you.”
Junhui curses. “We had dinner plans— ahhh. Rain check, Cap! Next time I’m kicking your ass!”
Seungcheol smiles, running a hand through his black hair as he smiles, dimple denting the skin of his cheek as he winks. “Yeah, sure pal. When hell freezes over.”
“Ha!” Junhui cackles, already jogging away, the sound of the quiver jostling noisily with his arrows on his back sounding further and further as he leaves in a rush.
In the silence that follows, Seungkwan looks Seungcheol up and down. “You look like you’ve actually been resting.”
He’s right in a way. Less nightmares, more time to actually will himself to sleep. He’s not sure if that’s good or bad, but based on the way Seungkwan is looking at him, he’s assuming it’s a step. “Yeah, in a way. I can’t complain.”
“You pulled quite a stunt at Joshua’s charity event.”
Ah, Seungcheol thinks wryly. There it is. “I don’t regret it.”
“Never said you should.”
“And I don’t want to take it back.”
“Again, I never said you should.”
“Then, what?” Seungcheol asks, patience wearing thin. If Seungkwan is here to start doing damage control, he doesn’t want to be a part of it. He’s willing to watch his world crumble again—it could never be as painful as the first time it did.
Seungkwan hums, eyes flicking across Seungcheol’s face. “I know you probably don’t care to hear it, but I’m proud of you.”
Seungcheol blinks. “Proud of me…?”
“From crash landing into the future to managing to hold your own even through everything,” Seungkwan explains. “No one else could do this like you do. No one else can make it look so easy. So, I’m proud of you for managing to grow even throughout everything. This country couldn’t ask for a better hero.”
With that, Seungkwan is reaching out to pat him on the shoulder and turning around and leaving Seungcheol alone. For the first time in a while, loneliness doesn’t feel so heavy.
✪
“Healing is a process,” Jihoon says, earning several nods from those attending the VA meeting. “It’s not linear, and it sure as hell isn't easy. But we can do our best and we can try— that’s all it takes to make that first step. Would anyone like to start by sharing something that’s been helping them lately? Or, maybe something—” Seungcheol raises his hand and Jihoon's sentence trails off into silence. He blinks once, and then twice. “Oh, Captain—I mean, Seungcheol hyung—is there something you’d like to say?”
Seungcheol nods, feeling every pair of eyes land on him. It’s terrifying, but it’s a step. “Yeah, if that’s okay.”
Jihoon smiles. “Of course it’s okay.”
Chapter 10: X. You Look Alive
Summary:
Older - Searows
Notes:
27k word chapter and the final one. what a ride...
as always, final chapters are always hard for me, but i am satisfied and proud of this work. it has been a labor of love and i thank you if you've taken the time to read it <3
*unedited, will edit eventually. pls ignore errors.*
warning: bottom!jh and bottom!sc toward the end.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
You think you look older,
I think you look alive
You were right before, when you told me
“Living takes more than to just survive.
“Hannie—ah, J-Jeonghan—”
“Shh,” Jeonghan hushes against Seungcheol’s mouth, their lips slick with spit.
Forgive him, maybe he’s being a bit selfish, but it’s always been like that when it comes to Seungcheol. Loving Seungcheol has always been selfish and Jeonghan is nothing but a sinner in the face of God, especially with Seungcheol’s cock in his hand, his pretty moans in Jeonghan’s ears.
“Someone—someone’s gonna—”
“No one’s gonna do anything if you’re quiet,” Jeonghan tells him, the corner of his mouth tilting into a smile. He leans forward, kissing Seungcheol until the whimpers die down. “There you go, baby. Nice and quiet.”
Seungcheol’s hips buck up into Jeonghan’s still hand. “Won’t be quiet if you keep teasing,” he huffs and if it weren’t for the muscles in his arms and chest and everywhere else, Jeonghan would swear that nothing has changed.
But Seungcheol’s grip on the back of Jeonghan’s neck is stronger, fingers not as bony as they used to be. There’s a new strength that comes as he arches into Jeonghan’s touch and—
Well, Jeonghan’s always been a bit selfish. “Fuck me,” he breathes into Seungcheol’s mouth. “I want you—you’ve gotta fuck me, Cheollie.”
Seungcheol trembles against him, mouth slack as he nods. “Yeah—okay, yeah. I can—I can do that, baby.”
It’s all a bit… lacking grace. The cot they’re laying on is small, nearly knocking them to the floor every time they so much as grind their hips against one another. It’s Jeonghan’s idea to push their cots together, creating a sort of full sized bed set up that works even better, even if it seems like both cots are ready to give out beneath them.
Every noise that leaves their bodies seems like a firecracker in the silence of the night. When Seungcheol has three fingers in Jeonghan, Jeonghan is biting onto the muscled flesh of Seungcheol’s shoulder in an attempt to keep the whimpers and moans leaving his throat at bay.
It’s a bit addicting watching the pierced skin heal beneath his tongue, even more addicting to watch how well Seungcheol takes it.
After what seems like an eternity of the loudest and also most quiet noises spilling from their bodies and the creaking cots beneath them, Seungcheol pushes himself into Jeonghan.
The stretch is almost enough to make him delirious. Jeonghan’s mouth drops with a hitched crack, eyebrows creasing as he drags his eyes up Seungcheol’s muscles chest until they’re making eye contact. He can feel the way Seungcheol’s cock pulses inside of him the second their eyes meet. Seungcheol looks like a dream, and Jeonghan knows he probably looks the same. Blushing cheeks and skin, sweat beading on their foreheads, bare skin flushed to one another like thick honey, sticky and sweeter than anything Jeonghan has ever known.
It doesn’t take long for Seungcheol to lose his composure. He’s reckless with the waves of his body, desperate as he ruts into Jeonghan like he can’t believe he gets to do this. Jeonghan chokes on his breath, bites down on his tongue until he can taste blood. It’s an out of body experience, seeing and feeling Seungcheol splitting him open like this, the only thing covering them being the thin walls of the tent. It shouldn’t be as thrilling as it is, but a moan curls its way out of his mouth, only stopped when Seungcheol’s thick palm crashes into his mouth to muffle it.
“Quiet,” Seungcheol rasps, thrusts unfaltering as he meets Jeonghan’s eyes. “Nice and quiet, yeah? That’s what you said, Hannie baby.”
Jeonghan’s eyes roll back, cock twitches between them as Seungcheol quickens his pace, reaching down to take Jeonghan in his hand and—
Eyes snap open with a sharp inhale that fills Jeonghan’s lungs like rushing water crowding a shore. His chest is heaving, body hot and drenched in sweat like the final wave crashing over and it takes almost a minute for him to realize that he’s damp in other places that seem like foreign territory at this point in his life.
His teeth clench uncomfortably, mouth dry as he pulls himself up, an unfamiliar feeling pulling at his skin, settling in his throat. The sheets are peeled off by his metal arm, exposing the wet patch tainting the front of his sweatpants like a neon sign designed to humiliate him.
Look here! Recovering soldier has a wet dream about Captain Korea!
Jeonghan tilts his head back, staring at the tall and white ceiling as he does his best to push the dream to the back of his mind even as it keeps forcefully making itself to the center of his thoughts. Whatever—he can deal with it, keep it locked in the depths of his mind like he’s been doing for the last few weeks because, well.
This part of recovery is… new.
The dreams come and go, even on bad days. More often than not, Jeonghan is waking up covered in sweat, something taking the shape of a memory itching at his skin as he does his best to recollect everything, grabbing the dog-eared journal from beneath his pillow and the pen he keeps on the nightstand and jotting down details and things he feels are important, sometimes even the things that he knows aren’t worth remembering, like the way Seungcheol looked kicking his shoes off his bony feet or the creaks sounding from the floor of their small apartment.
He never documents the newer dreams like this . This isn’t the first time he’s had this particular memory crawl into his head, plant itself on the outer edges waiting for him to fall asleep to put on a show and leave him aching in his boxers or come-stained with his tail between his legs like a fucking dog.
And at the center of all these explicit dreams is Seungcheol. In every form Jeonghan has ever known him in—skinny and frail, muscled and dependable, dirty and clean and everything in-between, all the times Jeonghan has wanted him more than the air filling his lungs.
He knows this is normal, this is his brain piecing itself together after decades of being fried and stitched into a numbed puppet.
Progress is progress, that’s what he’s been told over and over again and while he can pat himself on the back every other day and admit that maybe he’s starting to take a few steps forward, this feels like the wrong thing to celebrate. Seungcheol doesn’t deserve to be disrespected or defiled like this, even if Jeonghan was the one doing it at some point in time. He’s a symbol, the ideal man and soldier. One that has moaned in Jeonghan’s ear, rutted against his thigh in the dead of the night while they were searching for HYDRA bases.
Seuncheol is respected.
Jeonghan is… a fucking pervert. Goddamn it.
With an exhale and a hand rubbing over his face, Jeonghan swings his legs over the edge of the bed and uncomfortably waddles to the bathroom down the hall, metal fingers pinching the fabric at the front of his sweatpants to keep the wet area from sticking to his skin.
The water falling from the showerhead is scalding. Steam billows up and around Jeonghan, clouding his vision as he pushes his wet hair out of his face, mouth opening as the water runs down his face and the skin of his bare neck and shoulder. Flashes of the dream come back to him like a damn doing its best not to burst. Jeonghan grits his teeth, trying his damned hardest to think of anything but the way Seungcheol’s cheeks turn the prettiest rose color, the way he sounds with Jeonghan’s hand clamped over his mouth, the way his eyebrows furrow as he’s getting closer and closer and—
“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” Jeonghan curses, staring down at his erection that seems to be looking back as if to ask: well, what are you going to do about it?
Nothing, Jeonghan decides, tasking himself with washing his hair until he can feel the suds wither away. It’s like his whole body is betraying him all over again, unable to shake the images from his head, his hard on aching with each passing second as if to taunt him and remind him that he’s still no better than a fucking dog.
Eventually, Jeonghan sighs, tilting his head back toward the sky. “Forgive me,” he mutters, promising to say a few Hail Mary’s later on in the day even though his praying days are long over.
He’s quick about it, wrapping a hand around himself and tugging experimentally, feeling like a fish out of water as he gains his footing. He can’t remember the last time he jerked off, or if he even jerked off at all. Which, he knows he probably did—he had a life before the war, he knows that. But it’s all clumsy right now—his forehead pressed against the wet shower tiles, his flesh hand working up a rhythm that is lost if he thinks about it too hard, his metal hand flat against the tiles as he steadies himself.
All it takes is thinking about Cheollie a little more, allowing his mind to wander and appreciate all the things he’s been so stubborn about looking back on. It’s selfish, but it’s good, a heat pulling at his guts as he remembers Seungcheol beneath him, above him, saying his name like a prayer, cursing like he’s never cursed before, blushing like a goddamn virgin and—
The grating sound of his metal fingers curling and scraping against the tile pulls him out of his release, startling him into jumping back and dropping his dick like he’s been electrocuted. The marks on the wall are stark and ugly, staring at him like a reminder that as much as he can try, he’ll never be allowed this.
His hand shakes as he cuts off the water and yanks a white towel off the rack beside the shower, rushing out with water trailing down his back and legs as he avoids his reflection altogether with bile rising in his throat.
It takes almost an hour, but he manages to steer himself away from a panic attack, knowing that he’s got Joshua and Chan waiting up on him in the workshop. If he can’t get his shit together for himself, he can at least do it for the people around him that have dropped everything to help. Even if he thinks he doesn’t deserve it, they feel like he does and, well. It’s gotta mean something.
On the way to the workshop, Jeonghan takes the longer route that tends to be less busy in terms of foot traffic. Less quiet, less crowded, less reason to keep his guard up even though his mind and body rarely rest the way they’re supposed to. If he lies to himself hard enough, he can pretend that that’s what it means to be a soldier. Maybe in another life that could’ve stuck to his skin like the truth.
“Good morning, hyung!” Chan chirps as the heavy doors open with a sound, revealing Jeonghan like some anticlimactic character in a movie. “Did you sleep well?”
Jeonghan answers with a grunt, looking around until his eyes land on the donuts Joshua keeps on the other side of his workbench. He beelines toward the sweet treats, plucking a sugar and cinnamon one from its place and eating it in two bites. A stifled laugh rings against his ears, stopping him as he reaches for another one. When he snaps his head to look over his shoulder, he finds Chan hiding his smile against his palm rested partially on his chin. Jeonghan raises an eyebrow at him. “What, kid?”
“Nothing,” Chan says, shrugging his shoulders. “You just look like you’re enjoying those.”
Jeonghan frowns, wondering what the joke is.
Before he can ask, Joshua walks in, snapping his fingers and then pointing at him and at Chan. “My guinea pigs, follow me. Let’s get you both hooked up and see if we can get some of those activation words out of HYDRA’s greedy little hands.”
Already growing used to Joshua’s weird way of wording things, Jeonghan follows him wordlessly into a back room he set up specifically for their sessions like this. Even with Joshua’s inability to take anything one hundred percent serious, he’s managed to make progress on deactivating all the trigger words plaguing Jeonghan’s mind. Well, the process rather than the actual extraction of the words and HYDRA’s influence. It’s still something, though.
Even though Jeonghan is unconscious throughout the process, he reads all the logs Joshua inputs into his files, takes note of how his body and brain respond to Joshua’s ideas and Chan’s ability to gain access to the fragments of his mind. So far, they’ve been able to make progress when Chan’s head is hooked up to all sorts of wires, feeding a clearer and more cohesive image of Jeonghan’s memories into the computer which is able to generate waves that Joshua can translate into images. How it all works, Jeonghan has no fucking clue, but Joshua says it’s all like completing a puzzle, slotting these fragments back together the way they’re intended instead of the way HYDRA mashed them to fit into their use. Once he can do that, it will go back to Chan who will put these memories back into Jeonghan with the touch of his finger. It sounds complicated and simple all at once, but that’s the future. Or at least that’s what Jeonghan has noticed.
The reclining seat is comfortable and for that Jeonghan is grateful. Joshua is a good host, making sure Jeonghan and Chan are both comfortable as he hooks them with all sorts of wires that Jeonghan eyes curiously as Joshua skillfully sticks them to Chan’s temples. Surely there’s a method to all the placements, a reasoning that Joshua has gone over time and time again. One day, Jeonghan will ask about it, but today he can’t find the words on his tongue, opting to compliantly lean back when Joshua rolls his stool over to him, a wire in each hand and a genuine, comforting smile on his face.
“Do I have permission to stick these to your head?”
Jeonghan snorts. “Hasn’t stopped you before.”
“Aw, someone’s sore about the super soldier sedative,” Joshua grins, nimble fingers working quickly to stick the small, translucent pads to Jeonghan’s skin. He works in silence for several minutes, bringing up the hologram from his watch to check the connection, tweaking imperfections that are only visible to his eyes before nodding to himself. “Alright, ready?”
Jeonghan nods. Chan says yes.
“Perfect! Fingers crossed, alright? I have a good feeling about today.”
Jeonghan rests his head back, closing his eyes and listening to Joshua’s footsteps rising and then fading into the background. The sound of a door closing, the whirring of his arm clenching beside his side.
From the speaker, Joshua’s voice counts down.
✪
The train rolls into view, loud as the brakes screech in the air like a battle cry lost in the thoughts of every newly drafted soldier—kids, that’s really what they are, scared kids—standing with half empty bags and a draft letter tucked in the depths of their pockets. Jeonghan tilts his head back towards the sky, notes the way the clouds are starting to roll in, heavy and grey and threatening rain. Part of him hopes that the drops start falling now, drown him until he can’t tell the difference between the tears threatening to spill over and the precipitation rolling down his face, but life is not so kind and the clouds are unwilling to give so much of themselves up yet.
A booming voice shakes him out of his thoughts, and without another warning everyone clusters toward the opening of the train to claim their spots. Jeonghan presses his lips together, keeps his head down and slings his bag over his shoulder and follows the crowd like a sheep being herded to its inevitable slaughter.
It’s unfair, all of this. The goddamn war, the fucking draft. The fact that Seungcheol is at home, probably (and hopefully) feeling just as shitty as Jeonghan is at the way their goodbye ended. It should have lasted through the night, between the sheets and with a gentle kiss in the morning. Jeonghan had a speech planned and everything, a promise to shove in Seungcheol’s pocket to give him some hope that after this war is over, Jeonghan is ready to fall into his arms, move the countryside, live out their lives rocking on a porch and away from all that is expected of them here in the city.
But that promise is unsaid and Jeonghan is sitting down with a shattered heart and mind with his jaw clenched tight and his short hair feeling light on his head while the world is heavy on his shoulders. Everything feels so fucking heavy.
It’s a risk, but he has bigger things to worry about right now than being found out as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a creased photo. He unfolds it and is met with Seungcheol’s sweet, sepia toned face staring back at him. His finger traces over the edge, kisses the skin of Seungcheol’s cheek.
Someone falls into the seat behind him with a groan and Jeonghan pulls his hand away from the photo like he’s been burned, dropping it on the floor in the process. The guy leans down, plucking the photo from the floor and looking at it with a raised eyebrow, eyes flickering to Jeonghan curiously as he holds the picture between his index and middle finger, turning it toward Jeonghan with a quick motion.
“Your brother?”
Jeonghan bites his tongue and takes a breath to hold himself back from punching this guy in the face. Do they look fucking related? Seungcheol with his big and brown eyes, his thick eyebrows and full lips and Jeonghan with his sunken cheeks and tired eyes. He knows they don’t look like brothers, knows that this guy is giving him the benefit of the doubt, but Jeonghan wants nothing more than to spit the truth and challenge any remark that would be made. He doesn’t. Seungcheol would kill him for picking a fight before he even made it to the camp. He settles for shaking his head, taking the photo back as gently as he can. “No, we’re not.”
It earns him a curious look—not the worst response. “Why do you have his picture, then?” Not the best response.
“He’s my closest friend,” Jeonghan answers after a beat even though he’s itching to tell the truth, to say that he’s had his mouth on Seungcheol more times than a Hail Mary has graced his tongue, more times than he’s spent knelt in the pews of a church when it felt like his skin would burn right off his body.
The guy presses his lips together. “Real close?”
“He’s all I’ve ever known.” That’s the truth. “Why, you got a problem with that?”
“No, no,” the guy says, raising his hands defensively. “Just askin’. No girl at home?”
“Ain’t got time for one.” The guy nods and Jeonghan chokes back the sigh threatening to come out of his mouth. He can’t be making enemies just yet. “What about you? You got a girl at home?”
The guy’s smile brightens, all his crooked teeth on display as he nods, quick to pull a photo out of his own pocket. “Yeah! My Soonja. Isn’t she beautiful?”
“A real doll,” Jeonghan nods, glancing at the picture. “Keep her around, pal.”
“I’m trying real hard!”
The train starts to move and Jeonghan snaps his head to look out the window, wondering what Seungcheol is up to.
✪
Everyday starts and ends the same here. Jeonghan goes through the motions, keeps to himself when he should and makes friends when he needs to. Tensions are high as the war progresses and the ruthless reality becomes clearer with each passing day—their graves are already dug, waiting for them to catch up.
Today is no different than the rest. Jeonghan wakes up abruptly, follows the morning routine and makes his bed tight enough to bounce a quarter off the middle of the sheets. Mumbled conversations sound around him with the same news from the day before and the day before and the day before. They’re fast tracking the training and he knows it’s only a matter of time before he’s given orders and forced into the darkest depths of this war that he’s barely updated on. His obliviousness is by choice. Ignorance is bliss, and he’d rather sit in the small bubble of peace he’s managed to keep since opening that damn draft letter.
He hates listening to all the military jargon on the radio—that was always Seungcheol’s thing, sitting on the floor in front of the damn thing, hoping and imagining a way to save the world like he could keep it from crumbling with every fragile bone in his body. Always so hopeful, so optimistic and…
God. Jeonghan misses him. His voice, his stubbornness, the coldness of his skin when Jeonghan would accidentally leave the window open after smoking, his willingness to see the good in everything while the world seems to burn around them. He misses all the small things, every single one of them.
Jeonghan turns them over in his head, forces himself to relive these moments so that he doesn’t forget them because he knows if he ever does, he’s as good as dead.
There is no life worth living if Seungcheol isn’t a part of it.
✪
The air is starting to get colder with each passing week.
Leaves falling, seasons changing—earth’s harsh reminder that time is constant, never ending and stubborn above all else.
Wind nips at his cheeks as he subtly adjusts himself, lying flat on the top of a hill surrounded by forest. He’s well hidden, mud smudges on his face, stomach on the dirty and wet ground. He looks through the scope, the corner of his mouth pulled up in concentration. The gum in his mouth is tasteless now, bland and nothing more than some shit taking up space and no matter how many times he pushes his hair out of his face it’s too heavy from the wetness of the rain sprinkling down from light clouds.
There’s a subtle movement from a distance. Jeonghan focuses, tracks it with quick eyes and sniffs, inhaling rain water he chokes back for the sake of staying hidden and unknown. The object moves again. Jeonghan steadies himself, slows his breathing, locks in and—
The bullet pierces the person’s head. Their body falls to the floor in a series of buckling motions with a thud that seems to echo in all the space around. Birds call and scatter from the branches all around in search of somewhere quieter.
Guilt sits in Jeonghan’s mouth as he spits his gum out onto the floor. He drops his hand from the sniper and drops his head, wet hair falling into his face.
Seconds pass and he gathers himself, digs into his breast pocket until his finger touches the familiar thick and creased paper. He pulls it out and unfolds it with shaking hands. When he unfolds it, Seungcheol’s doll face stares back at him. He stares and stares and stares and stares until everything in the world feels right again.
✪
The cell bars are cold against Jeonghan’s forehead. He rolls his neck, letting the pressure remind him that he’s still breathing despite all. His head hurts, throbbing like a steady rhythm that could soothe him to sleep if he tries. But there isn’t any sleeping, not when he’s standing shoulder to shoulder with other men. Getting captured is embarrassing within itself, but the conditions they’re being kept in are inhumane, something he doesn’t think he could speak of if he ever makes it out of here alive.
Captured with his troop, and yet they only seem interested in Jeonghan. He doesn’t recall much of what happens when he gets poked and prodded—maybe he’s blacking out, or maybe they’re giving him something to knock him unconscious. Whatever it is, he’s unsure if he should be grateful or not.
From his left, one of the guys is singing a folk song, one that Jeonghan’s grandmother used to hum under her breath when she was alive. If he lets himself drift far, far away, he can pretend him and Seungcheol are lying on floor of their apartment on a hot day. The radio is on and this song is playing. Seungcheol’s complaining about the weather and a smile creeps onto Jeonghan’s face. He couldn’t be happier.
✪
Blinding lights erupt in Jeonghan’s eyes as they snap open. Everything is blurry, distant and yet close and it feels like the room is spinning as he lurches up from where he’s lying down, knocking Chan over in the process as Jeonghan vomits on the floor right next to Chan’s shoes. Chan yelps as he scrambles away from the filth, the red from his eyes fading as he shoots Joshua a concerned look.
Joshua steps toward Jeonghan with a small flashlight in his hand, checking Jeonghan’s pupils as he tries to squirm away from the light. “Maybe that’s a good sign. Hey, Jeonghan. What’d you see?”
Jeonghan wipes his mouth with a shaking hand, swatting Joshua away as he sits up and gets a grip on his surroundings. He’s safe. He knows he’s safe. Why can’t he stop fucking shaking—
“Jeonghan,” Joshua says again, this time softer. “What did you see?”
“A lot,” Jeonghan manages to croak out.
“Try describing it.”
Jeonghan’s eyes flutter shut. Everything comes back in waves—the train, Seungcheol’s photo, the rain, the cell bars, and in the midst of it all— “It’s… I missed Seungcheol. That’s all—that’s all I could feel. I missed him so much.”
Joshua’s smile grows. “That’s longing, alright.”
✪
It’s weird— progress. It’s the main topic in everything that surrounds Jeonghan lately, and no matter how much Jeonghan hears it or admits that maybe he’s starting to make some steps in the right direction, it doesn’t feel like much. Not until now.
Just like that, one activation word is given back to him, pieced back together with the faintest cracks like HYDRA never got their hands on him, never got the chance to fuck with his head. Of course, it isn’t as easy as just a few fixed memories. This is just the beginning.
Things feel more hopeful than before, though. That means something. That means everything.
Soon after Joshua runs a series of tests on him to make sure that his brain can withstand all of the stress, he sends Jeonghan and Chan up to the common room where breakfast is promised and plentiful. While Jeonghan’s appetite has yet to be awakened, he follows Chan out anyway. His therapist says it’s best to surround himself with people that he trusts instead of pulling away into his corner of solitude, even if that seems like the easiest thing to do. And even if he doesn’t trust Chan as much as he thinks he does, Jeonghan knows that Chan is, at the core of all the energy that makes him up, good. There are few people like that in the world, Jeonghan knows it, has seen and felt the worst of humanity time and time again. Chan is good. That, he can trust.
“Hungry?” Chan asks as the elevator takes them up, giving Jeonghan a small and hesitant smile.
“A little,” Jeonghan lies. “You?”
“Starving,” Chan chuckles. “Especially after watching you throw up. Really brought out my appetite.”
Jeonghan lets out a laugh, looking down at his scuffed boots stark against the polished floor. He shakes his head, hair falling on either side of his face. “Definitely not my best moment.”
“Not your worst moment either.”
“Yeah, that’s probably the killing.” Silence floods the space and Jeonghan clears his throat and almost chokes on his spit. “That–ah. That was a joke.”
Chan smiles kindly. “It was funny.”
“Thanks,” Jeonghan mumbles, grateful when the chime sounds and the doors split, giving him an excuse to hurry out and scour all the food displayed on the island and counters.
Lots of fancy ass stuff, things that Jeonghan dreamed of eating when looking at billboards when he was on the run and didn’t even have time to catch his breath let alone look for a filling meal. He picks up a fluffy piece of bread curiously as Chan stands beside him, craning his neck to get a better look at the selection.
“Oh! Croissants!”
“Fucking what?” Jeonghan grumbles, aggressively biting the bread like that’ll make it less fancy. Damn it. It’s good.
“Croissants. They’re from France,” a familiar voice explains.
Jeonghan whips his head around, met with the image of Seungcheol leaning against the open frame leading into the kitchen. He’s got his hands in the pocket of his blue jeans hugging his thick thighs, his hair is damp from his shower and the white t-shirt he’s wearing does very little to hide all the valleys and curves of his chest and torso.
“Fuck me,” he breathes into Seungcheol’s mouth. “I want you—you’ve gotta fuck me, Cheollie.”
Seungcheol trembles against him, mouth slack as he nods. “Yeah—okay, yeah. I can—I can do that, baby.”
Chan spits out the orange juice he had been taking a sip of, choking loudly and suddenly and yanking Jeonghan out of the memory. Jeonghan stares at him, considers patting him on the back, but is stopped when Chan steps back and waves him off.
“It’s–no, you’re–you’re okay,” he wheezes, fumbling for a dishrag to clean up the juice splattered on the floor and counter.
“You okay?” Seungcheol asks, stepping around Jeonghan to actually help. His warm shoulder brushes against Jeonghan’s and for a moment, his knees almost buckle. The memory of Seungcheol above him is burned behind his eyelids.
“I’m fine—Jesus Christ,” Chan hisses, squeezing his eyes shut and shaking his head. He points at Jeonghan. “Stop… Stop thinking.”
Oh.
Oh. Shit.
“Sorry,” Jeonghan mumbles, cheeks burning red. “Stop getting into my mind.”
“It’s not like you’re keeping your thoughts to yourself!”
“Hey!” Seungcheol barks, standing between the two of them with his thick eyebrows furrowed and determined. A knight in spit shined armor trying to make the world right. “Enough, alright? I know this has been stressful for the both of you, but it’s not right to go at each other’s throats like this. If you need space, take some.”
“Cheol,” Jeonghan says with a sigh. It isn’t right that they’re both getting scolded because of Jeonghan’s perverted thoughts. “It isn’t Chan—”
“Jeonghan, you don’t have to—”
“I’m serious,” Jeonghan says over him, pressing his lips together in shame as Seungcheol’s dark eyes search his for some sort of answer. “A lot of memories are coming back and—and some aren’t the best for Chan to see.”
“I’m fine,” Chan says again, this time softer. “I can block them out if I try, I just need a warning.”
“I’ll do my best,” Jeonghan promises even though he has no clue how to go about that. What does he say? Warning! Incoming, sexual experiences with Captain Korea coming through!
“Ah, I’m sorry,” Seungcheol apologizes bashfully. “I shouldn’t have stepped in—”
Jeonghan shakes his head and bumps their shoulders. “Don’t. That’s the hero in you, you know? “
Seungcheol’s lips twitch into a smile. “Thanks.”
Chan sees himself out somewhere between the shoulder bump and Seungcheol offering to split a pastry. It’s not like Jeonghan pays him any mind—he’s got better things to worry about.
✪
It’s a weird time in Seungcheol’s life where things are both stagnant and the most interesting they’ve ever been in all his years of being alive.
For one, he’s a public figure now more than he’s ever been, even as Captain Korea. He’s a symbol of hope in a completely different way, a way that he could have never dreamed of. Bravery comes with a new definition, the courage seen in him is no longer due to his muscles or persona and instead something he thought he’d never have the nerve to speak out loud.
He thinks about it every second of every day and is reminded every time he so much as turns on the TV or reads the newspaper. The feeling of being on display like this hasn’t sunk in like he thinks it should and he wonders if or when it’ll be replaced by sheer dread. Good things only last for so long—or, at least that’s what he used to.
On his way back from his morning jog with Jihoon, Seungcheol spots a pile of newspapers with his face plastered all over the front and his words typed in big and bold letters.
LET’S LIVE AS HAPPILY AS WE CAN.
Seungcheol plucks one from the pile, stares at it until he can’t recognize his own face anymore, and makes his way back to the apartments with an odd feeling sitting in his chest. He wonders when it’ll start feeling real, like the world is crashing in on him. Never, maybe. Maybe this is the beginning of something new, something better.
Joshua is walking through the main floor just as Seungcheol nears the steel elevators. His eyes light up, hurrying to press the button to the common floor before Seungcheol can.
“Hey! I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
“Sorry, I was with Jihoon.”
“Ah, should’ve known,” Joshua says, clicking his tongue in a playfully disappointed way. The elevator chimes and he gestures for Seungcheol to step in. The ride up is silent, Joshua humming a tune over the quietness while Seungcheol rocks back and forth on his hills to keep himself distracted. When they arrive on the floor, Joshua is continuing as if there was never a silence to begin with. “You know, a friend of a friend reached out to me to request an interview with you—a podcast interview to be exact. They’re the third most listened to podcast in the country—”
“Podcast?” Seungcheol repeats dumbly, following Joshua as he beelines toward the fresh fruits resting in their baskets right in the middle of the kitchen island.
“It’s like a show where people talk about anything and everything,” Joshua explains vaguely. “You can say no, but I thought I’d ask in case you were interested.”
Seungcheol hesitates. “I didn’t think anyone would care about me this much.”
“Are you joking?” Joshua asks with a huff that sounds more like a laugh than anything. “You pretty much shattered the internet for almost a month. People are still talking about you, I mean—” he pulls the newspaper from where it’s tucked beneath Seungcheol’s arm, holding it up with the shake of his wrist. “This is the best thing that has happened to culture since… I don’t know… the Telephone music video.”
Although most of the sentence goes past Seungcheol’s head, he focuses on the people are still talking about you. To be perceived… What a privilege and terror. “It’s just weird,” he admits. “I never thought I’d be praised for… for—”
“Being yourself?”
Seungcheol nods, the corner of his lip twitching into something of a smile. “Yeah, something like that.”
“Been there before,” Joshua chuckles before sighing and looking at Seungcheol curiously. “How does your lover-boy feel about it?”
“He’s not—” He doesn’t get to finish, stopped by Joshua’s unimpressed eyebrow being raised at him. Seungcheol swallows back the denial. The answer is no. Jeonghan doesn’t know about his charity stunt—if he did he would have said something by now. But he doesn’t watch TV or keep up with any current events. That was always Seungcheol’s thing. “He doesn’t know.”
This time, Joshua blinks, shocked. “He doesn’t know you outed yourself?”
Seungcheol shrugs lamely. “Does he need to know?”
“No. I mean, ah… I don’t know. I think the question should be: would he care?”
Seungcheol pauses.
Would Jeonghan care? He hasn’t thought about it all that much. He and Jeonghan are still in this awkward limbo phase where they dance around each other, pretend like there’s no history staining their flesh and bones and everything that makes them whole. The only moments found between the two are coincidental, all brought together by a stroke of luck when they cross paths in the midst of their busy schedules trying to build themselves back up from the rubble gifted to them by passing time.
Jeonghan is doing decent, finding his footing in the twenty-first century better than Seungcheol ever could. Then again, he’s always been the better of the two at adapting to his surroundings. He’s never really needed Seungcheol the way that Seungcheol needs him.
So, would Jeonghan even care that Seungcheol thrusted his deepest secret out into the public in a genuine but ultimately wreckless spur of the moment decision? Would he agree, or would he call Seungcheol stupid and selfish? Would he feel the need to protect or run away again with his newfound footing?
Not that Seungcheol regrets any of his decisions that have brought him here, he wouldn’t change any of the past for the world now. But how would Jeonghan feel? Does it even matter?
What a stupid question. Jeonghan will always matter.
The real question is, does Seungcheol matter?
Joshua’s light voice cuts through Seungcheol’s heavy thoughts. “You okay, Seungcheol?”
“I’m fine,” Seungcheol answers after a beat, forcing a smile onto his lips. “Just thinking.”
“Don’t over think,” Joshua says, tapping the middle of Seungcheol’s forehead as he plucks an orange from the basket and starts to walk away. “It causes premature wrinkles..”
Seungcheol brings a hand up to the smooth skin of his forehead. Huh. “Noted.”
✪
It doesn’t take too long for Seungcheol to decide that it’s best to deny the interview and instead have their PR representative put out a statement in its place. Something along the lines of he’s said all that he wanted to say and shared what he is willing to, and now his sole priority is to focus on becoming the best version of himself and the best hero he can be. Not so much his own words, but they tweaked his droning tangent enough to make him sound smarter than he actually is, so he can’t complain too much when it’s okayed and released.
Like clockwork, life continues and Seungcheol goes with the motions on steady feet—something that feels almost foreign.
With autumn in full swing with its falling leaves and bitter breezes, Seungcheol walks to the VA to bask in the fresh air instead of getting on his motorcycle, even if it is admittedly more convenient. When he arrives, he finds Jihoon making coffee, back to Seungcheol as his thin and long fingers work quickly against the dated (or, at least that’s what Jihoon calls it) machine. Seungcheol’s heavy booted footsteps are sudden against the still and quiet air around them, causing Jihoon to look over his shoulder with a double take when he realizes who it is.
“You’re early,” he says after a beat.
Seungcheol looks down at his body, hands landing on his chest like they’re trying to make sure that he’s actually physically standing here. “I’m always early.”
“Well, earlier. Than usual, I mean.”
Coffee drips from the machine into the pot, the brown liquid rippling as it starts to fill slowly. Seungcheol always thought things in the future would be more convenient—it’s all a bit funny. “Just wanted to see if you need any help. Unless you want me to leave?”
Jihoon looks him up and down the way he does when he’s trying to figure someone out, when he doesn’t quite believe them. Seungcheol waits, bites the defensiveness back easily, hoping that he’s coming across as genuine as he feels because, really and honestly, this isn’t a cry for help, not like all the other times. After a stretched moment, Jihoon points to the stacked chairs in the corner. “Go set those up, yeah?”
“Got it,” Seungcheol nods, doing as he’s told.
The only sounds around them are the gurgling coffee machine and the metal legs of the chairs hitting the linoleum flooring as Seungcheol carefully arranges them in a lopsided circle. And yet, it’s peaceful and still.
Veterans begin to arrive shortly, right after Jihoon sets up the disposable cups beside the dark and almost watery looking coffee. Seungcheol greets the passing by faces with short hellos and a nod accompanied with a genuine smile. He does a double take when someone familiar waves at him— Kyunjae. His hair is still buzzed, but no longer the bright silver that it once was nearly two years ago. He’s got a new tattoo on his hand and he approaches an empty seat with heavy steps and tension in his shoulders.
“Thanks for coming,” Jihoon greets as he normally does. When the stares begin to fall on Seungcheol, he gives his usual Please-Be-Normal-About-Captain-Korea-Sitting-Right-Here, He’s-A-Normal-Guy-That’s-Also-Kind-of-A-Mess spiel before diving into a proper introduction. “It’s nice to see some familiar faces and some new ones. If this is your first time, we prioritize comfort. There’s no participation points and no pulling sticks—you share at your own pace. No pressure.” Unsynchronized nods erupt like a slow spreading ripple. Jihoon continues, “It’s a new day, which means new victories, new stories, new worries. Would anyone feel comfortable sharing?”
The conversation flows stiffly, as it normally does when old, regular, and new faces are all mixed in the group. Seungcheol can’t think of anything all that important to share, but when most of those willing to speak have had their turn, several eyes fall on him. Hope, reassurance. It’s easy to dig his mind for something.
“I haven’t had a nightmare in a couple of weeks now,” he admits proudly. “I try not to count the days or get caught up in the technical aspects of it, but yeah. I’ve… I’ve been doing my best to make peace with the past and look forward to the future because it’s a gift, isn’t it? The chance to get to do this—the chance to live again.”
“Life is a gift,” Jihoon nods, elbows on his knees as he leans toward Seungcheol.
Someone else chimes in, mentions how when things get rough they like to remind themselves of that, too. From there the conversation follows the sentiment of what it means to live and be alive. Kyunjae is silent, sending glances at Seungcheol every so often that Seungcheol catches ninety percent of the time. He chooses to wait until the end of the meeting to approach him, but is surprised when it’s Kyunjae approaching him instead.
“But what about when it feels like a curse?” Kyunjae says quickly, interrupting any thoughts or greeting sitting on the tip of Seungcheol’s tongue. His shoulders are straight even as he looks Seungcheol in the eyes.“What do you do when… when it feels like waking up is a punishment?”
Seungcheol blinks, caught off guard by the sudden question. When his eyes meet Kyunjae’s, it’s like he’s staring at a freshly thawed version of himself. Unsure, terrified of what another day could bring. “You keep going,” Seungcheol says, voice quiet, sure to keep his tone low and private for only Kyunjae’s ears. “And it’ll be hard—it’ll be the hardest thing you ever do, but someone’s gotta do it and it has to be you. You find reasons to wake up, even if it’s just to watch the sunrise or feel the breeze on your skin. You look for the little things to help remind you that you’re human, and that it’s okay to feel lost. Every path leads somewhere, you’ve just gotta keep pushing.”
Kyungjae lets out a dry laugh, rubbing a hand over his face. “You make it sound easy.”
Seungcheol’s mouth twitches into a smile. “Maybe I’m just optimistic. Maybe I just believe in you.”
This time, Kyunjae’s shoulders relax the slightest bit. He swallows heavily with a nod. “Yeah– yeah. That’s… I think that’s what I need, you know? Someone there for me. Anyone that can be there for me.”
“I’ll be here, even if you won’t,” Seungcheol tells him. “So, if you’re not ready to come back next time, that’s okay. Take your time. I have nowhere else to be—and not in a sad way, don’t worry. I mean that there’s no place else I’d rather be than trying to make things easier for someone.”
“Thanks for being here,” Kyunjae whispers with a tight but genuine smile.
“No,” Seungcheol tells him, “thank you.”
✪
There’s something quite anticlimactic about returning back to his empty apartment after attending the meetings at the VA. Making himself useful where he can, reminding himself that beating himself up for not doing more for the community is worse than genuinely not doing more for the community, only to come back and be thrusted back into the routine he used to despise so much. The bitterness isn’t there anymore, having faded with time and replaced with something neutral which is better than contemplating diving another plane into a chunk of ice and hoping that this time around it does the job. It’s good, he’s doing good. Better than before, at least, which is more than he thought he would ever get.
The hours bleed together as he washes up, has a quick snack, and gets himself into bed to sleep, something he’s looked forward to without so many dreams to force him awake.
This time, something else forces him to wake up.
A chime sounds, quiet in the silence of the still apartment, but still falling heavily against Seungcheol’s heightened senses. His eyes snap open, met with the darkness of his ceiling and the gentle glow of the moon filtering from its partial hiding space behind the clouds.
It takes a moment for Seungcheol to realize that it isn’t a dream, but the chime comes again, and when he sits up he finds a hologram hanging over the side of his bed, no bigger than the palm of his hand.
INCOMING CALL: AGENT BOO
Something sinks in his stomach as he quickly accepts the call.
“Captain,” Seungkwan greets. “I need to see you—”
“Headquarters?” Seungcheol asks, already getting up and unbuttoning his flannel pajama shirt in exchange for a simple, white t-shirt.
“Yes.”
The call ends quickly and Seungcheol is out the door within the minute, feet shoved into slippers and sweatpants hanging low on his hips as he breaks out into a jog down the emergency staircase and toward the parking garage where his motorcycle is waiting for him.
When he makes it to headquarters, hair and clothes tousled from the wind during the ride, Seungkwan is waiting in the lobby. When Seungkwan spots him, he turns on his heels and starts walking toward the elevator, fingers quick as he pressed the button to the fifth floor. No words are spoken as they go up, only a curious glance Seungcheol throws Seungkwan’s way before the elevator comes to a stop and Seungkwan’s quick pace is leading them into a briefing room.
There are several files strewn on the top of the wooden table. A hologram of a map, a red circle blinking in several areas at a time. Seungcheol’s eyebrows furrow as he takes a peek at some of the files, met with enhanced photos of unknown and unnamed faces, left with more questions than before.
Minghao is already sitting in one of the seats, more put together than Seungcheol even though it’s an ungodly hour with a black dry-fitted shirt and black sweatpants, not a red hair on his head out of place. He’s twirling a pocket knife in his hand, looking Seungcheol up and down with a mischievous smile. “Good morning. You look—”
Seungcheol raises his hand, already knowing where this is heading. “You don’t have to say it.”
“Well,” Minghao grins. “I was gonna say you look tired.”
“Let’s make this quick so we can have both of you back before sunset tomorrow,” Seungkwan interrupts.
“I apologize for the short notice,” he continues, zooming out of the hologram in the air with pinched fingers. “But this is urgent. We will need the both of you to go to Japan to investigate some suspicious and concerning activity we have been monitoring for the last few days.”
Seungcheol’s finger runs over the edge of one of the folders. “What kind of suspicious activity?”
“The kind that’s worth waking you up for,” Seungkwan answers bluntly. “Now, this is everything we’ve gathered in the short amount of time we had before getting you both on this assignment. We’ve found familiar bot fragments throughout the city and pulled from rivers. Locals have claimed to have seen strange symbols throughout multiple cities—skulls with tentacles and—”
“HYDRA,” Seungcheol finishes for him, blood running cold and hot all at once.
Seungkwan presses his lips together and nods. “Unfortunately that’s what it’s looking like.”
“You cut off one head and two more take its place,” mumbles Minghao, twisting the tip of the knife against his pointer finger, the flesh untorn.
“What could they want?” Seungcheol wonders out loud.
Seungkwan pushes the files toward them. “That’s for the two of you to find out. You leave in ten minutes.”
✪
The quinjet breaks between the thick clouds in the sky as they ascend further up, undetectable to anyone curious enough to go searching. Seungcheol stares at his reflection in the panoramic windshield. Broad shoulders, hair black and grown out, pushed away from his face to reveal his thick eyebrows and full lips turned down at the corners. His shield is stiff against his back, the rounded edges peeking above his blunt shoulders. Dark eyes that flicker across his own features like he’s trying to figure himself out, trying to settle with the feeling of, for once, being somewhat content with the person staring back at him.
Minghao’s face appears in the reflection, only a small distance from his own. “Why the nerves?”
Seungcheol’s shoulders shake with subtle laughter. The stoic and concentrated expression on his face splits into something more youthful, more forgiving of time. “What gave it away?”
There’s a beat of silence as Minghao bumps their shoulders together—subtle affection, a silent way of reaching out in case Seungcheol’s grasp wavers. “Just a lucky guess.”
The silence continues and stretches between them, the edges frayed and torn until Seungcheol is brave enough to properly sever it. “HYDRA,” he admits amid the humming of the air conditioning. He looks down at the digital map on the dash, watches as they creep closer and closer to their destination. “It’s always something. It’s always been something, even before I took the responsibility of being the nation’s hero—before I even knew that’s what they wanted me to do. Somehow, they find their way to insert themselves into things that have nothing to do with them and—and where has that gotten them? Where has that gotten us? Me? Jeonghan?” An agitated sigh puffs out of Seungcheol’s chest and he runs a hand over his face, willing himself to calm down. There’s no point in getting worked up before they’ve even touched down. He’s gotta keep his head on straight not only for Jeonghan, but for himself. He’s no good when he’s strung out.
“That’s their whole thing,” Minghao says, gaze unwavering from the endless sky ahead of them. “Pathetic Nazis with an obsession for power they’ll never get. They’re weak. Spineless. Too rotten, too desperate, too pathetic to do anything right. And that’s why they keep failing and keep coming back.”
“That’s the thing. They keep coming back. We know this isn’t the last time we’ll have to be in a position like this and— God. I wish there could be a last time.”
“Well,” Minghao says, meeting Seungcheol’s eye. Let’s make that a reality.”
✪
Japan is rainy
The drops seem ceaseless, lost in the blurred images of the streets barely visible between the water pouring down. Seungcheol’s head is soaked, all the drops rushing off the smooth surface of his helmet and landing on the ends of his hair peeking out as he rushes through the streets that are now empty after careful warnings from him and Minghao to civilians, encouraging them to seek shelter or plainly go home in case something happens. Better safe than sorry.
The comm in his ear crackles as Minghao speaks. “Got no sight on anything on the east side. How’s the west looking?”
“Empty,” Seungcheol answers, looking around with squinted eyes to make out what’s around him. Shops and restaurants with their flickering led signs. Abandoned vendor carts, bikes, scooters, cars parked all around. “No sign of anything.” Seungcheol treads through the water running through the street, hops onto the sidewalk and does another sweep of the area. He pauses when he sees a stenciled image spray painted onto one of the walls of the dated building. A skull with tentacles. He runs his fingers over it, tries to scrub it with the pads of his flesh until he feels the skin begin to burn and peel. He scoffs. “They’ve definitely left their mark.”
“Yeah, I can see that,” Minghao answers. “Meet you at the rendezvous in five.”
“Copy.” Seungcheol punches the wall, not enough to break his bones but enough to crack the surface, run a line straight through the wretched symbol and taint it of its significance, even if it’s just the slightest bit. That’s enough for him.
He finishes his sweep and heads back toward where he and Minghao agreed to meet up after surveying their respective areas. In the distance, he can see Minghao’s bright red hair against the dimmed streets, drenched and sticking to his forehead.
“They must have cleaned up,” Seungcheol observes. There’s no sight of any activity—they must have gotten word of their arrival and scattered like the roaches they are. Either that or they were long gone before they got here. Or, even worse, they managed to throw SHIELD off their trail.
“I hope not,” Minghao mutters, looking around skeptically.
“This wouldn’t be the first time they sent us in circles.”
Minghao shakes his head, eyes darting in every direction like they missed something, some grander part of the puzzle. “I don’t think it’s happening this time.”
Before Seungcheol can try and calm Minghao’s paranoia, the faintest sound of gravel cracking rings in his ear. Four yards away, east of them, faint to any other un-enhanced ear, but clear as day to Seungcheol. “Duck,” he whispers.
Minghao doesn’t ask questions, simply listens just in time for Seungcheol’s shield to whip over his head, crashing into a man rushing toward them with a gun. It hits him with a heavy clang, the sound of cracking ribs and a strangled cry erupting into the world around them over the pelting of the rain.
You cut off one head and two more take its place.
HYDRA agent after agent seem to pour out of every structure and shadow around them. Seungcheol’s shield comes back to him, as loyal as ever, and Minghao is already grounding his stance, taking one last glance at Seungcheol before the peace is shattered.
They’re swarmed in an instant—it can’t be more than twenty people, but when they’ve got the combat skills, it might as well be multiplied. Seungcheol throws his shield to clear a path for Minghao to charge through, knife in each hand. Bodies fall to the floor in a staggered symphony and Seungcheol focuses on his own current problems.
Gaining distance is the best strategy—or, at least that’s what’s helped him the most in all his years doing this. While quick witted, more light on their feet people like Minghao and Hansol tend to run headfirst into altercation, Seungcheol runs until it feels like his knees could give out. Not that they would, but just enough so that it nearly becomes a possibility.
He rushes through the crowd, shield held in front of him as he barrels through, knocking anyone in his way over and onto the street. Seungcheol gages his surroundings for the few seconds that he can. A line of cars are parked along the sidewalk, groaning beneath his wait as he runs up the hood of the first one, darting across the top while surveying the situation. Minghao has got his hands full, ducking, weaving, firing a gun that most definitely does not belong to him. He can hold his own, but not for long.
Seungcheol throws himself off the last vehicle, shield clutched in his hands as he drives it down onto a man with a rifle aimed right at Black Widow. When his shield comes back to him, a gadget flies across the street, latching itself onto the vibranium with a rapid beeping sound.
A bomb.
Instinct takes over quickly. Seungcheol throws his shield into the air, watching as a burst of flames engulf it in the dark night sky like a firework show gone wrong. Before the flames can diminish, a forceful kick cracks against Seungcheol’s back, catching him off guard enough to stumble straight into someone with hopeful and flying fists.
He’s quick to gain his balance, quickly leaning back with a spine nearly folded in half to avoid a knife to the face and returning the gesture with a punch to the guy’s stomach and then chest with enough force to crack the bones in his torso, leaving him crumpled on the ground. The next person is his space isn’t as lucky, adopting the knife method with too much confidence, too much bravado. Seungcheol catches their wrist, smacks the palm of his hand to their forearm, breaking the bone and stealing the weapon from them in the same motion. When they try to lunge at him, Seungcheol pierces the knife into the center of their chest, right through the thick bullet proof vest they had so much faith in.
The bodies come rolling in with the same trained moves. HYDRA hasn’t updated their skills. Or, something even more mortifying to think of, they never needed to. Why train assassins when the Winter Soldier was at your disposal for so long?
The thought leaves Seungcheol’s mind just as quickly as it had entered. He’s more focused on the guns that seem to have graced HYDRA’s tactives. Every bullet aimed at him is deflected by his shield, bouncing off the vibranium with a harsh sound, chipping the paint and falling to the floor, kicked by Seungcheol’s feet as he works his way through disarming each HYDRA member and ridding the earth of their existence. From the corner of his eye he can see Minghao doing the same, necks snapped in the cook of his elbow, bullet wounds burned from the barrel of his gun, blood pooling from tainted flesh pricked by his knife.
The soles of their boots are drenched in blood and rain water as they step over the bodies. Seungcheol pauses as a featherlight weight holds down his ankle. When he looks down, he finds a HYDRA agent lying on their back, fingers gripping the leather of Seungcheol’s boot as if to keep him from going anywhere.
Before Seungcheol can shake him off and bash his skull in, the man speaks. “Where… is… he?”
It’s in Russian, understood by Minghao who translates it within the second. Minghao kicks the man in the ribs and answers back, “What the hell are you talking about?”
“The soldier,” the man rasps in Russian, that Seungcheol can understand, a disgusted expression on his face as he looks at Seungcheol like he’s nothing more than a stain on this earth. Seungcheol crouches down, holding the man by the neck, fingers digging into his skin to cut off his airway. Then, in English, “Where is he?”
Seungcheol doesn’t answer. A flame burns in his chest at the thought of Jeonghan’s name in his mouth, grip tightening on the man’s neck until the whistling sound of the air trying to scramble into his lungs sounds.
The man laughs. It’s strained, face nearly purple as he smiles through scrunched skin. He wheezes and coughs and says, “We’re coming for him.” Then, he cackles hysterically. “We’re—we’re all coming for him.”
The final word is almost lost in the air, crackling through his final breath until Seungcheol crushes his throat, killing him instantly.
✪
Their finding calls for a meeting with the rest of SHIELD’s most important members. The group of them sit around the table, but the focal point of all this is Jeonghan.
He’s the last one to arrive, apologizing with a grumble as he sits in the only available seat, directly in front of Seungcheol.
“Go ahead, Cap,” Seungkwan greenlights, gesturing toward him and clasping his hands together on top of the delicately polished table.
Seungcheol hesitates, hands clenched on top of his thighs as he refuses to meet Jeonghan’s eyes. He’s made so much progress only for this to be the reality he’s given. But he deserves to know. “We encountered a plethora—”
“Fancy word,” Soonyoung swoons, immediately hushed by Seungkwan.
“—of concerning events in Japan regarding HYDRA,” Seungcheol continues, voice booming in the silence. “It seems as if—”
“They’re looking for Jeonghan,” Minghao interrupts, simplifying whatever was going to tumble out of his mouth ungracefully. “They want him back.”
Hansol is the first to speak, straight brows creased down the middle in confusion as he looks back and forth between Seungkwan, Seungcheol, and Jeonghan. “Wait, but—don’t they know he’s not their property anymore? Sorry, I mean—not that you belonged to them, Mr. Yoon, just—in the sense that—”
“Hansol,” Seungkwan says gently, shaking his head and effectively shutting him up.
A hush falls over the room, all eyes on Jeonghan as he blankly stares at the table. His voice is sudden in the stillness. “I’ve… The Winter Soldier has always been theirs. One way or another.”
“Realistically,” Joshua starts carefully, “as long as their activation words are programmed inside of Jeonghan’s mind, he is still under HYDRA’s control. As the Winter Soldier or not.”
“How long do we have?” Chan asks with a worried and panicked expression and tone, looking at Minghao and Seungcheol like they have all the answers. “How long do we have until HYDRA finds him?”
“That’s…” Seungcheol sighs, pressing his lips together, but giving Chan an honest answer. “We have no way of knowing that. There was no mention.”
Several concerned stares aim right at Joshua who chuckles dryly with a heavy breath. “Well. Looks like we’re on a time crunch now, aren’t we?”
✪
Jeonghan lingers even after they’re dismissed.
He should ask Seungcheol questions. Something, anything. After all, he was sent to clean up whatever mess Jeonghan has managed to make, abandoning HYDRA and seeking refuge with SHIELD. Maybe he could even apologize again. Sorry for fucking up your life.
No, that wouldn’t go well. Dr. Seo says that he’s gotta stop apologizing for things that are out of his control. Would this be one of those things? He can’t remember much about anything between HYDRA’s hold on him and everything that came after pulling Seungcheol from the river. He remembers one thing, though.
He chose to come back to Seungcheol. That was in his control, even if Dr. Seo says that it isn’t like that.
Overthinking. He’s pretty sure this is overthinking.
He should go talk to Seungcheol.
When he finds the courage and turns on his heel in hopes that Seungcheol is still in the room, he’s met with his hopes turned to reality. With the expectation of one thing. One person.
Chan is there too. Not surprising—if Jeonghan has learned anything about the kid (other than the fact that he is very much not a kid) it’s that he cares about everyone a little too much for someone that seems like they’ve got their own skeletons in the closet to tend to. Nothing wrong with having a big heart, but it’s—
Chan steps forward, taking Seungcheol’s hand in his own, fingers squeezing around Seungcheol’s flesh. Gentle, caring, tender. Intimate in a way that makes Jeonghan take a step back, furrow his eyebrows and slowly tilt his head to the side like it’s gonna change anything about the image playing out in front of him.
Chan’s mouth moves around words unheard, even with Jeonghan straining to listen with his janky, super soldier hearing, but these glass walls are thick and stupidly soundproof and Jeonghan’s got nothing, hears fuck all and watches as the tension in Seungcheol’s face melts into something more fond.
Something ugly and bitter flickers in Jeonghan’s chest, running down into the depths of his stomach until it feels like he might start choking on the ash threatening to spill out.
He forces his feet to move, turning on his heel and walking to the elevator with each step feeling heavier than the last.
The unknown feeling sticks to his skin like tar for the rest of the night. Jeonghan hates every second of it.
✪
“So far they’ve gotten four of the ten words,” Jeonghan explains, twisting his fingers as he speaks, leg moving up and down as he looks at the table between him and Dr. Seo. “It’s—I mean, yeah, it’s exhausting. I don’t eat for hours after and everything gets… weird—?”
“Disorienting?”
“Yeah, that’s the word,” Jeonghan nods, tucking his dark hair behind his ears before resuming the task of cracking his flesh knuckles now. “But Joshua said that’s normal and it might get worse as we keep picking apart my brain. Something about my brain having trouble differentiating my current reality and the past—I dunno, that’s all your expertise bullshit, not mine.” He pauses, eyes flicking up to regard her with a shrug. “Sorry—’s not bullshit, I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Apology accepted,” Dr. Seo smiles politely, jotting something down on that damn clipboard of hers. Jeonghan counts the pen strokes, loses track after twenty-three. Jesus. “Is this something you’re having mixed emotions about? The deactivation procedure?”
Jeonghan shakes his head. “No, no, it’s… it’s exciting, actually.” Between all the fancy technology that Joshua shows him and that he despises, it’s all fascinating, watching these devices and brains work in tandem to undo years of hard work. HYDRA’s gonna be pissed when they find him— if they find him. “The thought of not having all that shit in my brain is exciting, I mean. I don’t know. It’d be nice to wake up one day knowing that… that things actually changed.”
She hums, looking him up and down. “Is something else bothering you, Jeonghan?”
The memory of Seungcheol and Chan crawls back into his mind, latches itself on like a parasite even though he juts out his bottom lip as he pretends to think real hard, acting like he didn’t do laps around his apartment at two in the morning to try and shake the memory out of his head. He might prefer the other nightmares. He lies through his teeth. “No, nothing at all.”
“You’re fidgeting.”
It’s not a question. A blunt observation plunged right into Jeonghan’s chest, forcing him to acknowledge the fact that he is fidgeting and hasn’t stopped since yesterday.
His bouncing leg and restless fingers still. He snaps his head to look at her like a deer caught in headlights, hair falling into his face at the sudden motion. He pushes it again with the metal arm, pulling it when a strand gets caught in one of the plates in the palm. “What’s that gotta do with anything?”
Dr. Seo crosses her legs and raises an unimpressed eyebrow at him. “You tell me.”
Jeonghan narrows his eyes at her, like she’ll somehow back down and stop giving a fuck about him. Then again, this is all confidential, he’s known that since the moment he stepped into this office. And while he might not trust her, he trusts that her intentions are good. After all, she’s getting paid to fix him right up until all his gears are turning like they should. She gets paid to listen to him complain.
Might as well get his (or, SHIELD’s) money’s worth.
He hesitates for a moment, treads lightly into the topic of Choi Seungcheol, Korea’s beloved hero for who he’s always been to Jeonghan: just Seungcheol.
He’s careful with his words, does his best to be vague while also informing her of important details like the fact that they were never ‘just friends’ in the way all the books say. They were more than that, something special and true.
Then, he gets into the actual problem. “I’ve, ah… I’ve just noticed he’s a bit closer to someone than I was expecting him to be.”
“Oh,” she says simply. “You’re jealous.”
“Jealous?” Jeonghan scoffs incredulously “I’m not jealous—”
“Well. Why are you concerned about his relationship with this person?”
“This person,” Jeonghan says, carefully choosing his words so he doesn’t sound like a dickhead, “is usually the one trying to comfort him and stuff, and… I don’t know, I’ve just noticed that more lately. That’s all.”
“You’re worried that you no longer hold that comforting space for Seungcheol in his life,” she says, making Jeonghan nearly choke on his spit. “That sounds like jealousy to me.”
Jeonghan stares at her blankly for a moment and then tongues his cheek with something close to a huff and a laugh. “Alright,” he says slowly, giving up. Fuck it. Maybe he’s a little jealous. “What am I supposed to do about that?”
“That depends. Are you interested in pursuing a relationship with Seungcheol?”
Jeonghan blinks, taken aback by the question. “Is—I mean—can—can I even do that?” She raises her eyebrow at him again. “No, I know—I know theoretically I can, but is… Would it be right? I’m still all—all fucked up—”
“You’re not ‘fucked up’, Jeonghan.”
“You know what I mean,” Jeonghan says over her, slightly agitated. He knows she isn’t supposed to say it explicitly, but the truth of the matter is that he is fucked up, even if he’s slowly finding his way, trying to put all the wrangled pieces back together. He’s all broken parts taped up in hopes the cracks will heal—would it be good for him to jump into something so serious? Seungcheol doesn’t deserve that. Hell, Jeonghan doesn't deserve that either. “What I’m trying to say is… Could I give Seungcheol the love he needs if I can't even give it to myself?”
She stares at him, an unreadable expression on her face as the silence stretches. She tilts her head to the side, voluminous hair moving almost animatedly. “Your potential to love and be loved is not determined by the amount of self love you have for yourself. The entire idea of having to love yourself before you can love someone else is outdated. Who’s to say that just because one has insecurities and obstacles that they’re trying to overcome makes them unworthy of receiving love themselves? Or offering the love they have to give to someone they truly care about? Do you truly care about Seungcheol?”
“Yes,” Jeonghan answers without missing a beat, as easy as breathing even though his breath falters at the end of the syllable. “But—”
“Then, what are you afraid of?”
It’s easy to answer. “What if he doesn’t love me the way he used to?”
She sighs and leans forward, clasping her hands together with a small smile on her face. “Would it be okay if I spoke to you like a friend instead of a patient?”
“I’d prefer it, actually.”
“Good,” she smiles. “I think that if he didn’t love you as strongly as he used to, he would not have nearly torn apart SHIELD to have you back in his life.”
“That’s… he’s stubborn,” Jeonghan defends lamely. Leave it to Seungcheol to try and dismantle an organization he’s supposed to be loyal to just to get something he wants.
She chuckles, ducking her head down in amusement before looking at him again. Kindness and comfort sit in her eyes like she’s talking to an old friend instead of an ex-assassin. “It sounds like you were his lover for more time than you were just his friend. A love that has endured decades, a love that has found its way back even through the burden of time, it’s something worth holding on to.”
It doesn't make any of it sound less terrifying, but Jeonghan can’t help the spark of something that feels like hope in his chest. “Yeah, I think so too.”
✪
Every word has its own story, its own memory that has shaped Jeonghan into who he is, or used to be. All stored away on his file with notes on a computer and in the journal beside his bed.
Longing. Seungcheol. The yearning that seemed to consume him once he left the comfort of their home and was thrusted into a bloodbath.
Summer. Easy summer days filled with melon popsicles, the sweetness sticking on his tongue and his lips wondering if Seungcheol tasted the same.
Dream. Dreaming of coming back home, of making it out of there alive.
One. To be determined.
Newfound. A newer version of Seungcheol, the realization that things aren’t ever going to be the same.
Sudden. It all happened so fast.
Nine. To be determined.
Homecoming. Seeing Seungcheol walk through those HYDRA doors, there to save him. That felt like coming home.
Twenty-three. To be determined.
Hidden. To be determined.
According to Joshua, that was the key to handing over Jeonghan’s autonomy to HYDRA, completely and totally without any sort of blunders. As long as he was wiped of any memory being made or remembered and loaded with the activation words, he was in their hands.
Now, well.
He hasn’t been wiped in almost two years and they’re almost through the list of words written in his dated files. Each session brings him closer and closer to a sort of freedom that he hasn’t been granted for what seems like most of his life. Sure, the memories of before and during the war come back to him, but it isn’t the same. It’s like he’s watching this life, this person, through a screen, unable to recognize himself in the character on the screen. But whether he likes it or not, it’s him. Yoon Jeonghan in the flesh, the same one from the museum and the same one that stares back at him every morning, this one with new experiences, new fears and wants and needs. One day, he’ll get used to him.
“Alrighty,” Joshua chirps, clapping his hands together before wheeling toward Jeonghan on that stool of his. “Wanna hook up?”
“Go ahead,” Jeonghan says simply, eyebrows furrowing when Chan snorts. “What’s so funny?”
“I was making a sexual joke,” Joshua explains nonchalantly with the wave of his hand. “It’s only fun when someone understands it.”
Jeonghan frowns, the lines between his brows deep. “What was the joke?”
“To ‘hook up’ means to have sex, you geriatric,” Joshua explains, holding up the wires he’s about to place on Jeonghan’s temples. “Get it? Hook up? Ah, never mind. You and Seungcheol gotta catch up with the times if you want to be fun.”
I used to be fun, Jeonghan thinks vaguely, thinking back to the sexcapades in tents.
“Gross,” Chan groans.
“Your fault,” Jeonghan snaps. “Get outta my brain.”
Joshua’s eyebrows shoot up. “Whoa, tension. Alright, let’s get this started before you girls start fighting.”
Jeonghan frowns again. “I’m not—”
“Lay down,” Joshua tuts, pushing at Jeonghan’s shoulder to shut him up.
It works, but only because Jeonghan isn’t here to get himself into any more trouble than he already has. He closes his eyes, waits, and slips back into the lost memories.
✪
Hidden. Kissing in the darkest of corners, loving in the privacy of their shared space. The wonder of what if. What if they were just honest? What if everyone understood that their love wasn’t something so evil, wasn’t something to be afraid of? What if Jeonghan was a little braver, what if they were a little kinder to themselves? What if the world was a little kinder to them?
Jeonghan puts his pen down, staring at the ink stained page. He pauses before writing something in his journal, forgoing the thought and scratching the letters away until he can’t see them anymore, tossing the journal onto the nightstand before lying down and pulling the sheets over his head.
What if it isn’t too late?
✪
Jeonghan wakes up late for therapy the next morning.
In truth, it’s a bit of a miracle that he managed to sleep through his alarm. Normally, he wakes up with a jolt at the sudden and shrill sound blaring through the small space of his room, even when he takes his prescribed sedatives after his session with Joshua as suggested by one of the many doctors he’s seen in his time at SHIELD. But it’s a different day today and he sleeps in, groggy when he blinks his eyes open and sees that he’s got ten minutes until Dr. Seo is expecting him.
He skips his morning shower and throws on a hoodie two sizes too big and tugs on a pair of jeans and socks before grabbing a worn out baseball cap and putting it on over his flat hair pushed behind his ears. He rushes out the door of his apartments, taking the stairs instead of the elevator and jogging across the street to where the office is located inside one of SHIELD’s many buildings. His hasty departure leads him to the waiting room five minutes early. More than one judgemental glance is thrown his way at his disheveled appearance, but it goes unnoticed as something on the small coffee table of the waiting room catches his attention.
Seungcheol’s face stares back at him from the front of a magazine. He’s got his shield propped under his chin, one of his dark and thick eyebrows raised as he looks off to the side with his lips in something of a pout. If Jeonghan didn’t know who he was, he’d think it was some sort of prick model gracing yet another cover, but Jeonghan knows exactly who this is and grabs the magazine quickly, looking over his shoulder to make sure no one’s paying him any mind anymore.
The words on the front are bold and loud. Jeonghan reads them once and then twice and then three times just to make sure he isn’t seeing things or dreaming before flipping through the pages until he finds the entire interview.
CAPTAIN KOREA AND HIS TRUTH
“I got tired of hiding. How can I serve this country while being dishonest? That isn’t the hero I want to be.”
Join us as we get to know more about Captain Korea (Choi Seungcheol) and his decision to reveal his truth to the world.
Q: Thank you so much for taking the time to answer our questions. It’s been hard to get an interview with you! Was keeping your privacy during this time essential to your journey with coming out?
A: Yes and no. Most of my personal life has already been a mystery to the public and it didn’t feel right, especially when so many people trust me with their safety. How can you trust someone you don’t know? But then again, I do think taking time to step back and making sure that my head was on straight was something I was very careful about. I didn’t want to jump into interviews when I wasn’t sure what to say, after all, I didn’t really plan any of this, it sort of slipped out.
Q: I’m sure SHIELD was just as shocked to hear the news.
A: [Choi laughs] Yeah, I was every PR person’s worst nightmare that night. But SHIELD made sure everything that came after was handled more, ah… delicately.
Q: Why then, during the charity event? Why choose to come out so spontaneously instead of with a plan in your pocket?
A: I got tired of hiding. How can I serve this country, how can I look at all these people at this charity and speak to them while being dishonest? That isn’t the hero I want to be. I want to lead with my heart above all. To be human alongside everyone else and live the truth I’ve always dreamed of living.
Q: Does that truth include someone special alongside you?
A: [Choi smiles] In time, yes. Hopefully.
Jeonghan reads it over one more time, the shock starting to wear off more and more and replaced by something heavier. He’s not upset—it’s not that. He could never be upset at Seungcheol wearing his heart on his sleeve, being the only version of himself that he’s ever been, which is brave through and through.
Why hadn’t Seungcheol told him?
Jeonghan tosses the magazine back onto the table. Seungcheol doesn’t owe him anything.
If Jeonghan happens to feel left out, that’s something he’s gotta deal with himself. It isn’t Seungcheol’s problem anymore.
✪
Therapy drags. Every minute stretches thin, Dr. Seo doing her best to pull Jeonghan out of the wary mood he found himself in after reading Seungcheol’s interview. He doesn’t bring it up, doesn’t bring much of anything up, really. Instead, he pulls a deck of cards that he keeps tucked away from between the cushions of the couch and asks Dr. Seo if she wants to play blackjack. She sighs, rubbing a hand over her tired face before agreeing.
They tie when the timer goes off and Jeonghan packs the cards back into their worn out package, shoves them back in their hidden space, and is off to the gym to hopefully get his mind off of everything.
He’s got his own locker now, one in the very corner with enough space to store a body or two in there. Not that he needs to do that, but it’s good information to know.
He wraps his flesh hand with gauze hastily before going to the display of sparring weapons that are kept on the wall. Joshua was kind enough to give him the code, allowing him access to one of the knives he had been eyeing for months. He holds it in his hands, turns it with grace between his fingers and watches as it spins effortlessly against the metal.
When he stands in front of the plastic dummies, he feels a little out of place. He rarely allows himself to do combat anymore, afraid of what side of him it'll bring out, what kind of memories it could trigger. It’s why he sticks to the stagnant motions of a punching bag or running on a treadmill until it feels like the machine might crumble beneath him.
Jeonghan takes a deep breath, widening his stance and raising his hand up, focusing on the stillness of the mannequin—
“You know those aren’t real people, right?”
Jeonghan straightens up, whipping his head around and finding Minghao leaning against the metal frame of the doorway. “When’d you get here?”
“I have my ways of working around your stupid super hearing,” Minghao says, pushing off the frame and walking toward Jeonghan, red hair bright against all the dull colors surrounding them. “What, you forgot how to fight or something?”
“I’m warming up,” Jeonghan mumbles, looking down at the knife hanging in his grasp, forgotten and useless.
“Well. You did promise me a spar,” Minghao says with a light sigh. He smiles, taking two long steps to stand face to face with Jeonghan and tilts his head to the side, eyes dancing between Jeonghan’s like a challenge. “Unless you’re too scared of getting your ass kicked.”
Jeonghan looks him up and down, eyes narrowing playfully. “Didn’t I train you?”
“Shh,” Minghao whispers, leaning in closer. “The Red Room shall not be spoken of.”
Before Jeonghan can say anything, Minghao is out of his sight, kneeling on the floor and swiping at his ankle, disrupting his balance and sending him tumbling on the floor. Jeonghan blinks up at the fluorescent lights on the ceiling in shock.
Minghao’s face pops into his view, red hair illuminated around him like the horns of a demon. “Sorry. Did I fuck up your hip?”
Jeonghan lets out a laugh, reaching a hand out that Minghao takes to help him up. Quickly, Jeonghan pulls Minghao down onto the floor, pins him down by a knee on his spine and the knife to his neck within a second, instinct taking over without warning.
It’s thrilling.
With the twist of his body, Minghao dislodges himself from Jeonghan’s hold, flipping onto his back and hooking a leg over Jeonghan’s shoulder, pulling him up and over his body and crashing into the floor with a dull thud. Jeonghan rolls away just in time for him to dodge Minghao’s attempt at restraining him in a chokehold, and scrambles onto his feet before grabbing the knife from where it skidded across the floor. Minghao looks down at the weapon before smirking, pulling his own knife from the sheath on his thigh, the metal glinting in the light. There’s a moment of stillness that seems to stretch for minutes.
Then, they both charge.
Minghao is quick on his feet, smart and calculated with all his moves. He keeps up with Jeonghan well, rarely caught off guard by any of the tricks Jeonghan tries pulling. When Jeonghan blocks Minghao’s knife swiping at his side, he goes for a kick to Minghao’s shin, only to stumble off balance when Minghao spins around and sends a donkey kick to Jeonghan’s knee.
Growing impatient, Jeonghan knees the back of Minghao’s knee, just enough to knock him over for a moment, giving Jeonghan enough time to lock his arm around his neck and throw himself backward, the tip of the knife brushing against the skin.
Minghao flails, trapped. Every movement only makes Jeonghan hold on tighter, legs wrapped around Minghao’s thighs to keep him still. His fingers dig into Jeonghan’s metal arm, slipping at the lack of friction until finally one of his arms is stretched out and away from his body, open palm tapping the floor three times. A signal of defeat.
Jeonghan lets go, suddenly aware of how tight his grasp was. “Fuck— fuck. I’m so sorry.”
Minghao raises a hand up to silence him, rubbing at his neck with the other as he stands. He turns to look at Jeonghan with a smile. “It’s nice to be humbled every now and then.”
Jeonghan blinks, stunned. “Huh—?”
“What? You thought my ego was that fragile?” Minghao asks, offering a hand to help Jeonghan up. When he hesitates to take it, Minghao rolls his eyes. “Come on, I’m not gonna stoop low. I tapped out for a reason. I have a lot to learn.”
Jeonghan glances at his hand before accepting the help. He smooths out the fabric of his shirt and glances at Minghao. “You sure you want me to be the one to teach you this shit?”
“You’re the only person who I struggle to keep up with,” Minghao shrugs. “Can’t think of anyone else I’d rather learn from.”
It’s a compliment, one that Jeonghan isn’t sure he should accept or not, but Minghao doesn’t give him a chance to try and argue. Instead, he gestures for Jeonghan to follow him.
They find themselves drinking water and sitting on the bench surrounded by the lockers of every member. It’s quiet as they replenish their bodies of water until Minghao swishes a mouthful of water around and looks at Jeonghan with a question on the tip of his tongue.
“How’s Seungcheol doing?”
“How am I supposed to know?” Jeonghan grumbles, unwrapping the gauze from his flesh hand. He and Seungcheol see each other anymore, let alone have any conversations that are more than hello and goodbye. And that’s pretty fair as far as things go between them. They both need that space, need the time to figure out how to navigate all of this without having to worry about one another, but Jeonghan can’t help admitting that it’s getting a bit lonely with all these memories resurfacing and no one to hold on to. No one to share them with, not even the object of all his fondest memories.
“Seungcheol misses you,” Minghao says bluntly. “I mean, he always has. He’s been asking about you since SHIELD rescued him from the ice. But somehow, he misses you even more now that you’re physically here. It probably strains that muscled head of his to hold himself back from crawling at your doorstep every night.”
“Yeah, well,” Jeonghan shrugs, unsure of what to say. Is there even a timeline for these types of things? For rekindling a spark that might not even light anymore? “I don’t think we should be moving too fast—”
Minghao barks out a laugh, one that sounds more annoyed than anything. “Well, how else are you gonna get what you want when neither of you are moving at all? Aren’t you tired of being stuck in the past?”
Jeonghan frowns. It’s not like he expects anyone else to understand, but he wishes they could at least try. “How do you know what I want?”
“If you didn’t want the same thing, you wouldn’t have come back,” Minghao says, plucking his water bottle from the floor and getting up. “Talk to him, yeah? You both need it.”
With that, Minghao leaves Jeonghan alone with more thoughts than he wants.
✪
After a scalding shower and zoning out too many times to count, Jeonghan decides to take a walk in hopes that it’ll help his mind settle so he can get some decent sleep, finding himself beelining toward the outside area that he seeks solitude in when it feels like the world is just a bit too much.
Finding Seungcheol out there is the last thing he expects.
Even from inside, Jeonghan can see that he’s got some makeup on, a big contrast from his simple white t-shirt and jeans. He’s sitting on the bench, elbows on his spread knees, head hanging down like he’s real deep in thought.
Jeonghan goes to walk away before stopping. Talk to him.
The truth of it all is that Jeonghan has always been a bit weak when it comes to Seungcheol. Maybe that’s been HYDRA’s Achilles heel all along.
Jeonghan opens the glass door, greeted by the fresh air as he steps out carefully. “You okay?”
Seungcheol startles, wide eyes relaxing when he snaps his head and finds Jeonghan standing there waiting for an answer. “Yeah— yeah. Sorry, just… just got lost in my thoughts for a second.”
Jeonghan takes slow and careful steps toward Seungcheol until he’s sitting in the empty space beside him. There’s a beat of silence as Jeonghan admires Seungcheol’s side profile, his long lashes fanning against his cheeks when he blinks down at the ground again. “Penny for them?”
“For my thoughts?” Seungcheol says with a humorless chuckle, shaking his head even though a smile curves the side of his mouth. “Ha. They aren’t worth that much, trust me.”
“They are to me,” Jeonghan says, the crackle of his words sounding foreign to even his own ears. But he’s being honest, even if it feels like pulling teeth. When Seungcheol looks at him curiously, Jeonghan bumps their shoulders, pulled by gravity and something else tugging at his heart. Something familiar and yet new. He leans into it, reaches out even though it fucking terrifies him. “Come on, you can talk to me.”
Seungcheol’s brown eyes flicker across Jeonghan’s face once and then twice, like he’s looking for something that even he can’t place. This is the closest they’ve been in a while, but Jeonghan pushes that thought to the back of his head in favor of tuning into Seungcheol’s words. “Um… I don’t know if… if you’ve seen anything about me in the media…?”
“I have,” Jeonghan says quickly and honestly. No point in lying—though, it is a surprise that Seungcheol is bringing this up at all. “Congrats, I think? You’re happy about it, right? About everyone knowing?”
“I am,” Seungcheol nods, gaze returning back to the floor. “It’s something I’ve been wanting to do for a while now so I could just be… honest. With the world, with everyone that looks up to me.”
“That’s good.” Seungcheol snaps his head to look at Jeonghan, eyebrows furrowing as Jeonghan continues. “I’m proud of you.”
“You… you are?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” Jeonghan asks genuinely. There isn’t a world or reality where Jeonghan wouldn’t admire Seungcheol’s good heart and courage. Even before the serum, before the world saw the strength he’s always carried. He remembers looking at Seungcheol and thinking, I wish I could be like that.
“I—I don’t know,” Seungcheol stammers with a clumsy shrug. “Times are different—”
“And we’ve always been on the other side,” Jeonghan says over him. Does he really think HYDRA turned him into that much of a prick? “I like kissing guys too, remember? Jesus Christ, I thought my memory was fucked but maybe we should be getting you checked out. That age finally catching up to you?”
“Shut up,” Seungcheol laughs, the sound dying down as his shoulders finally relax. Jeonghan smiles. “Sorry. I don’t know why I didn’t just… let you know—”
Jeonghan shakes his head. “I get it, don’t worry. I’m not mad, alright? You wanna tell me what’s going on now?”
It takes a second, but eventually Seungcheol takes a heavy breath and talks. “Joshua talked me into doing another magazine cover—just the cover, not an interview or anything. It’s for a good cause, all the profits are going to a charity he sponsors. I didn’t mind doing it all that much, but… I don’t know. It feels like I’m being someone I’m not.”
“Not used to the spotlight?”
“Not like this.” He sighs to himself quietly. “I’ve tried staying in the background and out of the public eye when I joined SHIELD. Only speaking when I needed to, when the public was looking for some reassurance, a voice of guidance or comfort or whatever they needed. That sort of thing.”
“Korea’s hero,” Jeonghan says with a small smile. “I read that in a lot of papers, you know?”
“Yeah, I figured.” Seungcheol presses his lips together, looking down at his hands now wringing together. “Part of me feels like I’m trying to be someone I’m not now that everything’s out there.”
Jeonghan stares at him, waits for him to continue but is met with silence that seems to shake the air between them. He's careful when he breaks the silence, mouth parting with a light sound. “You’ve always had a pure heart. No one can take that from you—it’s one of those things that made me worry about you a lot. But it isn’t anything that should be worried about—it’s who you are. You've always been true to yourself, to your heart, to the people around you. That's what you’re doing now, yeah? It’s just a newer version of you. One that’s seen the world, faced the world. You just… you gotta get used to him.”
Seungcheol’s staring at him like he’s discovered another planet or something equally as impressive and worthy. “Are you plagiarising your therapist?”
It pulls a loud laugh out of Jeonghan’s stomach, shoulders shaking. “Shit, maybe. They don’t pay her for nothing, I might as well take some notes.”
Seungcheol’s small laughs turn into a smile as he looks at Jeonghan. “Thanks. For the advice, I mean.”
“Trying to be useful around here.”
“You’re more useful than you think,” Seungcheol says. Before Jeonghan can think about what that means, Seungcheol takes a deep breath, eyes breaking away from Jeonghan’s face and landing on the grass. “Well, I should probably go wash this make-up off my face. No point in looking pretty if no one’s taking pictures.”
Jeonghan blinks. He spots an eyelash beneath Seungcheol’s eye and instinctively reaches out to move it. His thoughts slip onto his tongue unexpectedly. “You’ve always been so pretty, Cheollie.” In a panic, he pinches the eyelash between his metal fingers and holds it up to Seungcheol’s parted lips in hopes that it’ll distract from the way his face is getting pinker by the second. “Make a wish.”
Seungcheol’s eyes dance between Jeonghan’s hand and his face, a rosy blush on his cheeks, deeper than the pink painted on the skin from the photoshoot. He leans forward, gaze locked on Jeonghan as he purses his lips, waiting for Jeonghan to part his thumb and index finger, and blows. The eyelash drops from the metal, lost somewhere in the air as Jeonghan swallows, heart in his throat, very much aware of how close they are now. He doesn’t move, still, waiting for Seungcheol to do something.
And he does.
He inhales shakily before looking away and standing. “Have a goodnight, Jeonghan.”
Jeonghan blinks, barely catching and returning Seungcheol’s smile as he begins walking away. “Yeah, have a goodnight,” he replies a moment too late, slumping into the bench pathetically.
✪
“I almost kissed Jeonghan.”
From beside Seungcheol, Jihoon wheezes, slowing his jog as he grabs his side, face scrunched up painfully. “What—what the fuck does this have to do with me?”
“I have no one else to talk to about this,” Seungcheol answers honestly. Minghao is too cut and dry. Chan is too supportive of his feelings for Jeonghan, and therefore biassed. Junhui couldn’t care less and Seungkwan just wants him to do his fucking job. “And I know you’ll be honest with me.”
Jihoon doesn’t seem touched by this sentiment. “What do you want me to be honest about? If you wanna kiss him, kiss him. I don’t care —fuck. My lungs hurt, God. Why don’t we take a break and—”
“I don’t want to ruin things—”
“This is so middle school,” Jihoon groans.
“Is it?” Seungcheol doesn’t remember school feeling this confusing. Then again, he was spending most of his time getting his ass kicked for picking fights he thought he could finish.
“Nowadays, yes.”
“All I want is to make sure that I’m not pushing Jeonghan to do anything he doesn’t want to do,” Seungcheol explains before Jihoon can decide that he wants no part in this conversation. Being so close to Jeonghan last night was a rush that Seungcheol hasn’t felt since before waking up in the future. But what can he do with those feelings when he isn’t even sure if Jeonghan felt the same? What if he’s moved on, moved forward instead of letting himself get stuck in the past like Seungcheol has?
“Why don’t you just ask him?”
Seungcheol shakes his head. It’s a recipe for disaster, That and, “It’s too easy. I’ll scare him away—”
“This isn’t the same Jeonghan that tried to kill us every time we inconvenienced him. He doesn't run away anymore, Seungcheol. He’s not HYDRA’s toy anymore and he’s definitely not the shell of a person he was when he was running from SHIELD,” Jihoon says. “He’s changed, you’ve changed. What more could you want?”
“I want to do things right, ” Seungcheol admits. Maybe he’s overcomplicating things, but nothing about him and Jeonghan has ever been easy, now more than ever.
Jihoon stares at him blankly. “If you’re so scared of rushing things, then just wait for him. He can make these decisions himself. If he wants you back in his life like you want him, then he’ll let you know. He’s not exactly a people pleaser, trust me I can tell.”
Jihoon is right. But even then, what if Jeonghan never comes around? What if he doesn’t want Seungcheol back in his life, what if all the love that he had withered away, turned to ash in the midst of all the flames he’s endured?
What if their time is up?
“Don’t overthink it,” Jihoon says unhelpfully, slowly laying on the floor through his wheezing breaths. “Just let it happen.”
Let it happen.
It’s so much easier said than done, but maybe…
Maybe he can do that.
✪
Jeonghan watches in curiosity and boredom as Joshua welds what is soon to be Jeonghan’s new and upgraded arm.
The sparks are bright, flying through the air in bright colors that make Jeonghan’s head hurt even more, having no chance to recover after the deactivation session they had only a few hours ago. They’ve hit a wall, at least that’s what Joshua has been saying. Three words left to be deactivated, all with unknown origins. Until Joshua can figure out how to decode those, they’re at a deadend.
Jeonghan does his best to not feel so hopeless about it, but fuck. So close to the fucking finishline only for the end to suddenly be stretched further. There’s a possibility that maybe that was HYDRA’s plan the whole time, to throw these curveballs in there to make it impossible for Jeonghan to ever pry himself from their grasp. He’s gotta hand it to them, it’s good thinking on their end.
Deep in his thoughts, Jeonghan subconsciously runs his hand over the metal arm attached to him, from the shoulder hidden beneath his first all the way down to his wrist and then back up. His fingernail catches on the red star on his upper arm and he scratches at it, the sound harsh and jarring.
When Joshua takes a break from welding and flips his visor up, Jeonghan speaks. “You said I can pick a design for the new one, right?”
“Absolutely!” Joshua chirps with a beaming smile, leaning forward, giving Jeonghan all of his attention. “Why? You got any ideas?”
Jeonghan hesitates before nodding stiffly. “Yeah, I think I’ve got one.”
✪
Jeonghan’s therapy session ends with shaking hands and a dry mouth.
“Joining SHIELD is an option for you, Jeonghan.”
“Don’t think I’d be the best hero if I’m being honest.”
“I think you need to give yourself some grace. It wouldn’t be an overnight thing, of course there are SHIELD standards you would have to comply—”
By now, he could have sworn that the memories crashing back into his thick skull would stop catching him off guard. He was tortured, treated like a fucking animal. He knows this, he knows this.
And yet, here he is. Trembling after a simple word, one that shouldn’t be enough to spit a bitter taste in his mouth, leave the soft flesh coated in copper like he’s choking on his blood as the blurred image of being strapped to a stiff, metal chair flickers in his head like the static of a television.
Comply.
Comply, comply, comply.
He holds on to the edges of the restroom sink as he tries to catch his breath, breathing through his nose harshly in hopes to stop the way his chest and legs are shaking like leaves in the wind. Frustration is quick to crawl into his flesh, tearing an agitated growl from him as he punches the mirror.
The shards of glass fall around the metal arm and he steps back, his mortified expression staring back at him from the pool of glass on the floor.
He hates it.
He hates himself a little more.
When he finds Jihoon, he knows he looks like a rabid animal tearing through the SHIELD building. Jihoon is walking out of the gym, a dry fit shirt hugging his torso and his pale hands in the pockets of his sweatpants.
He pauses when he sees Jeonghan’s figure standing stiffly in the hallway, raising an eyebrow and looking at him up and down cautiously. “Should I go get a gun?”
“I need your help,” Jeonghan manages to rasp out.
From there, Jihoon is courteous enough to walk Jeonghan to his apartment in silence, only speaking when he asks Jeonghan for the pin to the door. Instead of leaving like he probably should, Jihoon stays. He lets Jeonghan go into the living room, lying on the sofa and staring up at the ceiling as all the muscles in his body begin to relax at the familiar and safe surroundings. Just as the embarrassment sets in, Jihoon is joining him, handing Jeonghan a glass of water and sitting in the armchair beside the loveseat.
“You wanna tell me what’s going on?”
Jeonghan sits up, chugging the entirety of the glass before setting it on the coffee table carefully. “I want to go to those VA meetings you told me about. The… the support group.”
Jihoon is quiet for a few seconds, eyes scanning Jeonghan like he’s expecting him to change his mind. “And you’re sure that’s what you want to do? If it’s forced, it could be a stressor for your PTSD—”
“No, it’s… It’s all me,” Jeonghan says. “I mean, my therapist said it’d be a good idea a few sessions ago, and she has yet to lead me in the wrong direction, but—yeah. It’s all me. It wouldn’t hurt to try.”
“That’s good,” Jihoon nods. “I invited you for a reason, you know? It helps, even if you’re just sitting there listening. Being consistent is helpful too, but if you’re not ready for that then going every other week is also an option.” He pauses, clearing his throat. “Hey, um… I should probably let you know that Seungcheol is a regular at our meetings now, so. You’ll be seeing him more frequently if you decide to attend.”
“Why would that be an issue?” Jeonghan asks even though he knows how and why it could absolutely be an issue. The thought of Seungcheol staring right at him while he has to admit to someone other than himself that sometimes it feels like he’s going up only for everything to come crashing down makes him feel nauseous.
Jihoon raises an eyebrow at him. “It’s a safe space for him. It’s a new place for you. The last thing either of you need is to feel like you can’t be open and present in fear of sharing something that the other might not want to hear.”
“You don’t want me ruining that for him, right? His progress?”
“Your progress too,” Jihoon tells him seriously.
Jeonghan presses his lips together. He gets it, he does. “I’ll find another group—”
“Don’t be stupid,” Jihoon says bluntly, rolling his eyes. “We’ll try it out and see how it goes. I’ll give him a heads up so he knows what to expect, but I think he’ll be alright.”
Maybe it’s the need for reassurance, or because if anyone knows Seungcheol the best right now, it’s Jihoon, but Jeonghan asks: “You think so?”
“Jeonghan,” Jihoon starts, “he loves you too much to fuck any chance of your success up.”
Jeonghan’s chest flickers.. “Oh.”
“Don't act so surprised.”
“Well, I haven't been around him for more than a few minutes at a time,” Jeonghan admits. “It’s hard not to think that he’s… he’s moved on or something.”
Jihoon laughs, loud and sudden. “Yeah, right. He loves you so much that he’s willing to give you space so you can decide whether or not you want him around—moving on isn’t an option for him. It never has been.”
Jeonghan blinks. “What—why would he think that I don’t?”
Jihoon gives him an annoyed stare. “The two of you have been so focused on what the other wants rather than what yourselves want. I don’t know why he thinks that, he just does. And it seems like you don’t even know what you want, so is it so bad that he’s waiting for you to figure it out instead of rushing into things or breaking his own heart all over again?”
Jeonghan isn’t sure what to say, words scrambled in his head as he tries to piece together what Jihoon is telling him. “How… How am I supposed to know when I’ve got it figured out?”
“Maybe you’ll just know,” Jihoon says unhelpfully. “Why don’t you ask your therapist? She gets paid for this shit, I don’t.”
And, well. He has a point.
✪
The outside of the VA office looks like every other building around. Grey, stale against the blue sky and green trees but somehow still blending into its surroundings. Jeonghan stands across the street, watching as people filter in one after another. Eventually, he should move. Despite knowing this, he can’t seem to kick himself into drive, the tips of his fingers trembling as he clenches and unclenches his fists to keep himself from turning around and going back to his apartment to wait for his next therapy session with his tail between his legs.
He’s not sure how much time passes as he blankly stares at the building, but the distant and blaring honk of a car pulls him back into reality, breath sucked back into his lungs as he sways on his feet and realizes that he’s definitely late at this point.
Courage is gathered slowly and with reluctance he makes his way toward and into the building.
All eyes snap to him the moment he steps past the threshold and the glass door closes behind him slowly, the subtle breeze of the outside rushing in and making the hairs on the back of his neck raise.
Seungcheol’s voice trails off and away from whatever he was saying, brown eyes widening as he takes in Jeonghan standing there, sticking out like a sore thumb with his black hat tilted down to hide most of his features, hands tucked into the pockets of the thick, brown winter jacket he’s wearing to keep the winter off his skin.
“Hey,” Jihoon welcomes, breaking the thick silence with a light tone that resembles comfort, like one trying to ensure a wounded animal that they’re here to help, not harm. “Thanks for joining us. Come take a seat, we were just getting started.”
Jeonghan nods with a jerky motion, hurrying toward one of the empty chairs, sitting beside an older gentleman who gives him a kind smile. Jeonghan doesn’t return it, avoiding eye contact altogether and pulling the brim of his hat further down his face in hopes of disappearing into his surroundings as he sinks into the chair to make himself smaller than he’s ever been.
When he takes the chance of looking up to observe his surroundings, he catches Seungcheol’s gaze on accident. On instinct, more like. Always conditioned to find the only person he wants to see.
Seungcheol’s lips twitch into a smile, his hand coming up to wave in a way that is both awkward and endearing. Jeonghan smiles back, and it seems like it’s enough to reenergize Seungcheol into continuing his forgotten tangent.
The entirety of the hour and a half passes in a dazed blur that Jeonghan finds himself swaying in and out of, head barely above water to keep the water from filling his lungs. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even introduce himself when Jihoon gives him the chance to.
But that’s alright. He showed up, and that counts for something, goddamn it. He knows it does.
✪
It’s four in the morning when Joshua calls Jeonghan and informs him of his new arm being ready to go. Jeonghan is barely awake, shaken from a hazy dream or nightmare—he can’t quite place it. It was snowing and all the voices were speaking in languages he could only partially decipher.
“—so, what do you say?”
Jeonghan blinks at the caller ID projected in the air in front of him—somehow, this isn’t a dream. Crazy. “Sorry— huh?”
“We can get you into surgery right now if you want your new arm as soon as possible,” Joshua explains quickly, the sound of chatter behind him. “What do you say? Shall I send a car to get you?”
Jeonghan’s mouth parts with a click, eyes wide at the sudden realization that he’ll no longer have this burden hanging onto him. “Wait… You’re serious?”
“Dead serious,” Joshua answers.
It sounds way too good to be true, but what does he have to lose? “Okay, yeah. Yeah, send the car.”
✪
It feels like a dream.
One without screaming or bitterness or blood or coldness scratching at his skin, picking him apart until he’s nothing but the shell of who he used to be. He’s whole, he’s aware, and he’s new.
He can’t stop staring at the design when he wakes up. Everything seems to move in slow motion, the sedative slowly wearing off as his metabolism fights against all the drugs in his body. He notices it immediately though. The lightness first and then the way it moves. Less clunky, more suited for his lean yet strong body. The design is sleek, nicer and all the more updated than the previous hack job hastily and inhumanely done by HYDRA. He can move it with ease and he can tell right away that the plates don’t get stuck like they used to.
There’s no need for calibration—that’s what Joshua explains several minutes later when he’s notified of Jeonghan’s status. There’s a chip in there that can be easily updated without hurting Jeonghan or harming the new vibranium bones in his arm together that are fused and connected with the joint of his shoulder.
It all starts to fall deaf on Jeonghan’s ears as he reaches out with his flesh hands to touch the black vibranium, running his fingers over the untainted material, shining beneath the fluorescent hospital lighting.
A drop of water falls onto the back of his metal arm, beading before sliding off as he rotates his hand. When another drop lands on his palm, he brings a hand up to his face, touching the wetness on his cheeks.
“You okay?” Joshua asks carefully, brows knitted as he ducks his head slightly to get a better look at Jeonghan’s expression.
A wet laugh crackles from Jeonghan’s chest as he nods. “Yeah—yeah, I’m… I’m great.” His smile wobbles, lips pressed together until he’s crumbling in a way so much different than all the other times he’s been ripped apart.
It feels good. Like something close to hope.
✪
“I just don’t get it.”
Jeonghan blinks calmly, watching Joshua wheel around his workshop on his stool, gathering papers from all the stacked piles of files he has on Jeonghan. “HYDRA’s smart,” he says. “They probably threw a few words in there so make it impossible to fully deactivate the words.” He’s had enough time to come to terms with the possibility of never fully being free from HYDRA’s control. All he can do now is lay low, hide when he needs to and pray to every God out there that they stop trying to look for him.
“No, that’s not it,” Joshua insists, shaking his head as he reads through Jeonghan’s health chart from 1971. “It wouldn’t have worked if they threw random words in there—these have to do with something about you, but what? What could it be?”
Jeonghan shrugs unhelpfully. “I wish I could help.”
Joshua sighs and gives him a small smile. “You’re doing all that you can, alright? I promise that I’ll get this figured out, even if it kills me.”
He says it like he means it, and Jeonghan knows that he does. He trusts that he does.
✪
Seungcheol is in the common area when it begins.
There’s a certain stillness in the air, one that Seungcheol knows better than to point out. Seokmin is cutting up an apple with steady hands and concentration. Chan is splayed on the sofa, going through the channels with the steady click of the remote.
The TV turns off suddenly, earning a confused noise from Chan that is interrupted by an announcement over the speakers.
“ALL MEMBERS, REPORT TO HEADQUARTERS IMMEDIATELY. ALL MEMBERS, REPORT TO HEADQUARTERS IMMEDIATELY. ALL MEMBERS, REPORT TO HEADQUARTERS IMMEDIATELY—”
Seokmin is dashing out of the kitchen, leaving nothing but the strong gust of wind behind and the knife to clatter on the counter beside the butchered apple. Chan is panicked, eyes finding Seungcheol’s as he stumbles up.
“Hyung? What’s going on?”
Seungcheol presses his lips together, heart falling into his stomach. “I don’t know.”
✪
All black vehicles wait for those who don’t have the luxury of super speed or flying. Seungcheol’s head turns in every direction, searching for Jeonghan in the chaos as he watches Joshua and Soonyoung get into the same vehicle.
Seungcheol and Chan pile into the first car they see, surprised to find Jihoon already in there.
“Do you know what’s going on?” he asks the moment the door closes behind Seungcheol.
“No one’s given me any information,” Seungcheol answers honestly. It’s not the first time he’s experienced an emergency announcement, but it has been years since the last time they had to respond so quickly to a situation. For Jihoon and Chan, this is a first. He wishes he could be more reassuring and useful, but the truth of the matter is that he’s just as in the dark as they are, and whatever they’re being called to do won’t be easy. “Do—have either of you seen Jeonghan?”
Chan and Jihoon glance at each other, both shaking their heads sympathetically. Seungcheol curses under his breath, neck craning to look at the vehicle behind them as they speed away toward SHIELD’s main building. The chance of Jeonghan being in the other vehicle is high—he must have been in the complex when the announcement went off. Unless he decided to go do something—maybe he had therapy today, maybe he’s started taking up jogging, maybe he’s starting to find himself a place out there without Seungcheol.
All these thoughts crash around Seungcheol’s mind, dimming his surroundings as they’re being rushed into a briefing room where Seungkwan paces, expression pinched in worry that doesn’t melt away as the members begin to occupy the small space.
Seungcheol is the first to ask, “Seungkwan-ah. What’s going on?”
Seungkwan pauses in step, staring at Seungcheol for a moment before he swallows thickly. “HYDRA’s on their way. They have a location on Jeonghan.”
Seungcheol’s knees buckle, body barely keeping itself upright as he tries to get his thoughts together. “When? How long do we have?”
“Less than an hour,” Seungkwan tells them. “They’re sending bots into the city—you’ll need to split up throughout Seoul. Civilian casualties need to be kept at a minimum. None, if possible. Hansol, Seokmin, Soonyoung, Wonwoo, and Chan, you will be rerouting civilians into the five main safety bunkers. No one comes out once they go in, keep the stations clear from any threats. Mingyu has been summoned and will be joining Seungcheol, Minghao, Junhui, Joshua, and Jihoon where you will all ensure that HYDRA makes it no where near Jeonghan and his location seeing as he is unfit to join any altercation until his activation words have been disabled. Go put your gear on and meet at the quinjets as soon as possible. It’ll be a short ride, but it’s better safe than sorry.”
There’s no questions asked as the ten others break off to follow Seungkwan’s commands. All except Seungcheol.
“Where is it?” Seungcheol asks despite himself. He needs to know. “His location—where is it?”
“I cannot disclose that information for the safety of Jeonghan,” Seungkwan says carefully. “Not out loud at least.”
“Seungkwan, please—”
Seungkwan raises a hand to silence him. “Please, don’t start begging. I said I cannot disclose it out loud, but if you happened to follow me and I was unaware, you may be able to have a word with him before we send you out.”
It takes Seungcheol a moment to understand, scrambling to follow Seungkwan as he walks away with quick steps and into the elevator across the hall. He watches as Seungwan pushes a series of level buttons, the sequence displaying a digital keypad that scans the iris of Seungkwan’s eye before allowing him to choose an option not available on the standard levels: CLASSIFIED.
The elevator shakes as it continues to descend into a level that Seungcheol never knew existed. It smells of water and rust when the steel doors open. Everything is barely lit by orangey-yellow lights on the walls that seem to go on for miles, leading to somewhere unknown.
Before Seungcheol can wonder what it’s used for, Seungkwan stops him from walking with a hand on his chest. “There’s a bunker down that hallway where I will be staying with Jeonghan until HYDRA is taken care of.”
“What?”
Seungcheol turns to follow the voice that comes from somewhere in the distant darkness. Jeonghan steps out, followed by four SHIELD agents with their bulletproof vests and helmets. They go to follow him, only to be stopped by Seungkwan’s raised hand, silently indicating for them to fall back momentarily.
“I explained this to you already, Jeonghan,” Seungkwan says calmly even though his eyes flicker across Jeonghan’s features nervously.
“That’s not fair,” Jeonghan argues. “You said—”
“The deal was that you were to be fully rehabilitated before you should join SHIELD,” Seungkwan snaps, patience running thin.
Jeonghan’s mouth opens and closes in desperation, eyes dancing back and forth between Seungkwan and Seungcheol like he’s begging someone to just listen. “They want me —I can—I can help—”
“Please, Jeonghan,” Seungcheol pleads over him, eyes and throat burning as he cautiously steps closer and closer to Jeonghan. “You gotta stay hidden. I can’t lose you again, Hannie. I can’t— it’ll fucking kill me.”
Jeonghan shuts up, eyes flickering between Seungcheol’s watery ones before he grits his teeth and huffs. “Fine. But you—you better come back alive or I swear to God—”
“I promise,” Seungcheol says quietly, only for the two of them to hear. “Would you let me fail?”
Jeonghan’s expression softens into something familiar, something warm. “No.”
“I hate to break this up,” Seungkwan starts, “but you need to go, Cap. Now.”
Seungcheol presses his lips together, memorizing all the details of Jeonghan’s face before he’s stepping away. “I’ll see you soon, yeah?”
“Okay,” Jeonghan says with a short nod. “Okay, yeah. Soon.”
✪
The quinjet touches down in the field of an empty park.
There’s no banter, no filler conversations that fill all the empty and quiet spaces as they break off to do what is expected and needed from them. They only have so long before things become hectic and messy.
Seungcheol’s helmet is heavy on his head, shield light on his back as he jogs toward the city joined by Minghao and Junhui while Joshua and Jihoon take to the sky, gaining a good amount of distance with their gear.
“Gonna get some higher ground,” Junhui says as they rush through the streets of Seoul, searching for any early signs of disturbance. “I’ll keep watch south of us.”
Jihoon’s voice sounds from their in-ear comms. “All clear from up here. Iron Man?”
“Clear skies,” Joshua says, his gold and red silhouette flying over them in a blur. “Team two, how’s it looking?”
“All civilians are in their safe and designated areas,” Wonwoo informs. “We are posted until further notice or threat.”
“Wonwoo, you can get some good height,” Seungcheol points out, eyes squinting as he looks up at the sky. “Can you get up there farther than Falcon and Iron Man and tell us if you spot any sort of activity?”
“Roger.”
“It’s too quiet,” Minghao whispers, eyes narrowed at the horizon.
“You’re gonna jinx it,” Seungcheol whispers back.
The seconds stretch in anticipation, Seungcheol’s breath caught in his throat until Wonwoo’s steady voice is ringing through the calms. “There are three hundred bots heading toward us. ETA, forty three seconds.”
“Fuck me,” Minghao whistles. He glances at Seungcheol and raises an eyebrow. “Think you can handle it?”
Seungcheol reaches behind his shoulder, grabbing the edge of his shield and pulling it off with a sharp sound and holding it in front of him as the sky above fills with what looks like black dots.
Joshua is the first to swoop in, flames shooting out of the soles and palms of his suit to give him momentum. He thrusts out his palms, emitting shots that hit the bots just enough to knock them off their balance, When that doesn’t work, small missiles are launched from hidden compartments throughout his suit, designed to follow their targets. It’s enough to take at least twenty of them out, debris falling from the and landing on the streets, cracking the sidewalks and disrupting the asphalt, concrete, and gravel.
Jihoon is right behind Joshua, intertwined with a bot until his palms are snapping its neck, leaving it to plummet down to its inevitable demise.
Enough bots make it through to land on the streets, heads craning with a series of creaks and high pitched, metallic sounds as they search for their next victims. It doesn’t take long before they land on Minghao, already running head first into the fight. He ducks and rolls when shots are fired, finding his footing gracefully and unlatching weapons from his belt as he straightens up, electric rod impaling the bot directly in the chest and then the stomach. It’s enough to have it fall to its knees, giving Minghao the luxury of driving his foot into its skull, the metal cracking against the floor while the wires spark and then dim.
Another bot lurches at him from behind, missing when Minghao drops to the floor, throwing the electric rod in time for it to electrocute all the wires in its spine. It trembles for a moment, slowly turning to retrace its steps toward its target. Minghao lets it come closer, waits until it’s ready to shoot, and then steps aside just as Seungcheol’s shield comes flying through the air, severing the head of the bot and lodging itself into the front of a parked sedan.
Three more bots come into Minghao’s space, rushing to catch him off guard as he beelines for the shield, yanking it out of the car and using it to block himself from the shots fired. When the bot charges him, Minghao drives the shield into its knee and uppercuts it until it stumbles back, giving him enough time to throw the shield at Seungcheol running toward him.
Seungcheol catches it instinctively, jumping into the air to gain momentum and slamming the shield down onto the bot, breaking its body into two pieces twitching on the floor.
“Where the fuck is Mingyu?” Joshua grunts, kicking off a bot that’s latched onto his leg only for it to be blown into pieces by one of Junhui’s arrows. “Hello—Jihoon! Isn’t he supposed to be helping?”
“How am I supposed to know?!” Jihoon yells, a crash sounding as he’s thrown into the side of a building.
Suddenly, a bright blue beam appears in the street, thunder sounding and lightning crashing around the light. Something hits the ground with a heavy force, breaking the street around.
Mingyu stands tall, eyes glowing blue, lightning crackling off his shoulders and thunder booming in the distance. His hair is shorter, the theatrical outfit replaced with something less bulky, showing off his muscled arms and broad shoulders. The same cape is still draped down his back, but it's less clashing, more intimidating than the last time Seungcheol saw him.
“Hell yeah!” Joshua hollers loudly as Mingyu begins to spin his hammer, the motion creating power that lights up in the same blue from the now gone beam.
A herd of bots surrounds Mingyu, only to be torn into pieces as he throws his hammer, taking them all out in one go. Aji, his hammer, hovers in the air until Mingyu raises his hand out as if to beckon it back, and Aji listens, slotting himself into the broad space of his palm.
Even without the hammer, Mingyu is powerful. The lightning bleeds from every part of him, charged as he sprints and launches himself into a group of bots, incinerating them without so much as blinking. He is the biggest threat above all—the bots pick up on that immediately.
Seungcheol rushes to help, back to back with Mingyu as they both use their weapons to deflect the bullets and attacks from every angle. It’s easy until it’s not.
A bullet hits Seungcheol’s head, knocking his helmet off just as another pierces through Seungcheol’s hip, punching the air out of him and knocking him to the floor without warning. He grunts, trying to crawl on his hands and knees only for his limbs to give out. His body needs to heal, but it can’t if he’s being shot again.
Mingyu is quick to spin his hammer again, spinning once and then twice before throwing it, leaving Aji to take down the bots still trying to shoot. He then picks up an already damaged car, placing it in front of Seungcheol as a sort of barricade until the bullet falls out of his skin, starting to heal up already.
“Are you alright, Captain?” Mingyu asks, offering him a hand.
Seungcheol takes it with his brows knitted in pain as all the torn flesh in him mends itself together. “I’m good. Thank you.”
“Anything for a fellow comrade,” Mingyu nods with a toothy smile.
The moment is broken by Joshua’s worried voice through the comms. “There’s a bomb enroute to Jeonghan’s location.”
“Divert it,” Seungcheol barks. “We’ve got enough coverage down here to—”
“We can’t get access to it,” Joshua explains through gritted teeth and the sound of metal clanking. “And any touch is a potential trigger, Seungcheol, we can’t risk—”
“So, what?” Seungcheol snaps. There’s no solution. How can there be no solution? “What are you saying? We just let him die? Get him out of there!”
“And if it’s a trap? Listen, Wonwoo and I can try figuring out a way to get it off its course but there’s no telling how long it’ll take and if it’ll even work. The only guarantee is to interrupt its path and risk it detonating but that’s not an option.”
Seungcheol clenches his jaw. “That’s the only guaranteed way to keep it from touching Jeonghan?”
There’s a pause. Then, Chan’s voice is in Seungcheol’s ear. “Hyung, don’t—”
Seungcheol takes the comm out of his ear, tossing it onto the floor and crushing it beneath his boot. Mingyu looks at him curiously and Seungcheol gives him a small smile. “Do me a favor, big guy. Can you cover me while I get some higher ground?”
✪
The bunker is nothing more than a room with snacks and a big monitor and soundboard to watch as the members are surrounded by bots, fighting with everything that they’ve got. They’re holding their own well considering they’re outnumbered. Jeonghan watches anxiously, arms crossed and eyebrows creased as he keeps an eye on Seungcheol through the CCTV cameras on the street.
The first thing he notices is the way Seungcheol goes still, mouth moving quickly like he’s arguing with something or someone. Then, him taking something out of his ear and crushing it on the floor. When he starts to jog away from Mingyu who is giving him a thumbs up, Jeonghan tilts his head to the side.
“What the fuck is he doing?” he asks, mostly to himself, curiosity only amplified as he watches Seungcheol begin to scale a building.
Seungkwan sighs, hand coming up to cover his mouth as he whispers, “Seungcheol… Seungcheol, don’t do it.”
Jeonghan snaps his head to look at Seungkwan, curiosity slowly being replaced by anger. “What is he doing? Seungkwan?”
“It’s—I don’t—” Seungkwan stammers, eyes glued to the screen in front of them, etched with horror.
“How do I talk to him?” Jeonghan asks desperately, pressing buttons on the board in front of them in hopes that it’ll do something.
“He broke his in-ear comm,” Seungkwan tells him. “He—he should have one in his suit—” He presses one of the buttons, pushed aside as Jeonghan takes over.
“Seungcheol!” he shouts. “Hey—you fucking idiot, what the hell are you doing?”
“Hannie?” Seungcheol says after a moment. He’s reached the top of the building, pulling himself over the edge and standing upright, looking around like Jeonghan is gonna appear in front of him. “Hey—how did you—?”
“Stop,” Jeonghan demands, “and tell me what the fuck is going on.”
A heavy breath sounds. Seungcheol drops his head. “There’s a bomb heading toward you.”
Jeonghan’s skin goes cold. “Okay, so—so put your fucking heads together or something—”
“If anyone tries touching it, it’s gonna go off," Seungcheol says like he’s thought about this already. “We can’t change its path, we can only interrupt it.”
“Cheollie,” Jeonghan whispers, eyes and throat and nose burning as he does his best to keep it together. It’s not gonna end like this—it can’t. “ Please—please you’ve gotta ask them for help, there’s gotta be something they can do—”
“I’ve lived a good life, yeah?” Seungcheol continues, too calmly and too level headed. He knows he’s gonna die and he’s alright with it. “I got you again, that’s all I ever wanted, baby. It’ll be okay,”
“You’re a fucking dickhead,” Jeonghan chokes out, chest trembling as his fingers curl against the sound board, tears spilling over and landing heavily on the floor.
“I love you.”
It seems to happen in slow motion, each second has purposefully been stretched thin for Jeonghan’s torture, like HYDRA never had to put their hands back on him to break him all over again.
Seungcheol takes several steps back before running and jumping off the building, shield in front of him, the front facing his body as he dives down to where the drone with the bomb is coming through.
Then, like a nightmare manifesting itself in a completely new form, he lands right on it, keeping it beneath his shield.
The explosion is massive, buildings crumbling, cars are thrown in every direction. Seungcheol disappears in the midst of the rubble just as the CCTV footage is cut off only to be replaced by another surviving camera nearby, a coat of dust on the lens making it nearly impossible to make out what’s happening.
Jeonghan’s knees buckle, heart dropping to the pit of his stomach as the entirety of his body runs colder than it's ever been. He can barely hear himself screaming through the blood rushing in his ears, everything distant and muffled. Seungkwan is holding him on the floor, keeping his body from completely breaking down and crumbling into nothing but dust. The tears are hot and wet against his skin, unable to peel his eyes away as he watches the members covered in cuts and bruises and ash rush to Seungcheol’s location.
Joshua, Mingyu, and Chan are the firsts to clear out the rubble and destruction trapping Seungcheol’s deceased body. Wonwoo scans the debris for any sign of life, his silence deafening as the minutes pass.
“Just a moment,” Wonwoo says suddenly. “It seems as if there is a faint pulse…”
Jeonghan forces himself to stumble up, head tilted up to stare at the screen in hopes of something good, something impossible.
An ashy hand shoots out from the other side of the rubble, several yards from where Seungcheol had originally landed and surrounded by crumbled bricks and buildings, bleeding but familiar.
Seungcheol pulls himself out of the mess, helped by Hansol and Seokmin rushing to help. He’s coughing and it’s the best sound Jeonghan’s heard in a long time.
“How the hell are you alive?” Minghao asks, jogging up to Seungcheol to punch him in the chest.
Seungcheol’s voice is rough as he coughs, dark hair covered with grey dirt. “I have no clue—”
Seungkwan presses the button with shaking hands. “All of you, come back now. Jesus fucking Christ—”
Joshua’s face is revealed by the front plate of his gold and red helmet dropping, eyes are red like he had been crying.
He looks around at the disaster surrounding them and sighs, wiping his nose with his palm and dropping his arms to the side dramatically. “Guys, what did I say in the quinjet about making a mess? God, look at this. We’re gonna have to come out with some apologies—I know insurance rates are gonna skyrocket after this, agh. I’ll call the city and inform them of all the damage…”
✪
As far as quinjet rides go, this one is the most awkward of all.
Seungcheol supposes it’s called for. After all, what is there to say when your teammate is reckless and stupid, presumably getting themselves killed only for them to have actually, by some miracle, survived.
Even from the comms, Seungkwan and Jeonghan are silent. Seungcheol wonders how hard he’s gonna get punched when he’s back in Jeonghan’s sight—though, he sort of looks forward to their skin touching, even if it’s just for a moment.
On the brighter side of things, he’s starting to heal up just fine. The bones that were broken during his fall are, for the most part, healed. The only thing remaining are the nasty bruises he can feel on the entirety of his torso and back that will most likely take a few hours to fade. Along with those are some cuts and scrapes here and there, better than the lacerations that previously took their spaces. All in all, there’s only a few things left to be mended by his regenerating cells.
“I can’t believe you,” Chan mutters, pacing back and forth in front of Seungcheol with his arms crossed. “Everyone thought you died, hyung.”
Soonyoung rubs at his chest from where he’s sat thigh to thigh with Seungcheol, face scrunched in discomfort. “I think my heart exploded,” he says through a choked tone.
“It was quite honorable to sacrifice yourself,” Mingyu says with a proud nod, pointing Aji right at Seungcheol. “You almost lifted my dear Aji because you are worthy. You are a true Cheongukian at heart, Captain.”
“It was stupid, that’s what it was,” Jihoon snaps, nursing his sprained wrist in his lap. His face softens for a moment, giving Seungcheol something of a smile. “But I’ll go easy on you. For now.”
“Why?” Minghao chimes in bluntly. “I think we should be meaner.”
“Actually,” Joshua says matter of factly, “I think Jeonghan will kill him for the rest of us.”
Seungcheol sighs, tossing his head back to look at the ceiling and ignoring the pain. Yeah. Jeonghan’s gonna skin him alive.
The quinjet lands only a minute later, slowly rolling into SHIELD as everyone onboard gathers themselves. Before Seungcheol can even think of staying back and letting the rest of them go first, the members part like the Red Sea, giving him a clear path to the exit.
“Go,” Minghao deadpans, raising an eyebrow when Seungcheol opens his mouth to argue, and efficiently shutting him up.
Seungcheol bites his tongue and latches his shield onto his back, walking out of the quinjet with his tail between his legs.
He looks up, less than surprised to find Jeonghan already storming toward him in the distance.
“You fucking idiot.”
Fuck. “Jeonghan, I—”
The three syllables barely make it out of his mouth before he’s being cut off. Jeonghan is in his space, grabbing Seungcheol’s face in his hands and crashing their lips together in a bruising kiss that Seungcheol can feel in every part of his mending bones.
It’s rough and yet tender, warming Seungcheol inside and out until it feels like he’s light on his feet again, like he can breathe without feeling empty—like he’s alive again.
It’s almost enough to drown out all the background chatter.
The scandalized, “Oh my God,” from Joshua.
Soonyoung’s confused, “Whoa— what? When did this happen?”
And Minghao’s, “Alright, ew. Let’s give them some space.”
They part with a wet sound, leaving Seungcheol dazed and entranced. Their noses brush, the closest they’ve been in so long and Seungcheol thinks he could eat the world raw.
Then, Jeonghan punches him in the chest with his flesh hand, hard enough to knock what’s left of his breath out of his lungs. “You’re so fucking reckless and stupid. Have you learned nothing?”
“I’m sorry—”
“All this time, all this effort to have you again,” Jeonghan barrels on, poking Seungcheol in the chest as his nostrils flare. “And you think you can just leave me? What about what I want?”
Seungcheol reaches up to tuck Jeonghan’s hair behind his ear. He lets his hand linger, resting on Jeonghan’s cheek as he caresses the skin there with his thumb. “Tell me what you want, Hannie.”
“You,” Jeonghan whispers, lips twitching into a smile. “I want you.”
Seungcheol pulls him closer, slotting their lips together again.
✪
Keeping their hands off each other proves to be harder than it was in all the time they spent figuring themselves out. Now, it’s like that gasping flame has been ignited, burning them to their core as they stumble into Seungcheol’s apartment in tangled tongues and limbs.
What’s left of Seungcheol’s breath is knocked out of his lungs when his back hits the wall, rattling the frames neatly hanging. Jeonghan is on him within the second, open mouthed kisses painting every inch of Seungcheol’s neck, wet and sloppy as he writhes against the sensitivity.
Maybe that’s something new, the sensitivity, the heightened senses. He’s aware of every hitch of Jeonghan’s breath, the warmth of his burning body bleeding into his own. He can feel Jeonghan’s erection rutting up against his thigh, can feel everything down to the pulse and it’s addicting. He wants more, more, more. As much as he can get for as long as he can get—he’s always been a bit selfish when it comes to Jeonghan, but especially when he gets to have him like this.
“What do you want, baby?” Jeonghan breathes into his mouth the cold metal of his hand on Seungcheol’s throat with the slightest bit of pressure, making his knees tremble in anticipation and excitement.
It’s easy to answer. “You—I want you to fuck me.”
Jeonghan’s teeth tug at his lip with a low sound in his throat, his forehead dropping and landing on Seungcheol’s shoulders. A breathy laugh leaves his mouth, the air puffing against the fabric of Seungcheol’s shirt only to be replaced by a tender kiss a second later. “You sure?”
“You don’t wanna?” Seungcheol asks, feeling the slightest bit insecure. After he got injected with ten serum, it gave them the opportunity to do more. Jeonghan had less of a reason to be scared of Seungcheol over exerting himself and more of a reason to chant fuck me, fuck me, fuck me into Seungcheol’s skin until he couldn’t help but give in. That’s probably what Jeonghan remembers, not so much the giving. And while Seungcheol is more than happy to give and give and give, he wants to hold that selfishness closer a little longer.
“No—no I do,” Jeonghan nods, pulling away to look Seungcheol in the eye, sincere and loving. “I just wanna make sure it’s what you want, doll. I wanna make it good for you.”
“We can—we can both…” Seungcheol trails off shyly, cheeks burning with a rosy tint that Jeonghan kisses affectionately. “But right now I want you—”
He doesn’t have to finish his sentence. Jeonghan reads his mind, threading a hand into Seungcheol’s thick and black hair, tugging until his head is hitting the wall with a dull thud. He stares at Jeonghan through half-lidded lust, swollen lips parted in anticipation before Jeonghan is licking into his mouth quickly and then pulling away. His free hand works clumsily to unbutton Seungcheol’s jeans, shoving its way beneath his briefs until Seungcheol’s leaking cock is in his hold.
He pauses, staring down at Seungcheol twitching in his grasp, completely oblivious of Seungcheol doing his best to control
himself, to not buck into the touch with the desperation that pinches at his skin. After what seems like an eternity, Jeonghan drags his gaze up to Seungcheol’s face,
“Jeonghan,” Seungcheol chokes out in a whisper, the end of the name cut off with a moan as Jeonghan starts to move his hand in rough and dragging motions.
It’s enough for Seungcheol’s legs to almost give out, only stopped from hitting the floor when Jeonghan pushes his body against Seungcheol’s, pinning him to the wall to keep him from falling, hand ceaseless as he works Seungcheol over the edge.
It’s embarrassing how quickly the white heat starts to build in Seungcheol’s gut. He scrambles to hold Jeonghan’s wrist to slow him down, a whimper spilling from his slick lips when Jeonghan only quickens his pace and pushes his weight against Seungcheol further. “Hannie— Hannie,” Seungcheol stammers, gasping as Jeonghan bites at his neck. “I’m gonna—I’m close—”
“We’ve got all night,” Jeonghan grins. “And I know you can go more than once, Cheollie—”
The thought of being at Jeonghan’s mercy like this for the entirety of the night is enough for Seungcheol to shudder, coming with a choked groan that is muffled by Jeonghan’s metal hand on his mouth. This time, his eyes roll back and he comes again.
Jeonghan’s mouth drops. “Did—did you—?”
Seungcheol thinks he nods, but everything feels distant, like a dream. The best one he’s ever had, actually.
A laugh leaves Jeonghan’s mouth, moving his vibranium arm to cup Seungcheol’s face gently, pressing their foreheads together and kissing him on the mouth once and then twice. “Ah, this is gonna be fun, isn’t it?”
✪
Fun, in Jeonghan’s terms, seems to mean torture.
And while torture isn’t so bad when it’s in the hands of Yoon Jeonghan, Seungcheol wonders if this might kill him. If it does, he wouldn’t mind, not at all, especially not with Jeonghan riding him.
It’s better than the thin cots they would push together during the war. The bed holds their weight effectively and gives Jeonghan more freedom and movement.
Seungcheol watches in a trance as Jeonghan leans back, metal arm coming up to push his hair out of his face as he jerks his hips forward, mouth falling open in a content sigh as he finds a steady rhythm, one that drags and leaves Seungcheol’s hands gripping the sheets desperately as he stares up at Jeonghan like he’s got the world in between his teeth.
When Seungcheol’s hips cant up desperately, Jeonghan falls forward, hands on Seungcheol’s thick chest and knees on either side of Seungcheol’s hips to brace his weight as he starts to fuck down onto Seungcheol’s cock with an added desperation that he hasn’t allowed himself all this time.
“God, God, Cheollie,” Jeonghan moans, hair in his face as he rocks forward and backward with enough force to make the headboard smack the wall in the same, rapid rhythm. “You’re gonna make me come—you’re gonna make me come, baby—”
Seungcheol’s hands find their way up Jeonghan’s back, the blunt edge of his nails scratching the skin, fingertips running delicately up Jeonghan’s spine and back down until he’s holding his hips, helping Jeonghan get himself off. “Please, please, Hannie—”
“I’ll fuck you after, yeah?” Jeonghan rambles, arms bracketing Seungcheol’s head now, cheeks pressed together in heat and sweat as his movements become sloppy and frantic. “I’ll—I’ll fuck you so good, baby. You won’t stop thinking of me, gonna make you feel so good, Cheollie—”
Seungcheol’s orgasm hits him like a punch in the gut, fingertips bruising the skin of Jeonghan’s hips as his body curves into Jeonghan. Jeonghan doesn’t stop, kissing Seungcheol’s neck and shoulder and lips like an apology for the overstimulation and Seungcheol’s whimpers are drowned out by Jeonghan’s tongue in his mouth.
Jeonghan comes with a muffled groan, metal hand holding Seungcheol’s jaw while his own goes slack, hot breaths mixing together as Jeonghan shudders, grip tightening and making Seungcheol’s cock twitch pathetically.
Judging by Jeonghan’s open mouthed grin, he can feel it too. “Again?”
“You said you were gonna fuck me,” Seungcheol whispers through his heavy breaths. “Wouldn’t wanna break a promise.”
“Never,” Jeonghan agrees, kissing Seungcheol and adjusting himself to sit between Seungcheol’s legs, grabbing the lube that had been hidden in Seungcheol’s nightstand only a few hours ago, being put to good use after years of abandonment. He flicks the cap open and starts to pour the substance on his flesh fingers only to be stopped by Seungcheol’s timid touch.
“Actually,” Seungcheol starts nervously, unsure of how to word it, but knowing that he wants to ask. “The… Could you um… the other arm…?”
Jeonghan blinks, obviously stunned by the request. “You—you want me to finger you with my metal arm?”
When it’s said out loud, Seungcheol feels all the more ridiculous. “No, it’s okay. Sorry, I don’t know why—” He’s cut off by cold pressure at his entrance. His eyes widen with a stuttering breath as he stares at Jeonghan’s flesh hand on top of his knee. “O-oh.”
“You like it?” Jeonghan whispers, pushing his finger in further.
Seungcheol’s throat bobs as he swallows, cock leaking against his stomach. He nods, words stuck in his chest as Jeonghan begins to move.
“Say it, baby.”
“I—I like it,” Seungcheol moans, head falling back against the pillows when Jeonghan crooks his finger, the sensation completely different than anything he’s ever felt. It’s cooler, stiffer. The plates in Jeonghan’s wrist whir as they shift and something about the sound in the silence of the room makes Seungcheol choke out a whimper, squirming in Jeonghan’s touch.
The pleasure brings him in and out of his body and by the time Jeonghan has three fingers fucking into him, pressing into his prostate, he’s a babbling mess, completely melted beneath the touch and Jeonghan’s slick tongue and gentle words.
He isn’t expecting it when Jeonghan’s hand leaves him empty in favor of bracketing his hands on either side of Seungcheol’s head, the blunt head of his cock pushing into him. The stretch chokes him, eyes dancing between Jeonghan’s as he thrusts into him with ease.
“That’s it, baby,” Jeonghan praises, pushing Seungcheol’s damp hair out of his face. “You take it so w-well.”
Seungcheol nods in a daze, unable to look away from Jeonghan’s face, inches away from his own. He reaches out, fingers grazing Jeonghan’s hand until he’s intertwining their fingers, holding on tight when Jeonghan’s thrusts start to speed up.
The tender moment pauses, replaced momentarily by something more desperate as Seungcheol’s noises grow louder and louder, cut off when Jeonghan manhandles him, flipping him onto his stomach and sliding back in as if he’s wasting precious time. He holds onto the small of Seungcheol’s toned back, thumbs pressed into the dimples at the bottom of his spine. He fucks into Seungcheol slow and steady, dragging out the minutes and milking the time they have alone as the tip of his dick barely grazes Seungcheol’s prostate with every thrust. Seungcheol’s body moves up and down the sheets, cock trapped between his stomach and the bedding with little friction, driving him crazier and crazier.
Then, the tenderness disappears completely.
Jeonghan’s cold, vibranium fingers thread through Seungcheol’s hair softly before tightening and then yanking until Seungcheol chokes out a gasp. Jeonghan fucks him hard, thighs slapping against the back of Seungcheol’s in a frantic rhythm that floods the room along with the headboard abusing the wall.
Seungcheol’s thighs and scalp burn in a way that makes his cock jump with every thrust into his prostate, noises punched out of him in a staccato ah, ah, ah that get lost in his throat as his mouth dries out.
Before he can come, Jeonghan is shoving his head into the mattress, movements growing sloppier and sloppier until he’s spilling into Seungcheol with a broken moan that Seungcheol follows with his own, come soiling the sheets beneath him as his body trembles around Jeonghan’s softening dick.
His lungs burn as he struggles to catch his breath, even more so when Jeonghan collapses on top of his back, peppering his neck and shoulders with lazy kisses that he accepts with a smile hidden into the sheets.
✪
Sleeping does not come easy that night, and for once, it’s for good reason.
They’re freshly showered, having to peel themselves from the filthy sheets after an hour of dozing in and out of sleep. The thrill of this settles back once they’re huddled beneath the spray of Seungcheol’s shower, one of each of their shoulders pressed to the wet, tiled walls as they try to squeeze in the space made for only one super soldier. It pulls laughs out of the both of them, unable to hide the giddiness that comes with the rekindled flame of what could have been a dimming ember.
When they finally change the sheets and settle nose to nose, all the tiredness has left their bodies, replaced by simple adoration as they admire one another in the light offered by the moon.
Jeonghan’s metal fingers card through Seungcheol’s hair, strands getting caught on the plates every now and then, but ignored by Seungcheol as he sits in the luxury of being granted the opportunity to live in a moment such as this.
The tips of his fingers run up the new arm, something Joshua had mentioned once or twice in passing. It looks better up close—less jarring than the previous one had been.
His fingers pause on the new design, something much different than the red star that had branded the area before. This one is blue and red, shaped like a circle. A taeguk, just like the one on Seungcheol’s shield. “Joshua chose this?” he whispers curiously, eyes flickering up to meet Jeonghan’s.
“No,” Jeonghan answers. “I did.”
“Ah,” Seungcheol nods as nonchalantly as he can. “It’s a good design.”
“It is,” Jeonghan says simply. “Wanted a part of you with me.”
Seungcheol’s heart lurches, spills between them until it feels like he could drown with all the love pouring from his being. “Yeah?”
Jeonghan’s thumb caresses his cheek, a smile tilting the corner of his mouth beautifully. “Yeah.”
✪
Sunlight streams in rays through the window of Seungcheol’s bedroom.
It paints Jeonghan in a golden light, his brown eyes fluttering open as he stretches his arms above his head. When he turns, he pauses, looking Seungcheol up and down before turning over to bury his face in the space between Seungcheol’s bare shoulder and his neck.
“You alright?” Seungcheol asks, hand coming up to rub Jeonghan’s back.
Jeonghan nods. “Yeah. Thought it was a dream.”
Seungcheol hums, having had the same thought immediately upon waking up.
It’s a slow morning. Easy, unrushed as they brush their teeth with their shoulders knocking together at the slightest shift or movement. They fall into a routine without so much as a word or questions, bodies and souls conditioned to spend an eternity in each other’s orbit, like there’s no other place either of them belong.
Eventually, their grumbling stomachs become too loud to ignore and they venture away from the comfort of Seungcheol’s apartment and to the common area kitchen where they raid the pantry and fridge for something to eat. Their breakfast is interrupted by the sound of the elevator chiming.
When Soonyoung steps out, Jeonghan curses beneath his breath and before Seungcheol can ask if everything is okay, Soonyoung’s eyes fall on Jeonghan, brightening immediately.
“Hey! I was just looking for you.”
“Well,” Jeonghan deadpans, dropping the spoon into his cereal bowl. “You found me. What’s going on?”
“I had a question,” hestarts, glancing at Seungcheol for a fleeting moment and then focusing his attention back on Jeonghan. “About the… favor,” Soonyoung whispers harshly, definitely not quiet and loud enough for Seungcheol to look at Jeonghan curiously.
“Alright,” Jeonghan sighs, rubbing a hand over his face and gesturing for Soonyoung to continue. “Whatever you want, go ahead.”
Soonyoung beams before clearing his throat and schooling his expression into a more serious one, straightening his shoulders in a series of shimmies before he looks between the both of them seriously. His hands clap together and then he opens his arms wide. “Okay, so. A threesome—”
Seungcheol chokes on his apple.
Jeonghan doesn’t miss a beat. “I’ll knock your fucking teeth out—”
Seungcheol instinctively shoots his arm out to keep Jeonghan from lunging at Soonyoung even though it might be called for. “Hey! No, calm down—and—just explain. What the hell is he talking about? Is this the favor?”
“You said anything!” Soonyoung argues, taking several steps back until his back is hitting the wall.
“I did not,” Jeonghan barks. “You said that I owed you a favor—this is not a fucking favor unless you have a death wish.”
“Honestly,” Soonyoung says with wide eyes, hands coming up to cover the front of his jeans. “This is kind of turning me on, so consider the favor repaid. Thanks guys!”
With that, he’s out of their sight, beelining for the emergency staircase and leaving the two of them stunned.
“That guy needs some help,” Jeonghan mutters, picking up the bowl of unfinished cereal and tossing it in the sink. “And they say I need a shrink, I’ll tell you who needs a fucking shrink…”
As absurd as the situation is, Seungcheol finds himself not minding as Jeonghan continues to rant for the next hour.
✪
For the second time in the last six months, Jeonghan is woken up at an ungodly hour by Joshua calling him.
He blinks groggily, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment until Seungcheol is rolling over beside him, woken up by the shrilling ringtone as well.
“‘S going on?”
“Go back to sleep, Cheollie,” Jeonghan hushes gently, carding his fingers through Seungcheol’s hair until he’s lying back down. He answers the call with annoyance, whispering to make sure he doesn’t disturb Seungcheol any further. “What is it? We’re sleeping—”
“I figured it out,” Joshua says over him, words coming out hurriedly. “The last words—I think I know what they are. I need you here ASAP.”
Jeonghan is already on his feet, waking up Seungcheol in the process as he pulls on a pair of sweatpants. “You’re not fucking with me? It’s—you can get them out? Today?”
“Yes, just get here now.”
Joshua hangs up and Seungcheol is getting himself dressed, wide awake at this point. “What’s going on?”
“They—Joshua figured out how to deactivate the last few words,” Jeonghan says, still shocked and barely believing his own words as they leave his mouth.
Seungcheol’s eyes widen before he’s in Jeonghan’s space, kissing him fiercely and holding his face between his palms. “Can I come?”
“Wouldn’t want you anywhere else, doll.”
✪
Chan is nowhere to be seen when they arrive.
“We don’t need him for this one,” Joshua explains as he hooks Jeonghan up to the wires he’s grown accustomed to. “They aren’t memories, it’s weird, right? But I was thinking about it for a while—other than your memories and the people, or person, who shaped you into the person that you are, what makes you human? What is the missing piece?” He turns to grab a paper from the small table behind him, slapping it onto Jeonghan’s chest. “You were the answer all along. What makes the Winter Soldier human? Yoon fucking Jeonghan.”
From beside him, Seungcheol stares at the paper in confusion. “His… birth certificate?”
“Precisely,” Joshua nods, giddy. He points to the corner where his date of birth is typed.
1923.
One.
Nine.
Twenty-three.
“Well, fuck,” Jeonghan mutters. “Why didn’t I think of that?”
“Why didn’t I think of that?!” Joshua exclaims, plucking the paper from him and tossing it into the air like confetti of some sort. “Why didn’t Seungcheol think of that? Why didn’t SHIELD think of that? Who cares— Jeonghan-ah, you’re finally gonna be free.”
Free.
Jeonghan lets out a small laugh, comforted by Seungcheol’s hand squeezing his shoulder.
Finally.
✪
The nightmares still come and go.
At times, Jeonghan will wake up with a scream stuck in his stomach, chest heaving as he struggles to make out his surroundings in the night. Seungcheol will be there to ease the shaking in his palms, remind him that he’s not alone anymore and that with passing times comes distance from the past that he’s trying to run away from.
Somehow, even with all his broken parts patched up clumsily, he’s integrated into SHIELD as a new member, given the option to change his alias into something he’s comfortable with, but nothing fits right on his tongue.
The Winter Soldier.
A new one. One with his own mind and soul that is filled with good intentions and the promise to help instead of harm.
It shouldn’t be a surprise that on his first mission, he is paired with Minghao. They spar together in their free time, learn new things every time they get the chance to sit one on one and talk about nothing and in between. He trusts that Minghao no longer resents him, and he hopes that he’s been able to show that he’s got a bit of a heart in that icy chest in his.
They’re a good team. Or, at least that’s what Minghao keeps telling him when they’re being briefed.
Jeonghan is quiet the entire time, putting on his new suit that consists of a thin and black leather jacket with the left arm sleeve cut off, displaying his vibranium arm nicely.
He uses an elastic to pull his hair back into a ponytail, staring at his reflection in the dash of the quinjet when it takes off, unable to recognize himself. The last time he let himself look was after vomiting in the bathroom of his therapist’s building. This version staring back at him looks kinder, less angry at the world around him.
“Nervous?”
Jeonghan’s eyes snap up to the reflection beside his own. Minghao raises an eyebrow, hair now dyed a darker red that matches the widow emblem in the middle of his dry fit. “No.”
“Hm. What does your therapist think about lying?”
“Why, are you gonna snitch?”
Minghao snorts, sitting down in one of the seats and kicking his feet up on the control panel. “No, I don’t stoop low. I’ve just heard you value her opinion more than most.” That’s not true. He values Seungcheol’s opinion the most. When he says nothing, Minghao sighs and rolls his eyes, dropping his feet and turning to face him. “Listen, I’m just asking because I know I was nervous on my first actual assignment. It helps to talk about it.”
Jeonghan bites the inside of his cheek, turning his head slowly to regard Minghao. Eventually, he speaks. “I want to prove that I’m not him anymore.”
“‘Him?’”
“The soldier,” Jeonghan answers, eyebrows knitted as he presses his lips together in a frown. “I’m not that person anymore.”
Minghao looks him up and down. “You were never that person, Jeonghan.”
Jeonghan blinks, the words looping in his mind as Minghao gets up to check their route.
✪
In two days, Captain Korea’s museum exhibition will be taken down and replaced by another historical figure, nearly three and a half years after its opening.
Seungcheol hears the news through one of the news stations that Jihoon has playing at the VA. The chattering is background noise until Seungcheol hears his name, ears naturally tuning into the segment as they inform citizens of the new exhibit that will be opening in the next couple of weeks.
Seungcheol is pulled back into motion as Jihoon asks him to refill the coffee pot while he runs across the street for some donuts. He complies, going through the steps carefully, unable to pull his thoughts away from the news.
If Jihoon notices his thoughts elsewhere, he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he asks where Jeonghan is and Seungcheol replies absentmindedly that he’s at therapy and didn’t want to risk his progress by skipping to attend a meeting that ends up passing by in such a blur that Seungcheol finds himself staring at a group of empty chairs waiting for him to fold up and put away.
Going back home doesn’t feel right, but neither does wandering around aimlessly in hopes to find something to keep him occupied. So, goes the first place he can think of—the museum.
He finds comfort in the solitude of a bench across the street from the building, watching as a worker swaps out the poster with his face on it, replacing it with a deceased philosopher that he vaguely recognizes.
The end of an era. While that’s not necessarily bad in any sort of way, welcoming change has never been something Seungcheol has been particularly skilled at. It’s terrifying. He wonders when it’ll stop feeling that way.
Behind him, crunching leaves sound beneath the careless soles of someone’s shoes. He knows it’s Jeonghan before he looks over his shoulder. “How’d you know where I was?”
“Jihoon called me,” Jeonghan explains, coming to sit beside Seungcheol with the sides of their thighs pressed together. “Said there was some guy moping in front of the museum.” When Seungcheol says nothing, Jeonghan knocks their shoulders together. “Come on. You wanna tell me what’s going on?”
A quietness settles and the breeze starts to pick up, tousling Seungcheol’s hair beneath the cap he’s wearing. “They’re taking down my exhibition.”
“Huh,” Jeonghan says with the tilt of his head. “That serum getting to your brain?”
It pulls a laugh out of Seungcheol. He ducks his head down, staring at the grass beneath his shoes. “I don’t know. I guess it’s just… the thought of what now?”
“What, is this not enough for you?” Jeonghan teases, threading their fingers together and holding them up in front of Seungcheol’s face.
“It’s everything I’ve ever wanted,” Seungcheol answers truthfully, mouth pressed to the skin of Jeonghan’s hand. “But how does it get better than this?”
“Well,” Jeonghan sighs, leaning back and pulling Seungcheol with him. “We start living and then we go from there.”
Seungcheol glances at Jeonghan, takes in his features, the soft lines at the corners of his eyes, the way he looks the slightest bit older, unnoticeable to anyone else but so prominent to Seungcheol who has seen every version of him there is to offer. He looks alive. Seungcheol feels alive, more than he ever has.
The corner of his eyes start to burn as the tears well up. He sits up, turns his face away as a drop escapes and falls down his cheek, embarrassed at the emotions finally crashing over. Jeonghan’s hand is on his face, turning his gaze back.
“What are you crying for?” Jeonghan whispers, the corner of his mouth tilted into a soft and loving smile as he presses a tender kiss to Seungcheol’s cheek. “We’ve got all the time in the world.”
Seungcheol smiles.
It is no longer 1950.
It’s even better.
Notes:
i hope they got the delicate ending they deserved. it was so hard for me to wrap up because i love them so much, but the truth is there is no perfect ending for them. not one i can properly convey, at least. they're so dear to me.
thank you for following me on this journey that has made me want to pull my hair out. it's my baby and i love this work so much and i hope you did too.
kudos and comments appreciated <3
additional notes for anyone curious: the wonchan/wandavision faded out near the end for good reason i promise! i have plans for those two (another work to agonize over) in the future <3
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Northernlights_oclock_15 on Chapter 1 Sat 03 Aug 2024 02:28AM UTC
Last Edited Sat 03 Aug 2024 02:31AM UTC
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