The Angel Watching Over You

by blueeyed_angel

Summary:

"Angels are watching over you"

That's what Sarah Rogers had always told her two sons.

The oldest; Dean, would carry that with him after her passing, through the battlefields and trenches of World War II. But his faith in the statement faltered as he endured seven long decades worth of torture under Hydra.

Because Dean Rogers had become an Angel. And the only thing he watched over... was death.

Notes:

Thanks for reading my story!

I will give a fair warning that since I'm writing this for my enjoyment and a just posting it for fun, I have taken a lot of inspiration from a lot of different sources. If I feel like I took a LOT of inspiration from a certain source, I will obviously do my best to credit them.

I will admit that a lot of inspiration for Dean came from Dean Winchester, if the name and protective big brother thing didn't give it away. I know it's unoriginal, but I based the my Dean off of him, and then found myself liking the name too much to not use it.

Also, YES Bucky calls Dean Doll, I don't care if it's 'cringey' or 'out of character'. I just like the idea of a man that's built like an absolute brick shithouse being called something like Doll. You can sue me, but you can't stop me.

Chapter 1: PROLOUGE: LOVESONG

“Whatever words I say, I will always love you"

~~~

 

 

The day was pulling to close, everyone in Brooklyn was beginning to wind down for the night with the sun. But the little apartment on Flatbush Avenue was still lively, despite the late hour.

Inside the apartment was small, with thin walls that made it impossible to not eavesdrop on the other tenant’s business. But it was home. It smelled like worn leather, with the faintest trace of Bucky’s cologne that lingered no matter how many times Dean had told him to stop using so damn much of it.

Steve sat on the old couch in the living room, holding a pencil with his sketchbook in his lap. He quietly hummed along to the old brass jazz record Dean put on. Dean moved from the record player to pull Bucky into the middle of the room, a grin on his face and a hand outstretched like he was asking royalty to dance. Bucky just laughed like he always did when Dean got that look.

“You’re a romantic sap, doll.” Bucky said, letting the shorter man pull him in.

“Oh, I’ll show you romantic.” Dean shot back, and Steve didn’t have to look to guess that he pulled Bucky into a kiss.

His guess was proven correct when he looked up from his sketchbook a moment later, right after the two pulled apart, “You two are disgusting.” He quipped, though there was a warmth in his voice.

“Jealousy's a bad look Stevie,” Dean smirked, spinning Bucky around.

Steve rolled his eyes from his spot on the worn couch, but his pencil moved in quick, quiet strokes against the paper. It captured the way Dean’s eyes softened when they fell on Bucky, how Bucky leaned in as far as he could. The little brother in him groaned, but the larger part of him always found it endearing. But he wasn’t about to admit the latter.

“Sure you don’t want in on this?” Bucky called over his shoulder.

Steve snorted. “I’m too tired to dance, and too smart to try with Dean’s two left feet.”

“Stevie, you wound me.” Dean let out a mock gasp, feigning injury before dipping Bucky low and earning a small, surprised laugh.

Steve looked up again from his sketchbook to see Bucky rest his forehead against Dean’s, while Dean stared at him with all the adoration in the world. Steve smiled, soft and knowing as he picked up his pencil again. He was proud to be the one of exactly three people who knew this secret.

The two older men danced until the record clicked into comfortable, peaceful silence. Steve let out a yawn as he set down his sketchbook, mumbling a good night. Dean and Bucky pulled him into a hug before he padded off to his bedroom.

The pair soon retreated to their own shared room, laying together in their bed. Bucky’s hand was laced with Dean’s, fingers idly tracing circles on the back of his hand. He buried his head in the crook of Dean’s neck, letting his eyes close.

“You think we’ll ever be able to stop hiding?” Bucky whispered into Dean’s skin.

Dean was quiet for a second, the kind of quiet Steve would’ve teased him for if he wasn’t half-asleep in the other room. He pressed a kiss into Bucky’s dark brown hair before he responded.

“I hope so.” He whispered back. “Someday. Somewhere.”

“You, me, and a place by itself with a porch swing?”

“Don’t forget a dog. Or two.” Dean smiled, finally shutting his eyes.

After that they fell into a comfortable silence, curled into each other. They dreamed of a better life, one where they have the freedom to be together without fear. Maybe, just maybe.

And as sleep took the trio into its gentle arms, a sketchbook lay open on the couch in the dark living room. Two men danced across the page, holding each other tight with smiles on their faces.

Happy.

Home.

Chapter 2: CHAPTER ONE: THE TIMES, THEY ARE A-CHANGIN’

“The battle outside ragin', will soon shake your windows and rattle your walls”

~~~

 

 

Brooklyn, 1941. Loud, bustling with life, full of hope and grit. 

 

But the winds of change were rolling through, and no one was prepared for the storm coming. The draft settled heavy over America, bringing dread with it. War and all it’s destruction was looming on the horizon.

 

On their last day together, Bucky and Dean found Steve in a dirty alleyway behind the theatre. He was on the ground, his face battered and bruised, coat torn, a dumpster practically hugging his back. Some nobody, a thug for all Dean cared, was still swinging. Dean didn't have to think twice before he moved.

 

"Pick on someone your own size, asshole." He growled, lunging forward to grab the thug by the back of the shirt and pull him away from Steve.

 

The guy fell back to the ground, a look of shock on his face. Dean and Bucky were looming over him in an instant, fists curled at their sides and looks on their faces that said they were just waiting to use them. He scrambled away like a scared animal, disappearing back out into the city street.

 

Bucky made sure the guy was gone, while Dean turned back to Steve. Dean offers a hand, which Steve takes, and Dean lifts him effortlessly up off the grimy pavement. He made sure Steve was steady on his feet, brushing dirt off his coat as best he could. 

 

"Ya’ like getting punched, is that it?" Dean chided, doing a once over for injuries.

 

Steve half-smirked at his brother’s exasperation, even though it hurt to do so. "Rich comin' from the guy who gets paid to get punched." 

 

He shook out of Dean's hold, but not with the same strength he usually had. Dean frowned as he caught the limp in his walk, but for once he didn't argue. Instead, he turned to Bucky, who had kneeled down beside the garbage to pick up Steve's enlistment card.

 

Steve was stubborn, almost as much as his brother, but he was also an idiot at times; always trying to go above and beyond, to prove he belonged. As if being from Brooklyn didn't prove enough already.

 

Bucky unfolded the card with a shake of his head, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he read the details aloud, "How many times is this?" He raised an eyebrow. "Oh, you're from Paramus now? You know it's illegal to lie on the enlistment form." 

 

"And seriously, Jersey?" Dean added.

 

Steve ignored their scolding. But when he finally looked at the pair, eyes landing on their military uniforms for the first time, his expression dropped. 

 

"You got your orders?"

 

Both men hesitated, just for a moment, their eyes flicked briefly to each other, a quiet exchange between them, before Bucky nodded. "The 107th. Sergeant James Barnes. Shipping out for England first thing tomorrow." 

 

Steve nodded, but it was clear he was disappointed, even if he didn't show it fully. 

 

He glanced at Dean. "And you?" 

 

Dean sighed, not meeting his younger brother’s eyes. "Sergeant Dean Rogers of the 101st airborne."

 

There was a beat of silence before Bucky tried to lighten the mood, throwing his arm around Dean's shoulder and dragging him a little closer with a grin. "Our Sarge is an actual Sergeant now. And he gets to fly the planes!" 

 

Steve shook his head, but couldn’t help a small smile. "I should be going," he said, distractedly.

 

Bucky quickly pulled him back, his free arm wrapping around Steve to drag him into motion. "Come on, man," he said in a softer tone. "It's our last night! We gotta get you cleaned up."

 

Steve shot a miserable glance at Dean. "Why? Where are we goin'?"

 

"Stark Expo," Dean didn't miss a beat, pulling out a folded-up newspaper to hand to Steve. "His idea." 

 

Bucky shot Dean a grin in response, and the trio started towards the fairgrounds.

 

~~~

 

The Stark Expo was like stepping into the future. The grounds glowed with lights from the exhibits, and were filled with the sounds of machines and the crowd’s excitement. Upbeat swing music could just barely be heard playing over the loudspeakers. The scent of popcorn and roasted peanuts drifted through the air. The place had an energy that felt almost alive.

 

Dean took in the sights as him and Bucky walked at Steve’s sides. It was hard not to be impressed.

 

"I don't see what the problem is," Bucky's voice cut through Dean's thoughts, and he glanced over to see him nudging Steve playfully. "You are about to be the last eligible man in New York. You know, there's three and a half million women here."

 

Steve, clearly tired of the conversation, muttered under his breath, "Well, I'd settle for just one."

 

Bucky didn't let up. His grin widened, and Dean knew what he was going to say before he spoke. 

 

"Good thing I took care of that." Bucky lifted a hand and waved ahead.

 

Dean followed his gaze and saw them—three girls standing a few meters ahead, chatting amongst themselves but very clearly looking around for someone. He recognized two of them, Ruth and Frances. They were him and Bucky’s very good friends, and he quickly copied Bucky with a wave.

 

"Hey, Boys!" Frances called, her voice carrying over the crowd.

 

Bucky's smirk didn't falter as he made his way toward them. Dean and Steve followed, Steve looking significantly less thrilled about it. 

 

“Hey, Ruth and Frances are here, they’re nice, right?” Dean said just loud enough for Steve to hear, trying to cheer his brother up.

 

Steve gave Dean a small nod before shooting Bucky a sideways glance as they moved closer to the girls, suspicion laced in his voice. "What did you tell her about me?"

 

"Only the good stuff," Bucky answered smoothly, clapping a hand on Steve's shoulder and giving him a small push toward the girl in question. 

 

Steve barely caught himself before he stumbled, casting Bucky a glare as the girl stepped forward with an expectant smile. Dean held back a laugh, knowing how socially awkward his brother could be, especially around the ladies.

 

"Now presenting the man of tomorrow- Howard Stark!"

 

The loudspeaker crackled to life, the announcement ringing through the vast exhibition hall. 

 

A sudden burst of applause and cheering caught Dean’s attention. The noise came from just ahead, where a small stage had been set up. A group of people had already begun to gather, watching as a sleek red car was rolled onto the stage.

 

The girl beside Steve gasped in delight and quickly grabbed Ruth's hand. "Come on!" she urged, pulling her toward the growing crowd.

 

The lights dimmed slightly, a spotlight snapping to life as a figure stepped onto the stage, grinning like he owned the place—which, technically, he did. Mr. Stark waved to the crowd, exuding showman's flair in a pinstripe suit and slicked back hair.

 

"Ladies and gentlemen," he began, his voice carrying effortlessly over the audience, "what if I told you that in just a few short years, your automobile won't even have to touch the ground... at all?"

 

Gasps rippled through the crowd. Dean just shook his head at the dramatics.

 

"Yes, with Stark robotic reversion technology, you'll be able to do just that," Mr. Stark continued, gesturing toward the car. 

 

He turned and flipped a switch on a nearby console. A low, mechanical sound filled the air, and it got louder as the car's tires lifted from the stage. The entire vehicle hovered inches above the ground, defying gravity.

 

"Holy cow," someone murmured beside Dean.

 

He turned just in time to catch Bucky's expression, his mouth slightly open and blue eyes wide with disbelief. There wan’t much that could render James Buchanan Barnes speechless, and Dean smirked at the rare sight.

 

His attention was pulled back to the stage by an earsplitting screech . The hum of the machinery stuttered before the car fell back to the stage with a crash, sending out sparks. The audience gasped and a few people stumbled back, startled.

 

Mr. Stark, unfazed, straightened his tie before adding, "I did say a few years, didn't I?"

 

Laughter erupted from the crowd, the tension breaking. Even the brief moment of levitation had been enough to impress them.

 

Beside him, Bucky exhaled, shaking his head. "That guy's a show-off," he said in amusement.

 

Bucky turned back to look behind him. "Hey, Steve, what do you say we treat these girls—" He abruptly stopped mid-sentence. “Uh, Dean?”

 

Dean, confused, followed his line of sight and found an empty space where Steve had been standing just moments ago. Dean's expression darkened with concern as his eyes scanned the sea of people. Bucky quickly copied him, searching the crowd for his friend. 

 

After a few seconds, Dean placed a firm hand on his arm and leaned in so he could hear him over the noise. "Come on."

 

Bucky didn't ask questions. He simply nodded and followed Dean as they pushed through the bustling expo, moving swiftly to track down their missing friend and brother.

 

They found Steve standing in front of yet another recruitment station, his small frame illuminated by the glow of a nearby propaganda poster. The image depicted a heroic looking soldier, with the bold words "I Want You" above his head. 

 

Dean frowned at the sight. He had seen that look on his brother's face before—the quiet determination, the set of his jaw, the way his fingers curled into fists at his sides. It wasn't stubbornness; it was something deeper, something heavier. And it scared him.

 

Bucky, however, walked up to Steve without hesitation and gave him a light shove to jolt him out of his thoughts. "Come on," He said with exasperation. "You're kinda missing the entire point of tonight. We're takin' the girls dancing."

 

Steve barely turned as he mumbled, "You guys go ahead. I'll catch up with you." He had his hands in his pockets and wasn't meeting their eyes.

 

Bucky's annoyance was instant. "You're really gonna do this again?" He gestured around them, as if to emphasize the absurdity of it.

 

The fair was meant to be a distraction, a night of fun. But Steve was here, standing in front of another recruitment office, waiting for yet another rejection.

 

Steve shrugged. "Well, it's a fair, I'm gonna try my luck."

 

"As who ? Steve from Ohio?" Dean finally found his voice, folding his arms. "They'll catch you. Or worse, they'll actually take you."

 

Dean knew the chances of changing Steve's mind were slim, but he still had to try . 

 

Steve straightened his posture. "De, I know you don't think I can do this—"

 

Dean seethed at Steve’s stubbornness, his anger boiling over. "This isn't a back alley, Steve. It's war ."

 

"I know it's a war," Steve snapped, matching his brother’s tone.

 

"Why are you so keen to fight? There are so many important jobs—"

 

"What do you want me to do? Collect scrap metal in my little red wagon!?"

 

"Yes! Why not?" Dean shot back, half-pleading. “You’d be safe .”

 

"I'm not gonna sit in a factory, Dean." Steve's voice had an edge to it now, more forceful than before. He squared his shoulders, eyes burning with conviction. "Dean, Bucky, come on. There are men laying down their lives. I got no right to do any less than them. That's what you don't understand. This isn't about me ."

 

Dean went scarily silent, fixing Steve with a stare that had him looking down at his shoes. 

 

Bucky let out a scoff, shaking his head. "Right. 'Cause you got nothin' to prove."

 

The tension between the trio lingered for a moment, thick and suffocating, until one of the girls called out from behind them. "Bucky! Are we still going dancing or what?"

 

Bucky inhaled deeply, rubbing the back of his neck before looking to Dean for an answer. Dean exhaled sharply, sadly knowing that he wasn't going to win this argument. His shoulders dropped a bit before he gave Bucky a small nod.

 

"Don't do anything stupid until we get back," Dean turned back to pull Steve into a bearhug, his voice softer now, but still carrying a firm warning.

 

Steve smirked, just a little against the jacket of his brother’s uniform as he wrapped his arms around him. "How can I? All the stupid's goin' with you two."

 

Dean shook his head as he pulled back, "You're a punk." 

 

Bucky raised his eyebrows, glancing at Dean. "He got that from you, you know that, right? We're bein' sassed right now."

 

"You two just be careful," Steve said with a small smile, before adding with a hopeful glint in his eye, "Don't win the war until I get there."

 

Bucky turned to throw Steve a mock salute before turning around. Dean huffed out a laugh and followed suit, leading the girls back into the energy of the fair.

 

They left Steve standing there alone, ready to try his luck again.

 

~~~

 

The dance hall was alive with music and laughter, the band playing a lively swing tune that had couples twirling across the dancefloor. The dim lighting bathed the whole hall in a warm glow. The air smelled of whiskey, perfume, and the faint scent of cigarette smoke curling from the ashtrays at the bar.

 

But Dean wasn't in the mood to dance. He sat at the bar nursing a drink, enjoying the slight burn as it went down. He scanned the dance floor for Bucky, but there was no sign of him. The hall was packed, but still—Bucky was hard to miss. His usual cocky grin, the way he held himself, his effortless charm; all made him stand out.

 

Dean furrowed his brow and set his glass down. He had only left Bucky for a few minutes, but he had vanished. Just as he was about to get up and search for him, a voice broke his concentration.

 

"Drinking alone?"

 

Dean’s head snapped around so fast that his drink nearly spilled. Bucky stood beside him, trying not to laugh.

 

"For the love, James– I thought you were off dancing." Dean scowled. "Warn a guy."

 

Bucky lost it at this, throwing his head back with a laugh, clapping a hand on Dean's shoulder. "Relax, Doll, it's just me. I wondered where you'd gone."

 

Dean rolled his eyes, picking up his drink again to take another sip. "Ya’ gonna share a drink with me or just keep standing there?" he asked, raising an eyebrow at Bucky.

 

Bucky shrugged, a smirk fighting its way onto his lips. He didn't give an answer, just leaned his elbow against the counter and flagged the bartender down for a drink.

 

The music had softened and Couples slowly swayed to it on the floor. Dean and Bucky sat at the bar, shoulders relaxed but their minds were somewhere else.

 

Dean downed his drink before finally speaking. "If somethin' happens out there, promise you’ll look after Steve for me."

 

Bucky's expression dropped, his fingers tightening slightly around his glass. His eyes flicked over to Dean, looking for any hint of humor, but finding none. Just the quiet certainty of a man who had thought about this for longer than he should have.

 

Bucky exhaled sharply and shook his head. "Don't talk like that."

 

"I'm serious, James."

 

"So am I." 

 

"James." Dean countered, giving a look that dared him to argue. "You know how reckless I can be, you tell me all the damn time. Stevie needs someone, so if something happens—"

 

"Alright! I got it. I'll look out for the punk." Bucky cuts him off, throwing his hands up in surrender.

 

Dean nodded, finally satisfied. "Thank you."

 

Bucky shook his head as he picked up his drink again. "Anything for you Doll."

 

They fell into silence, the conversation weighting down on both of them with unspoken fears. It was Bucky that broke a silence a moment later.

 

"I'm gonna miss you, Dean." He mumbled, his voice softer than before.

 

Dean turned his head slightly, watching Bucky out of the corner of his eye. "I’ll miss you more."

Notes:

I'm almost certain I got the idea for the dance hall scene from another fic, but can't remember which one. I read a lot of them. For now I'll just give Inso credit to 'random bucky barnes fan fiction writer'

Chapter 3: CHAPTER TWO: ARMY DREAMERS

Notes:

There is implied torture/experimentation in this chapter. But hey, just you WAIT until Hydra gets their hands on Dean again in the literal next chapter :)

“Four men in uniform , to carry home my little soldier”

~~~

 

 

"Hello, Steve." Peggy spoke quietly, and Steve turned his head to see the agent standing behind him. 

 

"Hi." Steve greeted. "What are you doing here?" He then questioned, looking confused.

 

"Well, officially I'm not here at all. That was quite a performance." 

 

"Yeah. Uh... had to improvise a little bit. The crowds I'm used to are usually a little more, uh... twelve." Steve cringed at the earlier disaster. "But bond sales take a ten percent bump in every state I visit." He added, looking straight ahead at the war vehicles in front of him.

 

"Is that Senator Brandt I hear?" Peggy smirked a little.

 

"At least he's got me doin' this. Phillips would have had me stuck in a lab." Steve just said solemnly.

 

"And these are your only two options? A lab rat or a dancing monkey? You were meant for more than this, you know." Peggy pushed , and Steve opened his mouth to reply but hesitated. "What?"

 

"You know for the longest time I dreamed about coming overseas and being on the front lines. Serving my country. I finally got everything I wanted.. and I'm wearing tights." Steve almost joked as he glanced around at the camp he was in.

 

Peggy was about to respond before a loud beeping sound alerted them of an ambulance arriving.

 

"They look like they've been through hell." Steve watched as a man was hoisted out of the van.

 

"These men more than most. Schmidt sent out a force to Azzano. We sent the 107th, and then the 101st airborne. Three hundred men went up against him and less than fifty returned. The rest were killed or captured." Peggy replied quietly. 

 

At the mention of the battalions, Steve stared right at her. "The 101st and 107th?" He repeated.

 

"What?" Peggy answered, looking confused when Steve snapped to his feet so fast he nearly took her out in the process, immediately heading toward the largest tent.

 

"Come on!" He shouted out to Peggy, who quickly started jogging after him.

 

"Colonel Phillips!" Steve called out to the man as they barged into the tent.

 

"Well, if it isn't the Star-Spangled Man With A Plan." Phillips greeted dryly. "And what is your plan today?"

 

"I need the casualty list from Azzano." Steve blurted, desperate to find out if his brother and friend were part of the fifty to make it back.

 

"You don't get to give me orders, boy." The colonel answered him sternly.

 

"I just need two names. Sergeants Dean Rogers from the 101st and James Barnes from the 107th." Steve asked Phillips, not taking no for an answer.

 

"You and I are gonna have a conversation later that you won't enjoy." The colonel shook a finger in Peggy's direction as she darted her eyes away from the man.

 

"Please at least tell me if my brother’s alive, sir. R-O-G- -" Steve spelled out.

 

"I can spell. I have signed more of these condolence letters today than I would care to count. But the names do sound familiar. I'm sorry." The colonel answered him sincerely, looking him in the eyes.

 

Steve stayed quiet for a couple of seconds as he took in the news that his brother and friend were gone. "What about the others? Are you planning a rescue mission?"

 

"Yeah! It's called winning the war." The colonel answered as Steve turned his head in disbelief to look right at Phillips.

 

"But if you know where they are, why not at least-"

 

"They're thirty miles behind the lines. In the most heavily fortified territory in Europe. We dispatched the airborne to extract survivors from the 107th. Since we lost contact, they are assumed to be missing or killed in action. But I don't expect you to understand that, because you're a chorus girl." Phillips interrupted Steve as he began pointing at a map to the side of the tent.

 

Steve's usual friendly way had dropped, a new bitter expression on his face. "I think I understand just fine." He stated, not breaking eye contact with the colonel.

 

"Well then understand it somewhere else. If I read the posters correctly, you got some place to be in thirty minutes." Phillips dismissed Steve as he walked away. 

 

Steve stepped over to the military map to inspect it, and saw that it showed exactly where men were posted. "Yes, sir. I do." He answered shortly, and Peggy watched as he stormed out of the tent.

 

"If you have something to say, right now is the perfect time to keep it to yourself." The colonel instructed her..

 

"What do you plan to do? Walk to Austria?" Peggy asked Steve, catching up to find him in his tent, packing up belongings.

 

"If that's what it takes." Steve just answered back.

 

"You heard the Colonel, your brother and friend are most likely dead." Peggy kept talking as Steve began to grow frustrated.

 

"You don't know that."

 

"Even so, he's devising a strategy-"

 

"By the time he's done that, it could be too late!" Steve said to her before walking out the tent towards a Jeep. "You told me you thought I was meant for more than this. Did you mean that?"

 

"Every word." Peggy answered.

 

~~~

 

After he jumped from the plane, it didn’t take Steve long to infiltrate the HYDRA base by seeking into the back of a supply truck. Once inside, he moved quickly and silently to avoid the guards patrolling the area. He stopped behind a pillar just before a guard could spot him, and was about to move again when something caught his eye. It was some kind of technology, with parts of it glowing blue. He quickly grabbed a piece of the tech and put it into his pocket before moving on.

 

He stopped again as he finally found where the prisoners were being held, in cells beneath the floor he and a guard were standing on. He wasted no time taking the lone guard out with his shield before they even realized he was there. 

 

"Who are you supposed to be?" One of them said from below him as he stood over a cell.

 

"I'm... Captain America." He answered as he began patting down a guard, trying to find a set of keys.

 

"I beg your pardon?" The soldier asked Steve, but he was already running in the direction of the cells to free them. 

 

Steve began unlocking their cells, and prisoners poured out into the crowded space.

“Is there anyone else? I’m looking for Sergeants Dean Rogers and James Barnes.”

 

"Rogers? He was in here, crazy bastard cussed out the guards till they dragged him away. Took em’ all to an isolation ward in the factory, but no one's ever come back." A soldier stopped to tell him as they all walked in the exit's direction.

 

"All right. The tree line is northwest, 80 yards past the gate. Get out fast and give 'em hell. I'll meet you guys in the clearing with anybody else I find." Steve instructed the men.

 

"Wait! You know what you're doin'?" Another asked him.

 

"Yeah. I've knocked out Adolf Hitler over two hundred times." Steve shot back as he ran off to find his guys.

 

He found himself in a darker part of the base, a dimly lit hallway. There were fewer guards around, which instantly made him fear that maybe there was nothing to guard. Steve froze as a figure entered the hallway through one of the doors. The man stopped too, before slowly backing away and turning to run down the hall. Steve let him escape, instead running to the door the man had just come through.

 

The room was small, filled with what looked like medical equipment of some sort. Against the side wall was what looked like a cell door, and Steve stepped closer to look into the dark, even smaller conjoining room. His heart stopped as he recognized the man slumped against the wall inside.

 

“Dean!” Steve called out, literally ripping the cell door off the hinges to break the lock.

 

Steve got even more worried when Dean didn’t respond, or move. He rushed over to his brother’s side, letting out a small sigh of relief when he found Dean’s pulse. He grabbed his shoulders and lightly shook him, which was enough to wake him up.

 

Unfocused eyes met Steve’s before Dean managed to rasp out, “Stevie?” 

 

“Yeah, it’s me.” He pulled Dean into a tight hug before helping him stand and get out of the cell. "God, I thought you were dead."

 

"And I thought you were smaller." Dean shot back, looking his brother up and down. “Wait, James- they took him from the cells before me,” He added.

 

“One of the others said everyone they took went to the isolation ward.”

 

There was a flicker in Dean’s eyes, like he remembered something. “Then he’s gotta be close.”

 

Once Dean was stable on his feet, they decided to split up to cover more ground. Dean quietly moved down the corridor, holding a gun Steve had taken from one of the guards. He froze as he heard noise from a room on the left, the sound of someone mumbling. 

 

"Sergeant Barnes. Two-nine-six-one-nine-one-six."

 

Turning the corner to enter the room, he raised the gun to point at whoever was there. Strapped to a table in the middle of the room, is Bucky. Dean’s gun dropped to the ground with a loud clatter as he ran to him.

 

"James?" Dean's hands tore off the restraints that held him to the chair.

 

"Is that.." Bucky tried to ask.

 

"It's me. It's Dean." He answered, unclasping the last strap.

 

"Hey Doll" A delirious smile split Bucky’s face as he reached up to wrap his arms around Dean.

 

Dean hugged him back, pulling him up from the chair. Bucky’s balance was a lot worse than his, so he slung Bucky’s arm over his shoulders to support his weight. They turned towards the doorway just in time to see Steve run into the room.

 

Bucky spoke before Steve could, staring at him with confusion. "Is that Steve?”

 

"Yeah. We’ll catch up later, we gotta go." Dean assured as he pulled them towards the door. 

 

Steve notices a map on the wall and points at it, "Dean-" 

 

​​"I saw it." Dean assures, leaning down as best he can while holding Bucky to grab the discarded gun.

 

A loud explosion echoes through the black corridor, causing all three of them to freeze. They exchanged worried glances before picking up their pace. 

 

After a minute, Dean looked at his former tiny brother. "We are having a very long conversation about what the hell you did while we were gone."

 

Steve shrank back a bit at the look his brother gave him, "I joined the Army." He answered sheepishly as they moved into the hallway.

 

Before Dean could tear him a new one, Bucky cut in, "Did it hurt?"

 

"A little." Steve told Bucky, thankful for the interruption.

 

"Is it permanent?" Bucky continued, not able to stay quiet, which got Dean to crack a smile.

 

"So far." Steve informed him with as much enthusiasm as he could muster. 

 

They kept moving, and Steve noticed there were far fewer guards now here than when he had first arrived. His question was answered, though, when another explosion was set off. They didn’t just hear it this time, watching with wide eyes as it began spreading through the factory.

 

"Captain America!" A voice called out, making the trio stop in their tracks.

 

Bucky and Dean's eyes widened, almost like they knew who it was, and Steve moved to stand in front of them. 

 

"How exciting! I'm a great fan of your films. So Dr. Erskine managed it after all. Not exactly an improvement, but still impressive." 

 

Steve wasted no time and landed a hard punch to the guy's face. "You've got no idea." He told him as the man raised a hand to his jaw.

 

Looking up again, the man’s eye was unnaturally red. "Haven't I?" He asks before also throwing a punch. 

 

Steve blocked it with his shield, a definite outline of a fist now etched into it. The two men fought as the other scientist, who had stayed quiet until now, leaned to pull a lever as the catwalk began splitting in half. 

 

"No matter what lies Erskine told you, you see I was his greatest success!" The man shouted out before he put his hand to his throat and peeled his skin off, revealing a red skull beneath.

 

"You don't have one of those, do you?" Bucky asked Steve quietly, staring forward in horror.

 

"You are deluded, Captain. You pretend to be a simple soldier, but in reality you are just afraid to admit that we have left humanity behind. Unlike you, I embrace it proudly. Without fear!" The man yells directly at Steve.

 

"Then how come you're running?" Steve questioned him as the doors of the elevator closed and he, Bucky and Dean were alone once more.

 

Another explosion was set off, and they ran towards the nearby stairs. They had reached the catwalk above as the smoke from the flames began getting stronger. They needed to get to the opposite side, but the only way across was a thin metal beam, one which Dean didn't like the look of one bit.

 

"Let's go. One at a time." Steve ordered.

 

Dean pulled Bucky forward and helped him over the railing, watching as Bucky crept over the fires below, moving slowly as more explosions were set off. Suddenly, the beam dropped, making Dean inhale sharply. When it didn't fall, Bucky continued forward despite the beam steadily slipping. With a final leap he made it to the other side. 

 

"Dean." Steve ordered. 

 

Dean carefully scaled across, the metal under him dropped almost half a foot with every step he took. But he was just barely close enough to make it. He jumped, the beam dropped to the ground and Dean landed on the other platform.

 

“Shit!” His eyes went wide as he realized the only way across was now destroyed.

 

"Gotta be a rope or something!" Bucky shouted out, looking around looking for something to use.

 

"Just go! Get out of here!" Steve yelled back, waving for Bucky and Dean to leave.

 

"Hell no!" Dean shouted.

 

"Not without you!" Both Dean and Bucky shouted at Steve in unison. 

 

Steve frantically looked around for another way before he started bending the broken railing in front of him make a gap to the other side. He backed up as far as he could, taking a running start before he attempted to leap the explosions over to his guys. Bucky and Dean each grabbed one of his arms right before he could fall, hauling him up onto the platform with them.

 

They didn’t wait around, quickly escaping the building before the explosions swallowed it whole. 

 

~~~

 

When they finally made it back to the outpost, it was already daylight. Dean and Bucky grinned to each other as the other soldiers began cheering for the ones who had returned, making Steve look prouder than anything. That was until a hush fell over the post as Colonel Phillips began making his way over, Peggy following behind him.

 

"Some of these men need medical attention." Steve told Phillips as the colonel looked around at the men who were now reunited with their friends. "I'd like to surrender myself for disciplinary action." He added with a certain amount of defeat.

 

"That won't be necessary." The colonel ordered as he now looked Steve in the eye.

 

"Yes, sir." Steve answered as a small smile appeared on his face.

 

"You're late." Peggy told Steve when the colonel walked away, her eyes darting around his face.

 

"Couldn't call my ride." He told her, holding up a broken transmitter.

 

"Hey! Let's hear it for Captain America!" Bucky shouted out, Dean letting out a cheer before all the soldiers began clapping as they formed a circle around Steve. 

 

Dean couldn’t hold back the huge smile on his face as he looked around at all the faces who were all cheering for none other than the war hero, Steve Rogers. His little brother.

 

The celebration continued into the night, and the military bar was full of soldiers who wanted a good drink and chuckle after what they'd endured. Steve on the other hand, was busy finding men from the 101st and 107th to enlist into a special team with the goal of taking out HYDRA entirely. It wasn't hard to convince them. Buy them a drink or two and they would happily go to war for you, especially if you've already saved them all once. Steve bought them another round after they agreedl then went over to the bar side to find Bucky and Dean. 

 

They still looked worse for wear, faces covered in bruises. But they had sat down to drink, laughing with each other like always.

 

"See? Told you." Bucky bragged as Steve rejoined them. "They're all idiots."

 

"How about you two?" Steve asked as he sat down. "You ready to follow Captain America into the jaws of death?"

 

"Hell no." Dean set down his drink. "That little guy from Brooklyn who was too dumb to run away from the fight... We’re following him." He finished, glancing over at Bucky.

 

Bucky nodded in agreement, taking a sip of his drink. "You're keeping the outfit, though, right?"

 

Steve gave his brother and friend a smile, "You know what? It's kinda growin' on me."

 

Chapter 4: CHAPTER THREE: 8TH OF NOVEMBER

Notes:

Now there's DESCRIBED torture (And Dean murdering a guard). Feel free to skip, to sum it up, Hydra used the reality stone in an experimental procedure that gives Dean powers similar to an angel, including giant wings.

“the angels were cryin' as they carried his brothers away”

~~~

 

 

So Dean and Bucky found themselves as the second in command of the rag-tag team of soldiers dubbed, ‘Howling Commandos’. Dean also became the new unit’s aviator. Together the team traversed all over Europe, leaving a trail of destroyed HYDRA bases and rubble in their wake.

 

Tonight was no different. They found themselves in the Russian Alps, in front of yet another HYDRA installation. Explosions rang out like thunder as the Howling Commandos stormed the compound, Captain Rogers at the helm with Sergeant Barnes flanking him. There was a thud and the tell-tale sound of an engine revving, before Sergeant Rogers appeared beside them on his motorcycle.

 

He pulled down on the throttle, shooting off ahead of the men on foot. He weaved between gunfire and burning debris, eyes locked on HYDRA’s anti-air battery.

 

“Couldn’t get the plane close enough!” Dean shouted into his radio. “Cover me, I’m going for the last turret!” 

 

Steve and Bucky stepped over the ridge, watching Dean moving below them. Too fast. Too close to the heart of the base.

“Dean! Wait!” Steve’s voice cracked over the comms.

 

But he was too late. A tremor rocked the base as one of the experimental energy weapons overloaded. It detonated with a blinding pale blue flash,  the force throwing Dean off the Motorcycle. The bike twisted in the air and exploded behind him as it met the ground, sending shrapnel everywhere.

 

Steve yelled, breaking into a sprint down the slope, Bucky still at his side. 

 

Dean landed a loud thud, slamming hard into the base of a steel structure. Blood quickly began to soak through his flight jacket. Chest heaving, he blinked against the blood in his eyes. He tried to push himself back up, but he just collapsed.

 

He had no feeling below his waist. No pain, either. Just nothing, just cold.

 

A trembling hand met a jagged piece of metal jutted out of his lower back. He gasped, choking on the searing pain that shot up his spine.

 

The other commandos made it over the ridge just in time to see Steve and Bucky rushing forward. 

 

“Rogers, Barnes, wait!” Dugan shouted as him and Morita ran to grab the two men.

 

“Let go!” Bucky struggled. “Dean!”

 

It took all of the howlies strength to hold the Captain and Sergeant back. More explosions rocked the base, and another generator started to hum. If they didn’t retreat now, none of them would make it out.

 

“You won’t be able to get to him in time!” Morita tried to reason. “He wouldn’t want you getting blown to pieces!”

 

Steve’s face controted in agony, and Bucky’s face was dark with grief. They knew Morita was right.

 

Down below, Dean raised his head weakly, blood staining his face. He smiled as he raised a hand to give a single signal.

 

Fall back.

 

Dean watched as Dugan sadly turned to pass along the signal, and soon all the howlies reluctantly retreated into the smoke. Safe and alive. Dean let out a shaky breath, the ghost of a smile on his lips.

 

And then came the sound of boots. But it didn’t belong to any of his men. Cold voices spoke what he guessed was German, followed by the unmistakable hiss of HYDRA rifles.

 

Dean couldn’t fight back. He could barely breathe. 

 

But his last thought as the enemy soldiers surrounded him, wasn’t tied to that. It was the fact that his men had got out. Steve and Bucky had got out. 

 

And that was enough for him to let the darkness take him.

 

~~~

 

Dean drifted in and out of consciousness as HYDRA soldiers dragged his broken body into the heart of the facility. He fully blacked out again after one of them stuck what he assumed was a needle full of some kind of sedative.

 

When he came too again, it took him a few moments to grasp where he was. He realized he was in an operating room, strapped face down on an operating table. 

 

Panic began to set in as his eyes darted around the small room. The air was thick and it reeked of rot and iron. Through the dim lighting, he could barley make out the various medical machines and equiment that sat in the room. 

 

He tried to move, but only succeeded in send a fresh wave of pain through his body, the worse of it encompassed his back. He connected the pieces as to why when Doctor Zola came into view at his side, peering down at his exposed spine.

 

The doctor quickly left his sight line, and a second later he heard a drill whirring, followed by a sickening wet pop . The last thing Dean heard before he passed out was the sound of own screams.

 

They left him strapped to the table, and Dean stopped reciting prayers after the fifth failed attempt to fix his spine. After he realized HYDRA wasn’t planning to let him die. As long as they could use him.

 

He didn’t know what number this attempts is, but he knows this one is different. 

 

He could feel the agony of each bolt that was bored in his bones. Felt as they finally succeeded in rebuilding his shattered spine, fusing experiment alloy to each vertebrae. He passed out again when they started to crudely pull the peeled back skin up to meet the metal prostectic.

 

As his consciousness slowly bled back, Dean found himself face up on the operating table. When his vision focused, he was met with Doctor Zola standing over him again.

 

“What did you do to me?” He rasped, voice strained.

 

The doctor didn’t respond right away. So for a moment, all Dean heard was his own laboured breathing and the humming of machines. He watched as Dean tried to push against the restraints, but his strength still hadn’t returned.

 

“The question, Rogers, is not what we did to you, it is what we are going to do.” Zola finally spoke in a clinical tone, “You will serve to expand and test HYDRA’s medical knowledge.”

 

~~~

 

Dean was terrified when a pair of guards pulled him off the operating table and brought him to a containment room in the facility.

 

He knew enough about what project they had been conducting in the room. That the projects goal was to turn Red Skull into a god, but they had to test it first. So Dean had watched 12 people get dragged past the door of the operating room, only for them to for them to pass by later carrying a body. If there was one left.

 

In the center of the room stood some type of machine, which faced a metal chamber across the room. The guards dragged Dean forward into the chamber, shacking his wrist with chains that hung from the ceiling. 

 

He watched as the guard joined the groups of scientists behind the pane of glass facing him, and was able to pick up pieces of their conversation.

 

‘Reality stone’ ‘uncovered’ ‘yet to understand’ ‘energy’ ‘reshape’

 

The scientist’s conversation ended, and a second later a whining sound split the air, coming from the machine in front of him. It soon emitted a ray of energy into the chamber, directly into Dean’s chest. The entire room was lit with an eerie red light.

 

The pain was unlike anything he had felt; worse the crash, worse than the metal fused to his spine. Worse even than the countless experiments me was subjected too day after day. His skin split open, his bones broke. He felt his blood boiling as he began to bled out. He screamed until his vocal cords tore apart.

 

Scenes flashed before his eyes. Him holding a four year-old Steve’s hand. His mother singing him a lullaby. Bucky’s smiling face. Then it twisted to a vision of himself, with no eyes and wings made of razors, countless bodies laying cold at his feet.

 

He was pulled back into his body as it kept ripping itself apart. His back arched as the metal somehow fused even deeper into his spine. His blood started to glow . The single scream he managed to get out wasn’t human, it rang with something old, angelic and wrong .

 

Silence. Dean opened his eyes.

 

Then the wings came.

 

A searing, white hot pain exploded from between his shoulder blades as the skin split open. He felt as they grew, excruciatingly slow. He watched in horror as pure white feathers, stained red with his own blood and tissue, unfurled from his back. The new weight was almost unbearable.

 

He didn’t realize that the machine had turned off, or that one of the guards had reentered the room, until the shackles were unlocked, and he crumpled to the floor, steam rolling off his scarred skin.

 

His senses came back quickly, and set into overdrive. He felt the guards hand seconds before it actually touched him. With an animalistic growl he jumped up and grabbed the guard, before physically ripping their body in half with his bare hands.

He dropped the body as he glanced around the room, seeing the scientist staring at him from behind the glass. Zola whispered something that sounded like a prayer in german.

 

All of their attention was pulled from Dean to the machine as it made a mechanical whining sound, before ash crumbled out of it.

 

“The stone!” Red skull shouted furiously, rage clear on his face.

 

Because Project Revenant had worked. Only once .

 

His eyes landed on Dean, and his face shifted to something else. Something like fear. Dean watched as he turned towards the other guard. A second later, something metal clinked across the ground, before the room filled with smoke and everything went.

 

~~~

 

HYDRA had created something they couldn’t control. But they tried. With drugs, commands, an electro pulse implant. But none of it worked for long. Dean would always heal.

 

So they strapped him back onto the cold operating table, and the experiments and tests got even worse. They quickly realized just how much further they could push the limits. That no matter what they did, Dean’s powers would stop it from killing him. And they used that to their advantage.

 

Dean found the days starting to blur into one another, each a various verison of the same horrors. A gruesome, continous cycle designed to keep him broken. His body no longer his, it was HYDRA’s to dissect and rip apart as they pleased.

 

Zola’s scalpel was never idle. Every organ in his body had been ripped out at last once. Limbs were served clean off, because they wanted to know how long it would take to reattach. They didn’t even bother stitch the incision closed anymore, just left Dean to writhe in pain as his body pulled itself back together. When they grew tired of his screaming, they slit his throat to shut him up, reopening the wound every time his vocals cords began to work again. 

 

They were halfway through sawing his skull opened when the research proved Dean couldn’t regenerate missing bodyparts.

 

That was the only thing that saved his brain.  

Chapter 5: INTERLUDE

Dean, 

 

You were right about being the first of us to go. You’re always right. But god, this time I wish you weren't.

 

I can’t wrap my head around it, can’t make myself believe it. Maybe I don’t want to. But I keep expecting to hear your voice again. Hell, I keep waiting for you to knock on my barrack with that grin on your face. To find you waiting for me with a smoke to share. But you won’t be.

 

Your funeral was harder than I ever thought it’d be. I had to stop myself from acting like a widowed dame, throwing themselves on the casket while crying. But what was the worst, was staring at your casket, knowing it was empty.

 

We went to Arlington, Steve and I. We stood at your gravestone together for a while. There wasn’t much to say, and I think he was too busy trying to hold it together. But I know you saw through that. You always did. I realized there’s a piece of me in that dirt now too. A piece I know I won’t find again.

 

God, I wish I could’ve saved you. If I had gotten to you sooner, or hadn’t turned back, maybe you’d still be here with me. Maybe if I’d moved faster, things would’ve turned out differently.

 

We’re heading back to the front lines soon. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing, but that’s just how it is, isn’t it? We keep moving forward. That’s what you always said. ‘Keep going, keep your head down and your hands steady’. And I’ll try. For you. For Steve. Even though I don’t think either of us will ever really get over this.

 

But I swear I’ll keep my promise, I’ll take care of him.

 

See you soon Doll.

 

Forever yours,

 James

Notes:

I thought I'd explain but didn't want to spoil the chapter, this is journal entry or letter written by Bucky. They hold a funeral for Dean as he's considered KIA. The part about the casket being empty is because they weren't able to recover Dean's body.

Chapter 6: CHAPTER FOUR: WARCHILD

Notes:

I got the idea for how the kids got here from a fic on here, 'little chaos' by tummyclub. I also got the idea for the kids calling dean 'mama' from, you guessed it, Dean Winchester fanart, where Jack calls 6ft harden hunter Dean that, and I thought it was funny and cute.

And because I want to make you cry, they call him 'mama' specifically because that's what Dean calls Sarah in the stories he tells them about her and his life before Hydra.

“At times of war we’re all the losers, there’s no victory, we shoot to kill, and kill your lover”

 

~~~

 

 

Dean Rogers was nothing if not stubborn. 

 

So through all the experiments HYDRA subjected him to, ones he only survived because of his healing ability, he held onto the hope that Bucky and Steve would come for him. 

 

But that hope died long ago. With Steve in the ice, and with Bucky wherever HYDRA had left his body to rot.

 

And with that hope, went every ounce of fight Dean had left. He stopped struggling against the restraints on the operating table. Stopped attacking the guards when they dragged him to the cryochamber. 

 

It wasn’t like he had anything to fight for anymore.

 

~~~

 

Dean’s breathing was shallow and his wings lay limp behind him, as his body ached from the latest round of experiments.

 

“Todesengel,” Hydra’s lead scientist entered the room, followed by General Rienhardt. “You have been prepared for the next phase in Project Bloodline.”

 

Dean barely had enough strength to look up at them, thanks to the cocktail of drugs they injected into his system to keep him docile. He struggled to stay conscious, darkness creeping into the edges of his vision. It never ended well when the general paid him a visit.

 

The general stared down at him, watching his face contort in pain as the scientist started another experiment.

 

Dean felt a sharp, burning sensation beneath his ribs, and his body arched involuntarily as a strangled cry tore its way out of his throat. It felt like his body was being torn apart, like something inside him was changing.

 

The last thing he saw before passing out was the general’s lips curling into an insidious smirk.

 

When dean awoke, it wasn’t to a cold scalpel or cruel questions. It was a pain between his legs that hadn’t been there before. His chest began to rise and fall erratically as he tried to wrap his head around what was happening. He knew something had changed, he could feel it in the very cells of his body.

 

Then a cold voice echoed from somewhere above him.

 

“The procedure is complete. You are now the incubator for Hydra’s next generation of soldiers.”

 

Dean’s breath caught in his throat, his mind racing to process the words. His gaze shifted down to his abdomen, dried blood from the procedure coating his skin. He could feel the new organ that was in his body, and the realization of his situation settled over him. 

 

“ Oh god, ” he whispered, his voice cracking. “Please, don’t do this.”

 

The scientist approached the operating table, a filled syringe in hand. “Your god will not save you from your fate.”

 

Dean forced his eyes shut, body trembling as the needle pierced his skin before he slipped back into darkness.

 

~~~

 

His eyes blinked open to the harsh light above him. He instantly felt the muzzle on his face, cutting off his oxygen. The painful haze made his head ache. He tried to move, but his sluggish limbs refused to cooperate with him.

 

“We’ve been waiting for you to regain consciousness.” A cold voice echoed through the haze and his eyes found a silhouette in front of him, just out of focus, but he could tell it was the scientist. “Your body is adjusting well.”

 

Dean’s body screamed that something was wrong, and he focused on it, on the foreign sensation and the tightness of his skin. His mind cleared as he remembered the procedure, and his eyes trailed down to his abdomen again. There was a swell to it that was unmistakable.

 

He felt his heart stop in his chest. This couldn’t be happening. This shouldn’t be possible.

 

The scientist glanced over at one of the monitors. “The process is almost complete. The children will be born soon.”

 

It was incomprehensible. Unnatural. Dean tried to process it, but the drugs in his system made everything feel like a dream, or more accurately, a nightmare.

 

In the passing months, he watched in horror as the swell of his stomach grew. As scientists and personnel filtered in and out of the operating room, tracking his progression with a grotesque interest. But the only thing he could focus on, just barely, was the beating of tiny hearts, beating in time with his own. 

 

An excruciating pain pulled him from the haze, sharp and unbearable. He barely registered the commotion around him and the pressure low in his gut as he went in and out of consciousness. 

 

Then there were two tiny forms, two babies, their piercing cries destroying the haze around his mind. His breath caught again as he looked at them, his own flesh and blood, both so small and fragile. A boy and girl, his babies. And as he stared at them, his heart broke.

 

That pain only deepened as the scientists immediately took the twins from him. He could only watch as they turned and walked out of the room, the door slamming shut behind them. He tried to move, tried to scream, but all he could do was just lie there on the table, helpless and broken. The only sound in the room now was the distant cries of his children, fading as they were carried further away.

 

~~~

 

Dean’s anger returned ten fold after that. 

 

When it was clear he wasn’t going to let himself stay strapped to the table anymore, and he had torn the door of the operating room off its hinges, they moved him to a reinforced cell deeper in the facility. And in a pathetic attempt to hold some control, they had forced him into a straight jacket of sorts to restrain him. He ripped out of it with a feral tenacity, and the guard that was sent in with a replacement was pulled out of the room a few minutes later without a jaw. 

 

They left him alone in the room, punching the walls until his knuckles were split and torn. His body trembled with rage, with the agony that had consumed him. Screams fit for a wounded animal tore from his throat, mixed with what almost sounded like a war cry. He kept going for days, weeks, maybe months. He didn’t know how long it had been since they took the twins. He only cared that they had taken them.

 

“The asset is destabilizing.” The scientist told General Rienhardt after nearly six months of watching all of this through the monitors.

 

“No. This is grief.” The general replied impassively, “We’ve severed the maternal bond too soon.”

 

“Maternal?” The scientist questioned. “He is the assets’ biological father.”

 

The General just smirked. “Look at him. A father wouldn’t be howling like a bitch. It seems the procedure caused more changes than we expected. He’s formed an attachment to the twins.”

 

There was a silence between them.

 

Then the scientist said hesitantly, “We could see if their presence calms him… letting their bond grow strong would serve to turn the twins into leverage against the asset.”

 

“Yes…” The General replied, lips twitching up in a morbid smile. “We can start the first phase of the twins’ training earlier than anticipated.”

They sedated him before they brought the twins in, enough so he couldn’t hash out at them but not enough to fully knock him unconscious. 

 

He had collapsed in the corner of the room, trying to get as far away from the door as possible. He flinched as the door opened, and two armoured guards stepped in, each carrying a small bundle. His eyes widened slightly, heartbeat picking up as he watched them place the bundles on the floor before retreating from the room.

 

The second Dean heard the door click shut, he cautiously stepped closer to stare down at the two babies swaddled in blankets. A sob tore its way from his chest, he knew that they were his. He fell to his knees, carefully picking them up into his arms, wings wrapping around the three of them to shield them from the monitor. Apologies fell from his lips like whispered prayers as both twins curled into his arms.

 

From the control room, the scientist scribbled notes furiously. “The asset is calming down.”

 

“Good. He’ll be easier to control.”

 

But they didn’t notice the faint pulse of white light beneath Dean’s chest. Didn’t know what ideas were racing through his head.

 

~~~

 

For the next six years, Dean's only focus was protecting the twins. 

 

Hydra only allowed them to be called ‘the assets’ or ‘the twins’. But Dean named them Wanda and Pietro, whispering their names to them whenever he could. Hydra had a name for Dean as well. Mother . A name spat at him whenever he dared show softness or love for his kids. As Wanda and Pietro grew older they caught on. They were far too young to comprehend the implications of the name, only knew from the stories Dean told them that it was a person of comfort, so they called him Mama. 

 

He stood like a wall between the twins and Hydra, fighting against them. He was beaten for it. Drugged. Caged. But he would take that and more if it meant they stayed away from his kids. But he couldn’t stop all of it. Hydra still dragged Wanda and Pietro away from him, sometimes for a day, sometimes for a week or more. He didn’t know where they were taken, only that the scientists had started experimenting on the twins. His only small comfort was the kids telling him of another soldier that protected them as much as he did.

 

But it still killed him inside every time the kids were shoved back into the cell with pained and tortured looks in their eyes that matched his. They would cling to him, understanding the danger even at such a young age. And Pietro, with his restless energy, would always ask the same question.

 

“Mama, why are we here?”

 

Dean couldn’t answer. He didn’t have an answer. So he did whatever he could to comfort them, telling them stories to distract them from the horror surrounding them. Whispered them promises of safety, of freedom.

 

“Don’t let them break you,” He’d tell them in hushed tones, “You’re stronger than they know.”

 

And every night he held them tight, wings curled around their tiny bodies as he sang lullabies to block out the screams from the other experiments. He would focus on the sound of their steady breathing, never letting himself fall asleep and leave them vulnerable.

Notes:

Todesengel- death angel in German

Lastly, I apologize for how short and fast paced these chapters are, I'm trying not to be very detailed with the torture. I promise the chapters will be longer soon.

Chapter 7: CHAPTER FIVE: LIFE ETERNAL

Notes:

TW: Miscarriage - I will put a warning before it starts and mark where it ends

“Did you really think this bloody road would pave the way for you?”

 

~~~

As the twins grew, so did their powers. Pietro was inhumanly fast, vanishing and reappearing like a flicker of light. Wanda could hear things others couldn’t, echoes of thoughts that she could use to twist minds with glowing red hands. 

 

Hydra was anything but blind to this.

 

Dean saw it in how the scientist observed the twins, not like children, but like experiments. Like ticking bombs they were eager to crack open. The speed at which their powers grew wasn’t natural, and Hydra’s fingerprints were all over it. The blood test, the injections, the ‘training’. Hydra had gotten the enhanced children that they wanted, and they saw the power the twins held.

 

So when the twins were seven, Hydra made another attempt at Project Bloodline.

 

But this time it was different, this time he wasn’t strapped to the operating table while half conscious. This time they left him fully awake and aware for all of it. And worst of all, he wasn’t alone. As the horrifying swell of his abdomen returned, Dean sat on the cell floor, back braced against the cold concrete wall, flanked on either side by Wanda and Pietro. They curled into his sides, small hands resting softly against his stomach. Dean saw the mix of wonder and excitement in their eyes, and he tried to match that hope. But all he could feel was dread, heavy and suffocating, like hands pressing down on his chest.

 

He forced himself to focus on the love he had for his kids instead, let that consume him as he whispered promises of a life they would never have in this hellhole. The twins would nod, believing him without hesitation. And Dean clung to that belief like a lifeline.

 

But when he thought he was nearing the end, it all shattered. 

 

(TW START- GO TO THE NEXT BOLDED TEXT TO SKIP)

 

It began with a strange, sudden pain in his gut. Not the rolling pain from last time. This was duller, almost like an ache. Something was wrong, he could feel it. Then, before he knew it, the door opened and a pair of guards dragged him back to the operation room. He didn’t resist. He couldn’t.

 

The scientist didn’t tell him what was happening. They just threw him back in the cell a few hours later with a fresh scar across his lower abdomen, still sharp and aching. But that pain was a dull throb compared to the hole they’d carved in his heart.

 

He didn’t even get to see the baby. He would never even know if it had been a boy or a girl.

 

Wanda and Pietro were smart, too smart for their own good sometimes. They noticed the change, the hollow look in his eyes as they watched him with quiet concern. They were too young to understand the loss, but old enough to sense his grief. They knew that the scientist had stolen something from their mama.

 

Dean didn’t cry. He refused to in front of the twins. He had to be strong for them. 

 

But that night, when Wanda and Pietro crawled into his lap with their innocent eyes, asking where the baby was, he had to swallow the scream that threatened to break free.

 

“I’m sorry,” was all he could manage to choke out as he held them close. “I’m so sorry.”

 

(TW ENDS HERE)

 

~~~

 

The loss pushed Dean to a breaking point he hadn’t even known existed. He couldn’t take it anymore. Hydra had taken everything from him. His freedom, his autonomy, his body. And now, his child. But he wasn’t about to let them take Wanda and Pietro. He had to protect them.

 

Planning an escape took weeks, maybe longer. Hydra was everywhere, eyes and ears covering every inch of the facility. So Dean just waited for his chance.

 

The chance came when a guard brought him back to the cell after another round of experiments. When they assumed he was at his weakest. But they underestimated him. The second the door to the cell slid open, Dean struck. He twisted himself from the guard’s grasp before slamming the man’s head into the edge of the metal doorframe. The crack rang through the corridor, followed by a sickening thud as Dean finished the job by putting his foot through their skull.

 

Dean turned towards the cell. “Wanda, Pietro,” He called, lifting his arms.

 

Pietro was the first to move, eyes wide with panic. “Mama!” He shouted, throwing himself into Dean’s embrace.

 

Wanda was right behind her brother, her arms wrapping around Dean’s neck in an instant. 

 

Dean held both of his kids tightly, his wings curling around them to act as a shield. His spine whined with effort as he broke out into a sprint down the corridor. Soon an alarm started blaring and footsteps thundered against the ground. But Dean didn’t stop, just pushed himself to move faster. 

 

He kept going until he finally found a door, a way out. It wasn't meant to be an exit, but he made it one. In a burst of strength he barreled through, shattering metal and bolts with brute force. Cold night air hit them as he staggered out of the facility into the darkness. The sky was wide above them, the moon and stars distant, but real.

 

“Hold on tight.” Dean told the twins, letting his wings surge open fully.

 

Wanda and Pietro gripped him like a lifeline, faces buried into his shoulders. His wings beat once before he launched upward, wings slicing through the air. They flew into the cold night, the trees below them blurring and facility’s sirens fading behind them.

 

Dean didn’t stop until they were on a whole other continent, back in the U.S and far from that nightmare. He finally touched down in what he guessed was either Washington or Oregon. Hell, they could be in Idaho for all he knew. He didn’t dwell on it for long, just kept moving. 

 

The twins had long since fallen asleep in his arms when he managed to find an abandoned cabin, hidden in the edge of a patch of woods. Dean collapsed onto a mattress in one of the rooms, not daring to let the twins go as he listened to the soft sound of them breathing.

 

~~~

 

That little forest in Washington welcomed them like a mother embracing her broken child. They hid away in the cabin, in their own little world. Wanda painted the walls with her spells and magic, as Pietro ran through the trees until the ground became bare beneath his feet. Together they made it a home, filled with laughter and happiness.

 

But there was still a weight on Dean’s shoulders. Hydra wouldn’t let them go that easily. They would learn from their mistakes and find a way to drag the three of them back into the depths of hell. 

 

The peace lasted a little over a year and a half before Hydra finally caught up to them.

 

It was a windless morning, and Dean felt it before he saw him- like an instinct, a shiver running up his spine. All the animals had gone silent. The wind shifted. He looked out to the treeline, just in time to see the glint of metal and cold eyes.

 

The assault came fast, smoke grenades shattering the windowpanes. Dean raced to grab the kids, wings wrapped around then as he threw himself through one of the windows. He had barely gotten to his feet before the soldier was on them with his rifle raised, and he turned just in time for the bullet to ricochet off his spine.

 

“Pietro, take Wanda and run .” Dean managed to get out in a split second decision.

 

He waited just long enough to watch Pietro grab Wanda’s hand and disappear in a blur, before turning to face the soldier. The Soldier was quick to lunge in an attack, and Dean fought with everything he had to hold him at bay. 

 

Pietro was fast as lightning, but not fast enough. Hydra was ready and already surrounding the perimeter of the cabin. The twins didn’t see the net hidden at the treeline until Pietro had run straight into it. 

 

Dean’s head snapped towards them as they called out for him, and it was all the distraction the soldier needed to slam a boot into his chest to send him to the ground. Dean tried to get up, but the soldier pinned him on his stomach, shoving his face into the dirt. The twins were out of his line of vision, but he listened in agony as their calls for him turned into screams of pain. Even as the metal hand dug into his skull and steel pins tore through his wings to lock them in place, he kept struggling to get to his children.

 

He froze as a deafening crack cut through the clearing, followed by another only a second later. He just barely heard what sounded like something hitting the ground, twice, before everything went silent.

 

Dean didn’t scream. He roared , a sound that shook the trees and sent birds that were miles away fleeing, animalistic and soaked in grief. They pulled him to his feet, and the last thing he saw before everything went black was two tiny bodies laying in front of the tree line.

 

~~~

 

He woke up to eerily familiar lights above him, strapped to the table again with his wings laying limp at his sides. He could feel his healing factor working to keep him conscious as he slowly came back into himself.

 

The General leaned over him. “Welcome back, Todesengel.”

 

“WHERE ARE THEY?” Dean growled, lunging forward as much as he could against his restraints, shaking the table.

 

The General jumped back at the outburst before composing himself. “You’re talking about the assets, I presume. They had to be put down. The damage you did to their minds was irreparable.”

 

Dean’s grief and rage ignited like a firestorm in his chest. Something deep inside of him snapped, possibly the last bit of sanity he had fought to hold on too. And that horrible fact stayed in the front of his mind, refusing to be ignored.

 

Wanda and Pietro were dead.

And it was his fault.

Chapter 8: CHAPTER SIX: FORTUNATE SON

“When you ask ‘em, ‘how much should we give?' they only answer more”

 

~~~

 

 

Dean didn’t scream anymore. Not when they dragged him from the cold metal cell. Not when the restraints bit into his scarred skin. Not when they kept going with their experiments, each one somehow more invasive and dehumanizing than the last. Hydra had finally managed to break him, to shut him up. They’d found the exact frequency to shatter his defiance and leave him hollow.

 

The punishment for his insubordination came swiftly. Project Bloodline was reopened.

 

Hydra didn’t stop until it finally took, and Dean spent the next nine months in a constant state of numbness. He counted every second and hated every breath. His mind replayed memories of Wanda and Pietro on a constant loop as he stared down at his stomach, terrified of what Hydra would do to his child this time.

 

They tore the baby away from him just like they had every other time before that. But he didn’t lash out after they dragged him back to the cell. He collapsed on the cold ground, curling into himself as sobs racked his body. He didn’t move again until the guards forced him to.

 

A year passed before the general gave the order to return the child. 

 

Dean was curled tight in the corner of the cell when the door groaned open, and a guard brought in the child. A baby boy, small and quiet with big brown eyes and thick curls. He was placed on the floor, and Dean had the boy in his arms before the door was even halfway closed. His breath hitched the second he held him. The baby, his baby, looked up at him like he already knew who he was. His tiny fingers wrapped around Dean’s like it was second nature. And something deep in Dean’s chest, something heavy with grief and agony, moved .

 

He named him Peter.

 

Peter didn’t replace the twins. Nothing ever could. But the boy was his, and he nestled into the hollow of Dean’s ribs and pulled the broken pieces of him together.

 

Peter was curious and bright, always asking questions. There was a spark in his eyes that reminded Dean achingly of Pietro. But he was also gentle and compassionate, just like Wanda was. He was full of soft smiles and love. And when he started calling Dean Mama in that sweet, trusting tone, all Dean could do was hold him tighter in his arms. He refused to let Peter down the same way he had the twins. 

 

Dean sang Peter the same lullabies he had once sang to the twins, old melodies from his childhood before the war. He told him the same stories too. Ones of a scrawny boy from Brooklyn who never quit, of a loyal friend and brother in arms. When Peter got a little older, he told him new stories. This time of a girl with scarlet magic and a boy who was faster than light. 

 

He protected Peter with every ounce of his soul and the same fierce love.

 

~~~

 

But Hydra didn’t leave Peter alone for long.

 

When he was around five years old, they began taking him for tests. At first just bloodwork and vitals, reflex assessments. But it escalated quickly, and the guards came to take him more frequently. Dean saw the changes when they brought Peter back to the cell. He clung to Dean, trembling. The light in his eyes was dimmer and there was fear there now. Deep and quiet.

 

“Mama,” Peter whispered one night, hiding his face in Dean’s chest. “I don’t like the dark room. Always hurts in there.”

 

Dean’s heart shattered. Not again. He had failed the twins because he waited too long. Because he let Hydra go too far, hurt them too much. Now Hydra was repeating the cycle with Peter.

 

He started listening, gathering information from pieces of conversation through the walls. Caught words like potential. Enhanced reflexes. Anomaly. 

 

Weapon .

 

They had called him that. Called Wanda and Pietro that. He would not let them turn Peter into the same thing.

 

So Dean watched. He planned. He noted when the guards changed shifts and when the security cameras glitched. Memorized every hallway, every blindspot, every breaker box. He pretended to be too weak to resist. Too beaten down. He went silent, his wings hanging low. And they believed it.

 

When one of the guards came to take him to the operating room, he went willingly. Until they reached a blindspot between two of the cameras. He snapped the guards neck with practiced ease, letting the body crumpled to the ground. Then he ran to the breaker box he’d marked earlier, tearing it open with his bare hands. Sparks flew as he ripped out the wiring. The lights across the facility went out. Security cameras shut down. Lock down protocols stalled. Just like he planned.

 

He didn't waste any time in running through the corridors back to the cell. He was relieved to find Peter still inside, huddled in the corner of the room, eyes wide with fear. Dean quickly wrapped him in the thin blanket off the cot and held him tight to his chest. 

 

“Let’s go home baby.” He whispered.

 

Peter just nodded. He trusted Dean more than anything.

 

Alarms started going off and Guards chased after them. Dean didn’t look back. He tore through an outer wall with his wings to get outside. They soared up into the sky, flying as the sun began to set on the horizon.

 

Peter was warm against him, breathing and alive.

 

They touched down on a rooftop somewhere in New York. Dean collapsed in exhaustion the moment his feet hit the concrete. Peter just stared at him with glassy eyes and flushed cheeks. Dean just held him close and planted a kiss on his forehead before finally, for the first time since the twins were taken from him, letting himself breathe. He hadn’t been able to save all of his children. But he had saved one. And that would have to be enough.

 

“We’re gonna be okay.” Dean assured, his voice cracking as Peter curled into him.. 

 

Hydra was still out there. Dean knew that. But they’d underestimated him once. They wouldn’t find them again. 

 

Not this time.

Notes:

Dean escapes with another child... place your bets now on if hydra will track them down again

Again, sorry these chapters are short, the ones following the movies plots will be longer, trust.

Chapter 9: SECOND INTERLUDE

Notes:

Can you catch the mistake that I purposefully put in here?

[Washinton D.C. - 2011]

 

~~~

 

 

Steve still had yet to shake the chill of the ice from his bones. But he found himself at the Smithsonian museum, in the Captain America exhibit. He stood in front of one specific photograph.

 

The plaque beneath the photo read:

 

Dean Michael Rogers (1916-1945)

Sergeant Major, 101st Airborne Division

Second in Command, Howling Commandos

Purple Heart Recipient

 

Steve took a shaky breath before pressing the button to the audio recording. A solemn, respectful voice rang out as the recording started.

 

"Before there was Captain America, there was Sergeant Dean Rogers. Dean was born in Brooklyn on June 29th, 1916. Strong, sharp, and fiercely loyal, he took on the role of protector early—first to his younger brother Steve, then later to his country."

 

"Dean was known for his heart and bravery by all of those close to him. And not many knew that more than James 'Bucky' Barnes. Rogers and Barnes were close friends from early childhood, sharing a bond forged in the alleyways and schoolyards of Brooklyn. That bond would follow them onto the battlefield."

 

He closed his eyes and he could still see the three of them clear as day, Bucky dragging Dean out of a brawl, Steve limping behind them, stubborn and bleeding and proud.

 

"When the United States entered the Second World War, he didn’t hesitate to answer the call. Drafted in 1942, Dean joined the 101st Airborne Division, serving as both a combat aviator and paratrooper. He quickly rose through the ranks to become Sergeant Major of his unit, a rare distinction for someone so young."

 

"During a rescue operation in the town of Azzano, Sergeant Rogers’ unit was attacked by Hydra forces. Dean was captured, tortured, and held in the same Hydra facility that imprisoned hundreds of Allied soldiers, including his childhood friend, Bucky Barnes. His rescue came not from a military unit, but from his own brother, now transformed into the hero known as Captain America."

 

Steve stared at the photo displayed above the kiosk, Dean in his uniform, leaning against his beloved fighter jet. He looked proud. Alive.

 

"Following his liberation, Dean joined the elite unit known as the Howling Commandos, serving as their lead aviator and second-in-command alongside Sergeant Barnes. Those who fought beside him remember him as a skilled fighter who was fiercely protective of his men, and extremely proud of his brother."

 

"On January 4th, 1945, the Howling Commandos launched a daring assault on a hidden Hydra base in the Russian Alps. Faced with an overwhelming threat and no time to spare, Sergeant Rogers made the ultimate sacrifice—crashing his motorcycle into the base’s central structure, destroying it completely and ensuring the survival of his unit. He was 28 years old."

 

He felt a tear fall down his cheek, but didn't bother wiping it away.

 

“Sergeant Rogers was the first of only two Howling Commandos to give their lives in the line of duty. Both were awarded the Purple Heart for their extraordinary valor. Though history remembers Captain America as a symbol of hope, Dean Rogers was the heart behind the shield—a soldier, a brother, and a hero whose legacy lives on in every act of courage that followed."

 

Steve stood in the silence that followed. His throat was tight. He hadn’t realized how hard his chest was shaking until he looked down and saw his hands trembling.

 

“You should’ve made it out, Dean,” he whispered, voice rough. “You were supposed to come home.”

Chapter 10: CHAPTER SEVEN: LITTLE BROTHER

Notes:

Timeskip from the last chapter, this one takes place in 2012 after the events of The Avengers. This should honestly be two chapters, but I'm too lazy.

“Sorry I failed you, I could not save you, no, I can’t even save myself”

 

~~~

Steve stepped into Director Fury’s office, his frame rigid with tension. Natasha trailed silently behind him. Fury stood off to the side of the room with his hands behind his back. In front of him was a screen with a file on display.

 

“Another mission already?” Steve asked, skipping the pleasantries.

Fury turned from the screen to face them. “Not exactly.”

 

The director had a look on his face that Steve couldn’t decipher, which only put the super soldier further on edge. 

 

“A recent operation uncovered deep storage documents from a HYDRA facility.” Fury cut to the point, “It’s all heavy redacted, but what we’ve been able to decipher has led us to believe that Sergeant Dean Rogers is alive.”

 

Steve’s breath caught in his throat. “My brother?”

 

“You know another Dean Rogers?” 

 

Steve didn’t repsond, just moved closer to the screen. Natasha remained silent beside him, observing. Fury tapped a key to access the file, and the screen shifted to a black and white photo. Dean, in uniform, grinned back at them.

 

“Are you sure this is real?” Steve managed to get out, a slight shake in his voice. 

 

Fury glanced over from beside him, “Hydra went to great lengths to bury all of this. Project Revenant was their most secretive program.”

 

The screen shifted again to another photograph, and Steve could feel his heart stop. The subject of the photo had their back turned to the camera, but the man’s broad shoulder and unruly curls were unmistakable. Steve stared in utter shock at the massive pair of giant white wings sitting between Dean’s shoulders. But even worse was the mess of metal plating and scarred skin that ran up the expanse of his spine.

 

“He was captured after your unit's mission in Russia, and they surgically implanted a metal prosthetic to fix the damage to his spine.” Fury added. “Then they put him through Project Revenant. It gave him those wings, and an advanced healing factor. When they realized he couldn’t die… they used him for the kind of experiments no one should survive.”

 

“Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?” Steve bit out as his jaw clenched.

 

“We didn’t believe it ourselves.” Natasha finally spoke. “The Red Room whispered about Project Revenant like it was a myth. A man with wings, a soldier that wouldn’t die.”

 

Fury held out a sealed flash drive. “The last record we have is dated 2006. Sergeant Rogers had escaped once before, and we believe he was able to escape again. If we’re right, then HYDRA has been searching for him. I say we beat them to the punch.”

 

Steve took the flash drive, finally tearing his eyes away from the screen. There was a look of pure determination on his face, stronger than ever before.

 

~~~

 

“Are you sure you're ready for this?” Natasha asked as they stood in the open hanger.

 

She and Steve had only been able to find one lead concerning Dean’s whereabouts. Every HYDRA base he had been held in, had been destroyed sometime in the last four years. Except one. And if their assumptions were correct, Dean would soon be at that last base to finish what he started.

 

Steve slung his shield over his shoulder to its holster. “Dean’s my brother, and he practically raised me. He’s the only family I have left. I lost him once, I won’t lose him again.”

 

Nat checked her weapon, then looked up at Steve with the same determined look. “Then let’s bring the Sergeant home.”

 

Infiltrating the base was easier than it had been in the 40’s, considering HYDRA had gotten a lot smaller in the last seven decades. Steve and Natasha moved quickly in silence through the building, disabling the few guards along the way. 

 

The silence was shattered by a guttural yell and a loud sound, and the two heroes froze. They barely catch a flash of bright, pale blue light from a room to the right. Steve lifts his shield in front of him and Nat raises a gun as they move closer to the doorway, unsure of what they’ll find inside. 

 

They entered the room to see a man physically rip the shackles suspending him from the ceiling, before landing hunched over on the ground. There’s another man laying on the ground, dead and burned just as badly as the room around them. Everything, the walls, what looked like consoles and technology, was all scorched to hell.

 

The now unchained man stands up, and a pair of giant, pure white wings unfurl from between his shoulder blades. He turned to face them, and there was a faint, blue glow under the skin in the middle of his chest. He’s only wearing a pair of tactical pants, his visible skin bloody and bruised, a constellation of deliberate violence. Beneath the fresh wounds are scars littering every visible patch of skin; three of which make a huge T across his chest.

 

Steve froze. He knew that curly blonde hair. Recognized the notch in the man's eyebrow. And his eyes . The left was so pale it was almost white, but they were unmistakably the same vivid shade of green as his mother’s. As his big brother’s.  

 

“Dean?” Steve says in utter shock, taking a step forward.

 

Dean whips around at the name, a look of absolute terror on his face. His wings unfurl from his back, and if Steve didn’t know any better, he’d think he was looking at an angel. The wings moved again, and Dean was gone. The massive hole in the ceiling was the only evidence he had been there at all.

 

~~~

 

Days passed, each filled with Steve following leads, checking surveillance footage, piecing together information with an unbridled determination. He finally got his breakthrough early one evening. He had found a lead, an old apartment building in Queens. An hour later, he was standing in front of the door to one of the apartments. 

 

There’s a part of Steve, deep in his gut, that wants to just turn and run away. The part that wanted to believe that his brother did in fact die in combat overseas. Because at least that would mean he wouldn’t have been used as HYDRA’s test subject for the last seven decades.

 

But the overwhelming bigger part of Steve, the part that just wants his big brother back, pushes him forward to knock on the door, albeit hesitantly. He waited for a few agonizingly long seconds before he heard the sound of soft footsteps, followed by the lock turning. The door cracked open and a little boy, no older than nine, stared back at him with wide brown eyes.

 

“Who are you?” The boy asked cautiously as Steve just looked at him, dumbfounded.

 

“I must have the wrong-”

 

Steve was cut off as the door opened further. Dean appeared in the doorway, pulling the boy gently behind him. Then Dean looked up, and instantly froze.

 

Steve could feel his heart stutter. “Dean…”

 

Dean looked the same, but completely different at the same time. He looked older. Tired. Haunted. His hair was longer, the curls weren’t slicked back anymore. Angry scars crossed the left side of his face. But it was still him . Still his big brother. The one who used to take care of him, who could always make him smile.

 

Steve stood there, heart hammering in his ears as he watched Dean’s expression shift from shock to a look of utter disbelief mixed with fear.

 

“How did you…? You… you really shouldn’t be here.” Dean stammered out with an almost sad tone, quickly flaring out a wing to shield the boy and shifting into a defensive stance.

 

Seven decades, or even all the time in the world, would never be able to make Steve forget all the times he had watched his brother take that exact stance. Always to protect him . An ache panged in his chest as he found himself on the receiving end. 

 

“Ma? What’s going on?” The boy tugged on Dean’s sleeve as he looked up at him, and Steve found himself one step closer to breaking down.

 

Dean’s voice was quiet, raw. “Pete, why don’t you go finish your dinner?”

 

“But-”

 

“Please.”

 

The boy pouted but obeyed, running back into the apartment. Dean turned back to Steve after watching him go, one hand gripping the edge of the doorway so tight his knuckles went white.

 

“I’m not the man you remember. They made me a monster.” Dean told him solemnly, voice thick with shame. “I’ve done terrible things. Things I’ll never be able to make right.”

 

“You think I haven’t?” Steve says with the same sadness. “I saw the files, Dean. I know what they did. You had no choice.”

 

Dean laughed bitterly, blinking back the tears in his eyes. “I never- God, I thought you’d hate me if you saw me like this."

 

“I could never hate you,” Steve said with a shaky voice. “You’re my big brother, De. Nothing will ever change that.”

 

Steve stepped forward before pulling Dean into a bone crushing hug. Dean instantly wrapped his arms around him, burying his face into Steve’s shoulder. He let out a broken sound, something between a laugh and a sob.

 

“I missed you so much Stevie.” Dean rasped.

 

“I missed you too.”

 

Then a small voice piped up from behind them. “Stevie? Like from the stories?”

 

The two men turned to see Harley peeking around the corner, watching them with wide, curious eyes. Steve glanced at his brother with a raised brow, and Dean just shrugged guiltily.

 

Dean wiped his face with the back of his hand before ushering the boy over. “Peter, come here.”

 

Peter walked over slowly, grabbing onto one of Dean’s wings when he got close enough. 

 

“Pete, this is Steve, your Uncle.” Dean said softly.

 

Steve let the information sink in. Peter was Dean’s son. His brother had a kid. He had a nephew. Who had mostly likely been raised in the darkness of Hydra. Then he knelt down slightly, giving the boy a warm smile.

 

Peter’s eyes lit up. “You’re real! Do you really have a shield?”

 

“I sure do.” Steve chuckled.

 

Peter tilted his head, then smiled shyly at his Uncle. "Do you wanna play legos with us? We’re building the Millennium Falcon!" 

 

Steve looked to Dean, who nodded with a faint smile, before turning back to Peter. 

 

“I’d love to, kid.”

Notes:

Guys, I'm honestly really tempted to make a playlist with all the songs I've chosen to use as chapter titles.

Chapter 11: CHAPTER EIGHT: THE GHOST OF YOU

Notes:

Another timeskip, this time to the events of Captain America The Winter Soldier.

Strap in, this is a LONG ass chapter.

“All the things that you never ever told me, and all the smiles that are ever gonna haunt me”

 

~~~

 

 

“Hey, you’re apartment 4, right?” 

 

Steve and Dean stopped in the hallway, looking at the blonde haired lady walking the opposite way.

 

“Yeah,” Steve responds, glancing at Dean with a confused look.

 

“I think you left your stereo on.” She explained.

 

“Oh, right. Thank you.” Steve replies, and she gives the two a friendly smile before continuing down the hall.

 

Steve and Dean’s smiles drop the minute she disappears from view. They quietly approach the door to Steve’s apartment, glancing at each other with matching expressions when they indeed hear music. Steve gives Dean a look, and Dean nods back; both thinking the same thing.

 

~~~

 

They crept along the ledge of the building, quietly making their way towards the window. Dean's bright green eyes flicked to the shadows, scanning the darkness between buildings, across rooftops, and down streets. A shiver ran up his spine, a feeling that they were being watched. It didn’t leave when they pried open the window and slipped inside. 

 

They continued to move quickly, quietly, staying low. Steve had picked up his shield and Dean had unsheathed his sword, both weapons at the ready. Steve peeked around the corner, scanning his apartment for any threats. It took him a second to recognize the man inside.

 

"I don't remember giving you a key," Steve said, his voice edged with suspicion, yet he lowered his shield and gave Dean the all clear.

 

"You really think I'd need one?" Fury quipped from across the room without missing a beat.

 

He sat up in a chair with a grunt, moving stiffly as he raised his phone. He looked bad. Blood seeped through the fabric of his shirt, staining it a deeper black. But he didn't acknowledge the pain.

 

"My wife kicked me out," Fury lied effortlessly.

 

Steve blinked, clearly thrown. "I didn't know you were married."

 

Fury shrugged, glancing at his phone. "A lot of things you don't know about me."

 

"We know, Nick." Dean slung his sword to the holster on his back, stance still tense. "That's the problem."

 

Steve flicked on the lamp, it illuminated the room for barely a second before Fury, despite his wounds, reached up and switched it off. He motioned for both men to be quiet. Then he turned his phone's screen toward them, displaying a short message:

 

'EARS EVERYWHERE.'

 

Steve's jaw tensed. Dean stilled. Neither spoke. They didn't have to.

 

"I'm sorry to have to do this," Fury continued aloud, voice strained. "But I had no place else to crash." He turned the phone again:

 

'SHIELD COMPROMISED.'

 

Steve stared at the screen, his expression unreadable. "Who else knows about your wife?"

 

Fury grunted as he pushed himself up, pain flashing across his face. He turned the phone again: "Just...." 

 

'US THREE'  

 

"My friends," he added out loud.

 

Steve's lips pressed together in a thin line. "Is that what we are?"

 

Fury met his gaze. "That's up to you."

 

Then— BOOM.

 

Dean barely registered the gunshot—just the glint of metal, the split-second flash of muzzle fire—before the bullet slammed into Fury's chest. Three more followed.

 

He moved before he could think, catching Fury as he collapsed. He brought him to the ground, wings flaring out to make a barrier between Fury and the window that the bullet came through. His hands pressed against the wounds, mind switching to medic mode. Where was the entry wound? Was the bullet still inside? How deep was it? Could he stop the bleeding? 

 

"Nick, stay with me," Dean commanded, his hands becoming slick with blood.

 

Fury coughed, a wet, rattling sound, blood flecking his lips. His eyes were sharp with pain, but he moved with purpose. He reached up to grab Steve's arm, pressing a hard drive into his hand. 

 

"You two... don't trust anyone."

 

A moment later, the door crashed open, and the blonde lady burst inside, a gun already raised. "Captain? Sergeant?" her voice was firm, surprise in her expression as she took in the scene.

 

"I'm Agent 13, S.H.I.E.L.D. Special Services," she said, moving forward.

 

"Agent?" Steve questioned, eyes narrowed.

 

"I'm assigned to protect you," She rounded the corner, holding her gun steady.

 

Steve's suspicion didn't waver. "On whose order?"

 

She nodded toward Fury. "His." She dropped down, checked Fury's pulse before pulling out a walkie-talkie. "Foxtrot is down, he's unresponsive. I need EMTs, now."

 

Dean's gaze flicked toward the window as he spotted movement. Steve saw it too. The shooter, standing on the rooftop across the street. A dark silhouette against the night, long rifle in hand. Then, in the blink of an eye, the figure vanished.

 

"Do we have a 20 on the shooter?" a voice crackled through the walkie-talkie.

 

Steve's grip tightened around his shield. "Tell 'em I'm in pursuit. Dean, stay with Fury." 

 

Before Dean could argue, Steve turned and slammed through the window, glass scattering as he dove through the air. He landed hard on the rooftop below, rolling once before breaking into a full sprint.

 

Dean turned his focus back to Fury, pressing harder against the wound while trying to keep him breathing.

 

~~~

 

Dean and Steve stood behind the glass of the observation room, matching expressions on their faces. It didn’t take long for Natasha to storm in, marching straight to the glass with her focus solely on the figure lying on the operating table beyond the window. 

 

Machines beeped erratically, wires and IVs criss-crossed over Fury's body. His breathing was ragged even under sedation and blood soaked through the bandages wrapped around his chest. It was clear that Fury wasn’t doing well.

 

"Is he gonna make it?" Natasha asked, her voice sharp.

 

Dean didn't look away from the window, didn't blink. "I don't know," he replied.

 

Dean was a soldier. He knew the sound of a losing battle when he heard it. Natasha clenched her fists.

 

"Tell me about the shooter," she demanded.

 

Steve shifted his shoulders as though he was bracing himself. "He's fast. Strong."

 

Dean's voice was quieter, but just as certain. "Had a metal arm."

 

Steve's head turned toward him instantly. Dean could feel his gaze lingering. He knew that Steve was wondering how the hell he knew that . But Dean didn't explain. And Steve didn't push, not in front of Nat. She sucked in a sharp breath, expression a mix of recognition and something darker. It was the reaction of someone who knew exactly what they were up against.

 

Before anyone could say another word, the doors opened again and Maria Hill entered. She was always composed, professional— but there was something off. A tightness in her jaw, a flicker of something unreadable in her dark eyes.

 

"Ballistics?" Natasha snapped, her stare never leaving Fury's unconscious body.

 

"Three slugs, no rifling. Completely untraceable," Maria answered without hesitation.

 

"Soviet made," Dean murmured. 

 

Maria gave a short nod as Steve's eyes flicked toward Dean again, this time noticing. The slight clench of his jaw, the stiffness of his shoulders. He noticed.

 

Then the long, flat beep of vitals plummeting came from the other side of the glass. Doctors rushed, their voices urgent, the room erupting into a storm of movement as they brought in a crash cart.  

 

"Don't do this to me, Nick," Nat whispered.

 

"Stand back. Three, two, one—clear!"

 

A defibrillator shocked Fury's chest, but the monitor remained flat.

 

The doctors adjusted, tried again. "Clear!"

 

Another jolt. But nothing changed.

 

“Pulse?” “Negative.”

 

A silence settled over the room like a heavy fog. Steve exhaled through his nose, his lips pressing into a tight line. Maria looked away. Natasha was still.

 

"Don't do this to me, Nick... don't do this to me." Her voice was strained, barely audible.

 

Through the glass, Fury lay motionless. The machines had gone quiet. All signs of life were gone.

 

"Time of death, 1:03 AM."

 

They were allowed a few moments to say goodbye before Maria took Fury's body away. She lingered near the door, her expression neutral but with hidden sorrow. Dean stood to the side, hands folded tightly in front of him. Steve and Natasha stood beside Fury's body, staring down at the man who had been their director and leader. 

 

Natasha stormed out when Hill signaled that time was up, stride purposeful and shoulders tense. Dean and Steve glanced at each other, an unspoken conversation passing between them before Steve turned to follow her. Another minute later Dean joined them in the hallway.

 

"I don't know," Steve's voice was quiet but firm as they argued.

 

Then a new voice entered the scene, as Rumlow approached them with a slight nod, his demeanor impatient. "Cap, Sarge." He said in an authoritative tone. "They want you two back at S.H.I.E.L.D."

 

"Yeah, give us a sec," Steve shot back.

 

"They want you now," Rumlow repeated, his words insistent, commanding.

 

Steve hesitated, then gave a short nod in understanding. Rumlow didn't wait, turning to leave as he passed Dean with a glare.

 

“You’re a terrible lair.” Natasha snapped at Steve before storming off again. 

 

Steve stood still for a moment, watching her leave, his mouth pressed into a hard line. Then, he turned back to Dean, the weariness in his eyes unmistakable. 

 

Dean didn't say anything, merely watching Steve with an unreadable expression. He watched as Steve's gaze flicked briefly toward the vending machine being stocked beside them, then down to his pocket where the drive was, before he looked back to Dean. Then without a word, he motioned for Dean to follow him.

 

A few minutes later they reached the waiting S.T.R.I.K.E. team gathered at the end of the corridor. The agents were already packing up, preparing to leave.

 

"Let's go," Steve announced, his voice steady as he approached the group.

 

Rumlow gave him a nod, then turned to the team. "S.T.R.I.K.E., move it out!" He commanded, and the agents quickly filed out of the hospital.

 

Dean remained silent, walking in stride with Steve. There was something about the whole situation that felt wrong. Like a storm looming on the horizon.

 

"Follow my lead," Dean murmured, his voice low. "Don't say anything I wouldn't."

 

"If I do that, I’ll piss off a lot of people. Very fast." Steve shot back under his breath.

 

~~~

 

S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters loomed overhead as the convoy of vehicles pulled up to the entrance. As expected, Steve and Dean were ushered inside without much explanation. They were sent up to the top floor, and they strode down the hallway. Dean recognized the blonde woman standing at the end of the hall. Agent 13.

 

"Captain Rogers, Sergeant Rogers." She greeted professionally as they passed.

 

"Neighbor." Steve responded, and though his voice was calm, the passive-aggressive bite was unmistakable.

 

Further down the hall another voice greeted them, a man in a clean, tailored suit. He stood with a practiced ease, every inch of him composed. Like someone who had spent decades perfecting the art of appearing trustworthy.

 

"Ah, Captain, Sergeant," He called out as they approached, with a smile that didn’t quite feel real.

 

Dean's instincts sharpened immediately. He recognized the man’s voice, but failed to place it.

 

"I'm Alexander Pierce," the man continued, extending a hand to Steve.

 

Steve shook it, his grip firm, his expression unreadable. "Sir, it's an honor," he said politely.

 

Pierce nodded approvingly before turning to Dean, extending the same hand. Dean hesitated just a second before shaking it. His grip was firm, but there was an edge to it, a slight hostility in his posture that wasn't there when Steve shook his hand.

 

"What he said," Dean nodded, eyes locked on Pierce's, searching, calculating.

 

Pierce gave him that carefully curated smile again. "The honor's mine. My father served in the 103rd. Come on in."

 

Dean didn't buy it for a second. The mention of the army was a deliberate move, a tactic. He wanted them to trust him. And Steve, who still believed in the best of people, would probably lean into that instinct. Dean, however, did not trust this man.

 

They stepped inside Pierce's office. The walls were lined with bookshelves, framed photos, and pieces of art. A massive glass window overlooked the city skyline. Steve wandered the room, reading the space; while Dean went straight to a chair and sat down like he owned the damn place.

 

Steve’s eyes landed on a framed photograph sitting on Pierce's desk. It was an older image, slightly faded at the edges. Pierce was in the photo, standing beside Nick Fury.

 

"That photo was taken five years after I first met Nick," Pierce began calmly, as if reciting a well-practiced story. "When I was at the state department in Bogotá. E.L.N. rebels had taken the embassy, and security got me out, but the rebels took hostages. Nick was deputy chief of the station there, and he came to me with a plan. He wanted to storm the building through the sewers. I said, 'No, we'll negotiate.'" Pierce chuckled, shaking his head slightly, as though reminiscing about an old friend's reckless habits.

 

"Turns out the E.L.N. didn't negotiate, so they put out a kill order. They stormed the basement and what do they find?" Hemwalked over to the brothers, a file in hand. "They find it empty. Nick had ignored my direct order, carried out an unauthorized military operation on foreign soil, and saved the lives of a dozen political officers—including my daughter."

 

Steve listened intently, taking in every word.

 

Dean, however, only raised an eyebrow. "So what, you gave him a promotion?" He asked sharply, cutting through the carefully crafted story.

 

Pierce didn't seem fazed by the question. "Never had cause to regret it," he said smoothly, before turning his full attention to Steve. "Captain, why was Nick in your apartment last night?"

 

And there it was. Of course this was about that.

 

"I don't know," Steve answered, voice even.

 

Dean almost rolled his eyes. He had forgotten that Steve was a terrible liar.

 

Pierce studied him, then continued. "Did you know it was bugged?"

 

"I did, because Nick told me," Steve answered smoothly, even when challenged.

 

"Did he tell you he was the one who bugged it?"

 

Steve didn't answer, but his silence spoke volumes.

 

Pierce, still composed, turned toward the large screen at the front of the room. "I want you to see something,"

 

The screen flickered to life, and live surveillance footage appeared, grainy but clear enough to make out the lone figure sitting in what looked like an interrogation room. 

 

“Is that live?” Steve asked.

 

“Yeah, they picked him up last night in a not-so-safe house in Algiers.”

 

“Are you saying he's a suspect?” Dean cut in. 

 

Steve added, “Assaination isn’t Batroc’s line.”

 

“No. It's more complicated than that.” Pierce told the brothers. “Batroc was hired anonymously to attack the Lemurian Star. He was contacted by email and paid by wire transfer, and then the money was run through 17 fictitious accounts, the last one going to a holding company that was registered to a Jacob Veech.” He finished, handing the file he'd been holding to Steve.

 

“Are we supposed to know who that is?” Dean asked with a tone of exasperation.

 

Pierce shot him a glance but ignored his growing aggression. “Not likely. Veech died six years ago. His last address was 1435 Elmhurst Drive. When I first met Nick, his mother lived at 1437.”

 

Silence stretched through the office, thick and suffocating. The brothers glanced at each other, coming to the same realization.

 

Steve spoke first. “Are you saying Fury hired the pirates? Why?”

 

“The prevailing theory… was that the hijacking was a cover for the acquisition and sale of classified evidence. The sale went sour, and that led to Nick’s death.” Pierce said, trying to sound like he didn't want to believe it.

 

And then, Dean laughed. Not the kind of laugh that came from amusement, but the kind that dripped with condescension and utter disdain. There was no humor in it.

 

"That's not true, and you know it." Dean spat as Pierce turned to him, but he wasn't finished. "If you claim to know Fury like you do, then you should know that's bullshit." 

 

Steve gave a nod of agreement beside him, his silence speaking louder than words. 

 

"Why do you think we're talking?" he replied sharply, getting up from his seat to stand in front of the window. "See, I took a seat on the council, not because I wanted to, but because Nick asked me to. Because we were both realists." 

 

His voice was steady, persuasive. It wasn't just a statement, it was a performance. And Dean saw right through it.

 

"We knew that despite all the diplomacy and the handshaking, to build a really better world sometimes means having to tear the old one down." He turned fully now, facing them, his expression unreadable. "And that makes enemies."

 

Dean scoffed, folding his arms across his chest. His glare was sharp, piercing through the Secretary's attempt at righteous justification. Pierce exhaled, his shoulders shifting in what might have passed as sympathy if it weren't so obviously calculated. If the frustration in it wasn't so obvious.

 

"You, Sergeant, should understand that the most, given how much you've been through." His voice dropped slightly, like he was trying to reach something deeper in Dean. "People call you two dirty because you've got the guts to stick your hands in the mud and try to build something better."

 

Dean watched carefully, his lips pressed to hide his scowl.

 

"And the idea that those people could be happy today..." Pierce's voice hardened just slightly, just enough to betray a hint of something real behind the mask. "It makes me really, really angry."

 

"What I understand," Dean said, his tone dripping with aggressive sarcasm, "Is that people don’t rebel unless they have something to rebel for."

 

Pierce remained silent, and Dean continued.

 

"If what you fought for was fair and agreeable, no one would be truly opposing you."

 

Steve remained silent, but it was clear that he agreed with his brother.

 

"You were the last people to see Nick alive. Based on your history and standings, I don't think that's an accident." he said, gaze flickered between the brothers, trying to read them. "So I'm going to ask again. Why was he there?" He asked with an edge to his voice. 

 

Steve held his gaze, "He told me not to trust anyone." 

 

"I wonder if that included him."

 

Steve's face was unreadable, but Dean could see the hidden expression. He didn't believe it—but the fact that Pierce was trying to make him? That said enough.

 

"I'm sorry." Steve replied after a moment. "Those were his last words. Excuse us."

 

He didnt wait for permission, just turned to pick up his shield from where he'd set it down before walking towards the door. Dean wasted no time in standing from his seat to follow. But before they could leave, Pierce's voice cut through one last time. 

 

"Gentlemen."  Steve and Dean both stopped, turning back slightly. "Someone murdered my friend, and I'm going to find out why." Pierce said coolly, but the threat was unmistakable. "Anyone gets in my way... and they're going to regret it. Anyone."

 

Steve held his gaze, shoulders squared. "Understood."

 

Pierce's attention flickered to Dean, waiting for his response.

 

Dean just glared. "Copy that."

 

~~~

 

After stepping out of Secretary Pierce's office, Steve glanced around before turning to his brother, "What do you know?"

 

Dean's jaw tensed at the question, "Steven," he warned, his tone clear that now was neither the time nor place for this conversation.

 

"You know something. What is it?" Steve pressed as they approached the elevator.

 

Dean hesitated, instincts telling him that they were being watched, that every word they spoke was being recorded, dissected, and analyzed. He turned his head just enough to glance around the hall. 

 

"Not here," he murmured, barely moving his lips. "Too many eyes and ears."

 

The elevator doors slid open and the two men stepped inside. As the doors closed behind them, Steve stood in the center, hands clasped in front of him, his posture tense. Dean held the same tension, standing next to him with his arms crossed over his chest.

 

"Operations Control," Steve instructed.

 

The elevator's automated system responded in its mechanical voice: "Confirmed."

 

Before the elevator could descend, the doors reopened, and in stepped several members of the S.T.R.I.K.E. team. Dean's spine stiffened in response, the air turning thick with hostility. His sharp eyes flickered over the men, assessing their body language. Something was off.

 

“Smells like betrayal in here.” Dean whispered, to which Steve nodded grimly.

 

Then Rumlow stepped in. His eyes skimmed over them, sizing up the two brothers.

 

"Cap, Sarge." Rumlow greeted, his voice sounding much too casual.

 

"Rumlow," Steve returned as Dean gave a curt nod.

 

"Evidence Response found some fibers on the roof they want us to see," Rumlow continued, his tone even. "You want me to get the Tac Team ready?"

 

"No, let's wait to see what it is first."

 

The tension in the elevator was suffocating. Another team of agents stepped in at the next stop. Dean's fingers twitched slightly and he subtly shifted his weight, preparing for what he knew was coming. He saw their hands hovering over their weapons, eyes flickering toward one another.

 

Steve sensed it too, and after a long pause, he spoke with a quiet steel. "Before we get started, does anyone wanna get out?"

 

Silence.

 

Then chaos erupted as one of the men in front of Steve lunged, drawing an electric blade. Steve deflects the blow and slams the man into the wall, before all the other agents sprang to action. 

 

Dean moved like thunder clap, wings sprawling out from his back, knocking out two agents in the process. He grabbed the nearest agent by the hair and slammed his face into the wall, before whipping around to smite two others. 

 

Rumlow didn’t bother with the baton, knowing it was useless against the angel, and pulled the gun from his holster. He fired three shots, all hitting Dean’s wings, with two lodging themselves in the joint. 

 

Dean rounded on him, a glare on his face. “You really shouldn’t have done that.” He growled, stretching his wings out before the two bullets fell to the floor with a metallic ping.

 

Before Rumlow could react, Dean grabbed him by the vest and threw him against the ceiling. He didn’t even wait to watch Rumlow fall before turning to check on Steve. The other super soldier was holding his own of course, ripping a magnetic cuff off the wall and throwing one of their attackers into another, knocking them both out cold.

 

With all of the agents subdued, they attempted to catch their breath. It was short lived, as the elevator doors slid open to reveal another team of agents. Steve quickly lunged forward, slamming the doors shut again.

 

Dean swore under his breath. “Shit.”

 

"We need another way out," Steve said, scanning their surroundings.

 

“On it.” Dean answered, glancing towards the shattered window. “Try not to drop your shield.”

 

He didn’t let Steve respond, just grabbed him by the arm, yanked him close, and jumped . 

 

Wings snap open mid-air, catching the wind as they soar past levels of the Triskelion. Dean grits his teeth, wing faltering slightly as they level out. Steve looks up, and immediately notices the bleeding bullet wounds.

 

“You’re injured. We need to land.” Steve yelled, over the wind roaring by.

 

“It’s nothing.” Dean insisted.

 

“Dean. Land .” Steve said, shooting a look over his shoulder. 

 

Dean just rolled his eyes, but his wings angled downward. They come to a rolling stop onto a patch of grass. He takes in their surroundings, then motions for Steve to follow as he takes off on foot towards the garage behind them. Dean is quick to find a black motorcycle.

 

"Get on." He turns to his brother.

 

Steve rolled his eyes, but nonetheless swung a leg over. The moment he hit the seat, Dean twisted the throttle, and the bike roared to life beneath them. The sudden burst of acceleration sent them flying forward, the wind ripping at their clothes as they shot out of the garage.

 

Dean’s mind ran through every possible outcome of the situation, and none of them looked great. They now had hundreds of agents and elite operatives all gunning for them. The odds sure as hell could be a whole lot better. And while they were both stubborn enough to put up a fight, Dean wasn't sure it would go in their favor.

 

The sound of rotor blades cut through the air, as if summoned. Dean's head snapped up just as an aircraft swooped down from the sky, sending out a brutal gust of wind. His blond hair whipped wildly around his face as he squinted up at the vehicle hovering in front of them, blocking their exit.

 

A voice boomed through a loudspeaker. "Stand down, Captain. Sergeant. Stand down. "

 

Dean barely had time to process what was happening before he felt Steve stand up behind him.

 

"On my count," Steve yelled at him, his voice barely carrying over the roar of engines. "Once I’m off, gun it!"

 

" Oh, fuck no— "

 

But Steve wasn't listening. In one fluid motion, he hurled his shield toward one of the aircraft’s propellers. The vibranium disk was a blur as it cut through the air. It hit dead on, smashing into the machinery with a loud, metallic crunch . Sparks flew as the propeller shattered, sending the aircraft into a nosedive.

 

Before Dean could even begin to yell at him, Steve jumped. He let out a slew of curses as he forced the bike forward, maneuvering beneath the aircraft.

 

Above him, Steve tore into the ship, setting off explosions that rocked the entire aircraft. Then, with a final, devastating strike, Steve brought the whole thing down.

 

Dean weaved around the debris as the aircraft came crashing down in a fiery wreck. He only slowed when Steve landed in front of the bike, shield in hand. The second he was back on the bike, Dean gunned it, quickly putting the burning wreckage of S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters behind them.

 

“Glad you still know how to work a bike.” Steve jeered when the sounds of pursuit finally faded.

 

"Shut it." Dean shot back in amusement, before glancing back. "Where are we going?"

 

Steve's expression hardened instantly, his eyes focused. "The hospital."

 

~~~

 

The hospital was eerily quiet, the fluorescent lights buzzed softly overhead, casting a dull glow over the hallways.

 

Steve walks down the hallway, the hood of his sweatshirt hiding his face. Dean walked beside him, wings hidden beneath a hoodie and leather jacket. They couldn't afford to be recognized.

 

They made a beeline for the vending machines. Dean knew something was wrong when Steve's shoulders tensed. He quickly figured it out. The little compartment meant for bubblegum where Steve had stashed the hard drive, was empty .

 

But before they could start to really worry, they noticed the reflection of the vending machine's glass. Natasha stood behind them with her arms crossed, casually chewing a piece of gum. Steve immediately spun on his heel to grab her, then shoved her into a spare storage room.

 

Dean paused, momentarily stunned by Steve's aggression. It was rare for him, but after the last few hours, he had every reason to be pissed. He made sure the hall was empty before following them in, shutting the door behind him.

 

Steve had pressed Natasha against the wall, his expression hard, "Where is it?" he demanded, voice low.

 

"Safe." She replied quickly.

 

"Do better," he snapped, patience nowhere to be found as he tightened his grip on her jacket.

 

Dean finally stepped in, forcing Steve to let go of Natasha and take a step back. Steve shot him a glare but didn’t resist.

 

Natasha tilted her head slightly, curiosity in her green eyes. "Where'd you get it?"

 

"Why would I tell you?" Steve fired back, and Dean could hear the mistrust in his voice.

 

"Fury gave it to you, didn't he?" She deduced, studying Steve's reaction. "Why?"

 

Steve didn't answer, so Dean spoke up. "What's on it?"

 

"I don't know," She turned to Dean.

 

"Stop lying!" Steve stepped forward, but Dean was quicker, forcibly holding him back.

 

But Natasha wasn't shaken, she just looked amused. "I only act like I know everything, Steve," she said, her tone dry.

 

Steve seethed. "Bet you knew Fury hired those pirates, didn't you?"

 

"Well, it makes sense. The ship was dirty, Fury needed a way in, so do you."

 

"I'm not gonna ask you again."

 

Dean had let their bickering go on long enough. "I know who killed Fury."

 

Both Natasha and Steve froze, faces shifted from hard suspicion to shock .

 

"You do?" Natasha asked, her casual demeanor faltering.

 

Steve finally let up as he rounded on Dean. "Who?"

 

Dean’s voice was steady, unwavering. "Most of the intelligence community doesn't believe he exists . The ones who do call him the Winter Soldier."

 

Steve's brows knit together, confusion evident on his face. But Natasha’s expression dropped. Dean didn’t miss the recognition flash across her face.

 

"Shit," she turned away from them, dragging a hand through her hair.

 

"You know about him?" Steve asked, watching her carefully.

 

Natasha exhaled through her nose, her shoulders shifting slightly as if shaking off a chill. "Only stories over the years, told in the red room."

 

Only stories. But if the stories were even half true, then this was worse than anything they'd anticipated. The reality of the situation began to settle like a weight in the room.

 

"He's credited in over two dozen assassinations in the last fifty years ," Dean shot back, his voice steady, matter-of-fact. 

 

He knew the truth in his bones, but saying it out loud made it real. Steve and Natasha gave him weary looks. Natasha took a step back and started pacing, her mind racing as she tried to piece things together.

 

"So he's a ghost story?" Steve countered, his arms crossing over his chest.

 

Dean didn't answer immediately. Some things, some memories, he wanted to keep buried. But he had to have proof for them to believe him.

 

He inhaled slowly, then finally spoke. “HYDRA put me up against all their new soldiers, to test their strength. He was one of the first they brought in, and he ripped my wings clean off my back. And when I first managed to escape, they sent him after me. He’s their top assassin.”

 

Natasha stopped pacing. Steve's gaze locked onto his brother, his expression unreadable. A heavy silence filled the room, the weight of his words settling in.

 

“HYDRA uses a specific type of weapons. Soviet slugs. No rifling. The type used on Fury.”

 

The super soldier nodded solemnly. "Then it sounds like the man I chased down last night is your ghost."

 

Dean gave a slow nod. "But going after him is a dead end. I know, I've tried. Like you said, he's a ghost story."

 

Natasha pulled the hard drive from her pocket. "So what do we do?" She asked, her gaze flicking between the two men. "We don't have much to go off of at this point."

 

Steve reached out and took the hard drive from Natasha, before turning to his brother.

 

"You know," Steve said with frustration, "if you had just told me all of this to begin with, this could have been a lot easier."

 

Dean glared. "You think I don’t know that? I didn’t want to even entertain the idea that it was him. He’s a death sentence, not to mention another reminder that HYDRA still has a hold on me."

 

Steve looked at his brother, an unreadable expression on his face. "Then let's take him down."

Chapter 12: CHAPTER NINE: GET BUSY LIVING OR GET BUSY DYING

“Your secret’s out and the best part is it isn’t even a good one”

 

~~~

 

 

The mall was the perfect place to disappear. 

 

Public, crowded, filled with noise and movement. It was the kind of place where a person could blend in. Even if that person happened to be a genetically enhanced super soldier, a world-class spy, or an angel.

 

The plan was simple: Steve and Natasha would get the information off the hard drive, while Dean secured an escape. That meant stealing a car. Dean had stolen plenty of things in his life. 

 

He nearly laughed at the fact that he was working with the Avengers, so-called golden standard of heroism, yet here he was, swiping a vehicle like it was 1930s Brooklyn again and he could just take whatever he wanted as long as he didn't get caught.

 

It hadn’t been even two minutes into his search when movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention. SHIELD agents. They were moving toward the mall in practiced formation. He let out a groan when he spotted the man leading them. Rumlow. Then muttered a curse under his breath as the strike team entered the building.

 

He yanked his phone out of his pocket and hit the first number on speed dial. It rang once before Steve picked up.

 

"They're here," Dean said immediately. "Rumlow just entered the building with about seven agents. I'm guessing there's more."

 

There was a pause on the other end of the line before Steve spoke. "Where are you?"

 

"Fire exit, north side of the building," Dean replied before hanging up, while crouching behind a vehicle to keep from being spotted through the windshield. 

 

A few minutes later, Steve and Natasha jogged out of said fire exit. An old truck came to a stop right in front of them, tires screeching as it came to a stop. Dean sat behind the wheel, dark sunglasses hiding his eyes.

 

“Where the hell did you get this thing?” Natasha opened the door.

 

Dean shrugged. “It was parked, and unlocked. Begging for a joyride.”

 

Steve gave him a flat look. “You stole it.”

 

“Borrowed without asking.” Dean correctly dryly. “What did you expect me to do? Go rent one somewhere?”

 

Steve just rolled his eyes as he climbed into the passenger seat, and Natasha had already slid into the back.

 

Dean shifted into gear and peeled out of the parking lot. “Where to?”

 

“New Jersey. There’s a military base there. Old SHIELD site.” Steve supplied.

 

Dean nodded, pushing the car a little faster down the road. 

 

"So, where did Sergeant Rogers learn to steal a car?" Nat asked as she leaned back, amused.

 

Dean smirked. "I was stealing cars before you were born."

 

"He’s not joking." Steve shot his brother an amused smile, one filled with old memories.

 

"Really?" Natasha asked, intrigued.

 

Dean just shook his head. “Did what I had to. Growing up in Brooklyn didn’t leave many other options.”

 

"Half the time it was for me," Steve glanced back at her. “The rest was because he liked pissing people off.”

 

"Guity as charged." Dean chuckled.

 

Steve grinned, shaking his head. "Our Ma was the only person who could stop him. She could tell when he'd recently stolen something off the tone of his voice."

 

Dean rolled his eyes, but Steve kept going.

 

"He'd get all giddy about it."

 

"I did not," Dean refuted immediately.

 

"Did too."

 

Natasha snorted. "You two are funny."

 

A second later she leaned forward slightly, resting her elbow on the back of Steve's seat. Then she turned toward him, eyes gleaming with mischief. 

 

"I have a question for you too Cap," she said casually.

 

Steve sighed. "What?"

 

"Which you do not have to answer," Natasha clarified, raising a finger. "But I feel like if you don't answer it, you're kinda answering it, y'know?"

 

Steve frowned, confused. "What?"

 

Natasha's smirk widened slightly. "Was that your first kiss since 1945?"

 

Dean's eyes went wide before he barked out a laugh, nearly swerving off the road. Steve let out a groan before shoving his brother’s shoulder.

 

"That bad, huh?" he asked.

 

"I didn't say that," Natasha replied smoothly.

 

"Why do you want to know?"

 

"I was just wondering how much practice you've had," she said innocently.

 

Steve scoffed. "I don't need practice."

 

"Everyone needs practice."

 

Steve sighed. "It was not my first kiss since 1945." That earned him a raised eyebrow from Natasha. "I'm 95, I'm not dead."

 

Dean shot Natasha a glance in the rearview mirror with a smirk, which left her unconvinced.

 

"Nobody special though?" Natasha pressed, her voice softer, more curious now.

 

Steve exhaled. "Believe it or not, it's kind of hard to find someone with shared life experience." 

 

Dean's smirk faded as he leaned back against the seat. Nobody else had come close to experiencing what he’d been put through. For a moment, silence returned between them. 

 

Then Natasha's voice cut through it again. "What about you, Sarge? Anyone special?"

 

The question hit like a bullet. The first time he had loved had also been the only time.

 

"Yeah." He admitted, finding it easier than lying to Nat. "A long time ago."

 

Natasha didn't say anything, just observed. She saw the way Steve glanced at his brother, a quiet understanding in his eyes. The way Dean’s hand went to the dog tags laying against his chest.

 

~~~

 

It was night when Dean finally stopped the truck. The headlights cut through the overgrown grass, illuminating the old chain-link fence and rusted signs. Steve climbed out first, shield in hand as he surveyed the area. Recognition flickered in his blue eyes as they looked to the facility's entrance.

 

"This it?" he asked, his voice even.

 

Natasha slid out of the backseat, flipping open the device in her hands. The screen casted a soft blue light against her features as she checked the coordinates.

 

"Coordinates match." she confirmed.

 

Dean didn’t move, his gaze locked onto the gates ahead.

 

Steve glanced over. “You okay?”

 

“I trained here.” Dean said simply.

 

"So did I." Steve nodded.

 

Dean shifted his gaze to look at Steve, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. An unspoken conversation passed between the two before they moved. Dean swiftly carried them over the fence, landing silently on the other side.

 

"This is a dead end." Natasha's voice pulled Dean from his thoughts. "No heat signatures, zero radio waves. Whoever wrote the file must've bounced the signal."

 

Dean frowned, eyes narrowing on a particular building.

 

"What?" Natasha asked, noticing the change in his demeanor.

 

"Army regulations forbid storing munitions within 500 yards of the barracks," Dean said, stepping forward. "This building is in the wrong place."

 

He didn't wait for a response. In one smooth motion, he grabbed the rusted lock and tore it off the door. It snapped open with a loud clang , the door creaking as it swung inward. The three of them stepped inside, descending down a steep metal staircase. Natasha hit the light switch, revealing the old underground office. It was empty now, nothing but dust-covered desks.

 

"It's SHIELD," She confirmed.

 

Dean stood beneath the faded logo on the wall. "Must be where they started,"

 

They moved through the narrow hall, footsteps echoing off the cold concrete. Along the right side of the wall hung framed photographs of SHIELD's founders. Peggy Carter. Howard Stark. Familiar ghost.

 

Steve barely spared the photos a glance, stopping near an old bookshelf, hand gazing over it. The self groaned as he yanked it aside, revealing an elevator access panel embedded into the wall.

 

"If you're already working in a secret office," Steve said, "why do you need to hide the elevator?"

 

Natasha pulled out a small handheld device, deciphering the worn keypad. She punched in a sequence, and a green light flickered to life on the panel. A Second later the elevator doors slowly groaned open.

 

The three stepped inside, cramming into the tight space. The doors closed behind them and the old elevator began its descent. Dean stepped out the minute the doors opened, boots clicking against the concrete floor.

 

The lights flickered as they entered an underground chamber. It was filled with aging machinery, towering computers with blinking lights, and thick cables snaking across the floor. 

 

"This can't be the data point," Natasha moved forward to stand next to Dean, device still in hand, before her eyes locked onto a USB port. "This tech is ancient ."

 

Dean and Steve exchanged a glance as Natasha fished the hard drive from her pocket and plugged it in to the port. The monitor in front of them flickered to life and a loading screen appeared. A simple question blinked on the screen:

 

INITIATE SYSTEM?

 

Dean felt Steve step closer beside him, both of them instinctively tensing as Natasha leaned over the keyboard. She quickly typed a single response:

 

YES.

 

Machines immediately sputtered to life around them, whirring with mechanical noise. The flickering lights overhead steadied. Then, a voice crackled through the speakers.

 

"Rogers, Steven Grant. Born 1918."

 

Steve's brows furrowed as he turned toward the sound. The voice was distorted, but clear enough to be unsettling.

 

"Rogers, Dean Micheal. Born 1916. Romanoff, Natalia Alianovna. Born 1984."

 

A chill crawled up Dean's spine. He recognized that voice. It was from a nightmare that had never really ended. He swallowed hard, forcing himself to breathe.

 

"It's some kind of recording," Natasha said, but the voice responded.

 

"I am not a recording." The screen flickered again, the grainy image slowly materializing from the static. A face, digitized and green-tinted, formed on the monitor. "I may not be the man I was when the Captain took me prisoner in 1945. But I am."

 

Dean's hands clenched into fists at his sides. Natasha frowned, glancing at the screen, then at Dean's stiff posture. 

 

"You know this thing?" 

 

"Arnim Zola was a German scientist who worked for the Red Skull," Steve spoke up, his voice edged with barely restrained tension as he circled the platform, taking in the machinery. "He's been dead for years."

 

A small chuckle crackled through the speakers.

 

"First correction, I am Swiss." Zola's digitalized face said, voice eerily calm. "Second, look around you. I have never been more alive."

 

A sick feeling settled in Dean's stomach as Zola continued, his voice disturbingly even.  

 

"In 1972, I received a terminal diagnosis. Science could not save my body. My mind, however, was worth saving—on 200,000 feet of data banks. You are standing in my brain."

 

Steve's jaw tightened. His gaze swept over the room once more, the realization settling in. "How did you get here?" 

 

Zola's expression did not change. " Invited ," he replied simply.

 

Steve glanced at Natasha for an explanation.

 

"Operation Paperclip," Natasha explained as she put the pieces together. "After world war II, SHIELD recruited German scientists with strategic value."

 

"They thought I could help their cause," Zola confirmed. "But I also helped my own."

 

"Hydra died with the Red Skull." Steve stated firmly, not wanting to believe otherwise. 

 

Dean didn't want to either, but he knew firsthand that HYDRA had never really died. The branches had survived, splitting up and hiding.

 

Zola let out a chuckle. "Cut off one head..." The screen changed, shifting to display the familiar symbol of a skull with tentacle-like limbs. "...and two more shall take its place."

 

Steve's fingers curled into a fist at his side. "Prove it," he challenged.

 

"Accessing Archive." Zola said without hesitation. "HYDRA was founded on the belief that humanity could not be trusted with its own freedom. What we did not realize is that if you try to take that freedom, they resist... The war taught us very much. Humanity needs to surrender its freedom willingly. After the war, SHIELD was founded, and I was recruited. The new HYDRA grew! A beautiful parasite inside of SHIELD. For 70 years, HYDRA has been secretly feeding the crisis, reaping war, and when history did not cooperate, history was changed." 

 

Images of attack after attack flashed on the screen. It was HYDRA the whole time. 

 

"That's impossible, SHIELD would have stopped you." Nat said defensively. "We would have stopped you." 

 

"Accidents happen." Zola countered as images of the article on Howard Stark's death appeared. "And obstacles are removed." Another image appeared, but this one was of Fury’s death. 

 

" HYDRA created a world so chaotic that humanity is finally ready to sacrifice its freedom to gain its security. Once the purification process is completed, Hydra's new world will arise. We won, Captain. Your death will amount to the same as your life. A zero sum ." Zola says as Steve punches the monitor in. "As I was saying."

 

"What's on this drive?" Steve demands as he glared over at the monitor. 

 

" Project Insight requires insight ." Zola responds. " So, I wrote an algorithm."

 

"What kind of algorithm, what does it do?" Natasha asked, crossing her arms as she glanced between monitors. 

 

"The answer to your question is fascinating. Unfortunately, you shall be too dead to hear it ." The machine said and they heard the doors behind them begin to seal. 

 

Steve turned and threw his shield to stop the doors but it was too late, and the thing came back to him instead.

 

Nat's device begins to beep as she pulls it out. "Boys, we've got a bogey. Short range ballistic. Thirty seconds tops." 

 

"Who fired it?" Steve demanded, realizing they were on this floor, they were exactly where HYDRA wanted them.

 

"SHIELD." Nat answered. 

 

" I'm afraid I have been stalling Captain, Sergeant. " Zola said proudly as Steve spotted a large vent on the floor. " Admit it, it's better this way. The three of us... are out of time." 

 

Dean and Steve ran over to the vent, ripping the cover off as Natasha pulled the hard drive out of the machine and rushed over to them. The three leapt in and Steve lifted his shield up for cover. Dean barely managed to wrap his wings around them before the room exploded.

 

~~~

 

Early morning stretched across the sky, but Dean barely noticed. His mind was racing, replaying Zola’s words, trying to piece everything together. Inside the truck was silent, save for Steve quietly giving Dean directions.

 

"Where are we?" Dean finally broke the silence, bringing the truck to a stop.

 

"A friend’s," Steve answered as they got out. 

 

Steve stepped up to the door of the building and knocked firmly. Inside, movement rustled—a curtain shifting, the shuffle of cautious feet. The door opened, and a tired, mildly confused man stood in front of them. Sam Wilson.

 

"Hey, man," Sam greeted.

 

"I'm sorry about this," Steve started, ever the polite soldier, but Dean cut straight to the point.

 

"Everyone we know is trying to kill us."

 

Sam's eyes flickered between the three of them. His gaze didn’t waver, just sharpened. A beat passed, then he slowly shook his head.

 

"Not everyone," He said simply, stepping back and opening the door.

 

Natasha was the first to step inside, Steve and Dean trailing after her. Sam gave one last glance outside before shutting the door behind them. 

 

They took the first few minutes tending to themselves in silence, washing away the soot, cleaning wounds, wrapping injuries with what they had on hand. The house was small, but it was the safest place they'd been in days.

 

Dean emerged from the bathroom and Steve pulled him over, turning his back to him. Dean knew his brother was checking the bullet wounds from the fight in the elevator. He glanced over his shoulder to see Steve looking mildly confused, staring at the new scars on his wings from Rumlow.

 

Dean couldn’t help rolling his eyes. “Accelerated healing, remember?”

 

“Oh, right.” Steve said sheepishly, letting go of his wing.

 

Dean’s gaze flicked to Natasha, studying her expression. “Are you okay?” 

 

“Yeah.” Natasha looked up and forced a small smile, but Dean didn’t buy it.

 

"What's going on?" Steve asked, picking up on the same thing.

 

For a long moment, Natasha didn't answer. Then, finally, she exhaled.

 

"When I first joined SHIELD, I thought I was going straight," she admitted, her voice quieter than usual. "But I guess I just traded in the KGB for HYDRA. I thought I knew whose lies I was telling, but... I guess I can't tell the difference anymore."

 

"There's a chance you might be in the wrong business," Steve said, and somehow, it made Natasha laugh—sharp, humorless, but real.

 

Before they could say anything else, another voice cut through the tension.

 

"I made breakfast," Sam announced as he came into the room, he looked at the two super soldiers in the room and hesitated. "If... you guys eat that sort of thing."

 

For a second, no one spoke. Then, against all odds, Natasha let out an actual laugh.

 

Dean exhaled and turned to Steve. "God, I could use a coffee."

 

"C'mon, let's eat." Steve clapped a hand on his shoulder, giving him a small smile.

 

For the first time in days, they sat down at a real table, with real food. It didn't solve anything, but for just a moment, it felt like something close to normal. But the three most wanted people in Washington were sitting around the breakfast table, planning to bring down HYDRA.

 

"So the question is, who at SHIELD would launch a domestic missile strike?" Natasha asked, her tone heavy.

 

Dean placed his cup of coffee down just as Steve answered. “Pierce.”

 

Sam, sitting across from them, casually buttered a piece of toast, the mundane action feeling almost absurd in contrast to the conversation. But Steve's answer made too much sense. 

 

"Who happens to be sitting in the most secure building in the world," Dean added, his voice laced with dry amusement. "But... Pierce can't be working alone. Zola's algorithm was on the Lemurian Star . You know who else was there?"

 

Natasha's eyes narrowed as realization dawned. "Jasper Sitwell."

 

"We don't even know what Zola's algorithm is ," Dean pointed out, his mind sifting through the fragmented pieces of what they'd uncovered. "But my gut tells me Sitwell knows. We get our hands on him, we make him talk. At the very least, we take away Pierce's element of surprise."

 

Steve exhaled sharply, crossing his arms. "So, the real question is, how do the three most wanted people in Washington kidnap a SHIELD officer in broad daylight?"

 

Before anyone could answer, a voice rang out from the doorway of the bedroom. "The answer is, you don’t."

 

All heads turned toward Sam, who was leaning casually against the frame with a thin, worn file in his hand. He strode into the room, dropping the file onto the table in front of them.

 

Dean raised an eyebrow. "What’s this?"

 

Natasha leaned forward, flipping it open. Dean looked at the contents over her shoulder.

 

"Call it a résumé," Sam said, folding his arms as he watched their reactions.

 

Natasha's sharp eyes scanned the pages, recognition flickering across her face. " Is this Bakhmala? " she asked. "The Khalid Khandil mission—that was you?"

 

Sam gave a small, confirming nod.

 

Natasha turned to Steve, a look of slight disbelief in her expression. "You didn't say he was a Pararescue."

 

Steve didn’t answer her, instead picking up a photo from the file, his brow furrowing. "Is this Riley?" He asked, his voice quieter now.

 

Sam's gaze flickered downward, and for a brief moment, his expression softened. The name carried weight. It was the look of someone remembering a friend who wasn't around anymore.

 

"Yeah," Sam confirmed.

 

Natasha continued flipping through the file. "I heard they couldn't bring in the choppers because of the RPGs. What did you use? A stealth chute?"

 

Sam shook his head, retrieving another file from a nearby desk. Without a word, he handed it to Steve. Natasha and Dean leaned over his shoulder, sharp eyes scanning the new set of documents. 

 

Steve glanced up at Sam, his expression shifting. " I thought you said you were a pilot. "

 

Sam smirked. "I never said pilot , Cap."

 

Dean silently appreciated the way Sam had managed to throw Steve off balance, if only for a second. It was rare to see.

 

Steve sobered quickly. "I can't ask you to do this, Sam. You got out for a good reason."

 

Sam didn't hesitate, his voice certain. "Dude, Captain America and Sergeant Rogers need my help. There's no better reason to get back in."

 

Dean tapped the file in his brother’s hands. "Where can we get our hands on one of these things?" His green eyes met Sam's directly.

 

Sam didn’t miss a beat. "The last one is at Fort Meade. Behind three guarded gates and twelve-inch steel walls."

 

Steve turned to Dean, raising an eyebrow in question.

 

Dean shrugged with a grin. "Shouldn't be a problem."

Notes:

I got nothing except I love Dean and Natasha being friends. Actually I just love Natasha <3

Chapter 13: CHAPTER TEN: SILVER AND COLD

“As a rapturous voice escapes I will tremble a prayer, and I’ll beg for forgiveness”

 

~~~

Despite the afternoon air being cool, boiling frustration simmered just b eneath Steve's skin. Anger radiated off of him, fist clenched at his sides as Agent Sitwell cowered before him. The deceit and betrayal had stripped away Steve’s normally restrained demeanor.

 

Dean was worse. Unlike his brother, he never held back on his rage. He stepped forward, grabbing Sitwell by the front of his jacket before hurling him across the rooftop. The man hit the ground with a pained grunt before scrambling to his knees, as Dean stalked towards him.

 

"Agent Sitwell," Dean growled, green eyes sizing him up with the look of a predator.

 

Steve matched his brother's expression, eyes cold as he moved in beside him, Natasha following close behind. Sitwell’s eyes darted between the three as he backed up toward the edge of the rooftop. 

 

"Tell me about Zola's algorithm," Steve demanded, his voice low with authority.

 

Sitwell hesitated, swallowing thickly. "Never heard of it," he weakly lied.

 

Dean scoffed, crossing his arms. "Right. What were you doing on the Lemurian Star ?"

 

"I was throwing up. I get seasick," The agent said quickly, retreating another step.

 

Before Sitwell could say anymore, Steve had him by the collar and yanked him clean off his feet. The agent's breath hitched as he dangled over the rooftop.

 

"What are you gonna do, Captain? Throw me off the roof?" Sitwell sneered, trying to mask his terror. "Doesn't seem like that's your style."

 

For a beat, Steve said nothing, just held him there, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. 

 

"You're right. It's not." He said calmly, setting the agent down. "It's hers."

 

Natasha stepped forward and kicked Sitwell square in the chest. He went over the edge of the building, screaming as he disappeared from view. Dean let out a low whistle, and Natasha playfully blew him a kiss.

 

Then she turned to Steve, picking up their previous conversation. "Oh, wait—what about that girl from accounting, Laura...?"

 

"Lillian?" Steve blinked at her, barely registering the absurdity of the shift in conversation. "Lip piercing, right?"

 

"Yeah, she's cute," Natasha shrugged, as if they hadn't just thrown a government agent off a rooftop.

 

Steve scoffed, shaking his head. "Yeah, I'm not ready for that."

 

Before anyone could say anything else, a rush of wind and the whir of mechanical wings filled the air. Sam rose over the rooftop in his Falcon gear, with Sitwell flailing pathetically in his grip. He lifted the agent back over the edge and dumped him onto the rooftop. Sitwell hit the ground hard, gasping and in a state of shock.

 

Dean sighed, stepping forward. With the ease of someone who had done this many times before, he reached a hand over his shoulder and drew his sword. The agent's breath hitched as Dean pressed the glowing blade against his throat.

 

"Ready to talk?" Dean snarled, his voice lethal. 

 

Sitwell broke, hands shooting up in surrender as he practically shouted his confession. "Zola's algorithm is a program! For choosing Insight's targets!"

 

Dean didn't move the sword. "What targets?" he asked, his voice dangerously quiet.

 

Sitwell pointed a shaking finger at Steve. "Him!"

 

Steve barely reacted, but Dean did. His jaw tightened, stance shifting. He didn’t take kindly to threats against his little brother.

 

Sitwell kept talking, desperately. "The TV anchor in Cairo! The Under Secretary of Defense! A high school valedictorian in Iowa City! Bruce Banner! Stephen Strange! Anyone who's a threat to HYDRA, now or in the future!"

 

Dean's eyes narrowed before he lowered his sword with a scoff. "I'm offended that I'm not on the list," He said sarcastically.

 

Natasha huffed out a breath of amusement at Dean, as Steve stepped forward, eyes locked onto Sitwell like a hawk. 

 

"In the future? How could it know?"

 

"How could it not ? The 21st century is a digital book. Zola taught HYDRA how to read it. Your bank records, medical histories, voting patterns, emails, phone calls—even your damn SAT scores!" Sitwell scrambled to explain, eyes darting nervously between them, his breathing uneven.

 

Steve's expression darkened. "What comes after you predict someone's future?"

 

"Oh my god," Sitwell muttered, realization dawning over him like a death sentence. " Pierce is gonna kill me. "

 

“Pierce is the least of your problems.” Dean warned from where he stood behind Steve and Natasha. "So answer the damn question, or you’ll be begging for me to kill you."

 

Sitwell flinched in fear before finally admitting the full truth. "The—the Insight Helicarriers scratch people off the list. A few million at a time. "

 

Silence fell as the weight of his words settled over them. No one spoke. Even the air around them seemed heavy with the implications. Millions. Gone. Just like that.

 

Steve's hands curled into fists. Natasha's expression hardened. Sam’s usual smirk was replaced with grim determination. Dean stared at Sitwell with the look of someone about to commit manslaughter.

 

The four knew, with a shadow of a doubt, that they couldn’t let the Helicarrier launch. 

 

And Sitwell? He had just signed his own death warrant.

 

~~~

 

The tension in the SUV was thick, as Sam's old vehicle sped down the freeway. Though Sam drove with a calm precision, his grip on the wheel was tight. They had no time to waste. Every second counted now.

 

Steve was in the passenger seat, a determined look on his face. Dean sat behind the passenger seat, constantly glancing between the rearview and the road ahead as Natasha leaned against his side. And then there was Sitwell, who was wedged against the far door.

 

"HYDRA doesn't like leaks," Sitwell said suddenly, his voice wavering. 

 

Sam didn't bother looking at him. "Then why don't you try sticking a cork in it?" he snapped back, his patience gone.

 

Sitwell flinched, but wisely shut his mouth.

 

"Insight launches in sixteen hours, guys," Natasha reminded, her eyes never left the device in her hands. "We're cutting it a little bit close here."

 

"I know," Dean said, firm and decided. "We'll use Sitwell to bypass the DNA scans and access the carriers directly."

 

Steve nodded in agreement. They knew the plan was insane, that the odds were against them. But it was better to die fighting than to sit back and let millions be slaughtered.

 

"Are you crazy ?" Sitwell stared in disbelief at the brothers. "That is a terrible, terrible idea!"

 

Before he could say anything else, a deafening crack split the air as a metal hand smashed through the window beside him. The agent barely had time to scream before he was grabbed by the collar and ripped out the window into traffic.

 

Then rapid-fire gunshots erupted, bullets raining down into the cabin of the car. Natasha dove into the front seat, landing squarely on Steve's lap as she covered him from the line of fire. Dean lunged forward between the seats, slamming the shifter into park. The SUV screeched to a halt. 

 

The attacker on the roof was launched forward from the force. The man twists his body midair to land on his feet. He slid backwards, his metal hand scraping across the asphalt in a shower of sparks. Slowly, he rose in front of them. He was clad in a black tactical suit, a mask covering his face.

 

Dean’s blood ran cold. It was him . The Winter Soldier.

 

"Oh, look Sarge," she muttered dryly, raising her gun. "Your ghost followed us."

 

Dean didn't answer. Movement in the side mirror had caught his gaze, a large vehicle barreling toward them. He vaulted into the front seat, practically landing in Sam’s lap just as the truck slammed into them. The impact sent the SUV lurching forward violently, metal crunched as the truck pushed them along the road. 

 

Sam yanked at the wheel, trying to get control of their vehicle. The assassin jumped onto the roof again as the back window exploded. Natasha tried to reach for her gun she'd dropped. Dean cursed as the Winter Soldier punched through the windshield, ripping the steering wheel from the car. Natasha fired off a shot, but the Winter Soldier had already jumped onto the vehicle behind them. 

 

A second later, the vehicle rammed into them again, sending their car careening into the divider.

 

"Hang on!" Steve shouted, trying to pry the door open.

 

Then the car was airborne as the SUV flipped onto its side. Steve's door swung open violently as the car tilted, and they all slid out of the car. Dean barely managed to wrap his wings around the others before they hit the ground, sliding across the road on the door Steve had dislodged.

 

Dean was on his feet in an instant, looking up ahead of them to see the assassin with a gun raised. The muzzle of the gun flashed, and a blast ripped through the air.

 

Steve shoved Natasha out of the way, right as the blast slammed into his shield. The force sent him backward over the bridge as his shield was thrown from his grip. Dean immediately leapt after him, catching him right before he hit the ground. The brothers turned back to the bridge to see the Winter Soldier staring down over the edge.

 

Dean’s hands shot up, sending a blast of energy to hit the Winter Soldier square in the face. The assassin ducked behind the edge of the bridge, tearing his goggles off before reappearing, firing wildly. Dean turned quickly, wings snapping open to shield him and Steve from the barrage. He glanced over his shoulder at the Winter Soldier then back at Steve. Without a word, he shoved Steve into cover behind a car before shooting off down the street. 

 

Gunfire from HYDRA's snipers sliced through the air around him as he soared over the civilians running for cover. A child's cry cut through the noise, grabbing Dean's attention. A little girl was trapped in the back of a crashed car, her mother frantically tried to pry open the mangled door. Dean didn't hesitate in turning back, landing hard beside the car. The metal groaned as he ripped the door off before lifting the girl out of the wreckage. 

 

"I got you," he reassured gently, returning her to her mother's arms.

 

Back on the overpass, a Hydra agent turned to the assassin. “Leave him. Get the angel.”

 

The Winter Soldier didn’t respond, just ceased his fire to jump over the ledge. 

 

Dean turns back to the fight right as the Winter Soldier lands on top of a parked car, crushing it under his force. People shrieked and ran away, but the Soldier ignored them. His focus was locked solely on Dean.

 

A police cruiser screeched to a stop nearby. The officers barely had time to react before the Winter Soldier pivoted, raising his weapon. He fired a grenade straight into the car, reducing it to a smoldering wreck in seconds as debris rained down. Dean jumped behind a vehicle during the distraction, and the Soldier started scanning the sea of chaos to find him. 

 

Dean needed to draw the Soldier away. He pulled out his phone, quickly accessed an old voice recording. He cranked up the volume and set the phone down before sprinting to another vehicle on the other side of the road.

 

The Winter Soldier stalked forward eerily silent. His head tilted slightly as he picked up on the sound of Dean's voice from the phone. He advanced toward the wreckage, his boots crunching over broken glass. Dean watched as the assassin crouched and rolled a grenade under the car. 

 

The explosion when it detonated shook the street, sending a blast of fire and debris into the air. The Winter Soldier barely flinched, his head tilting slightly as if expecting Dean to be in the wreckage. But Dean wasn't there.

 

He was already soaring overhead behind him, sword gripped tightly in his hands. He dropped from the sky, swinging the blade down with full force. But the Soldier was quick, his metal hand coming up to catch the blade. The sound of metal striking metal echoed through the street, and the Winter Soldier actually staggered from the impact. 

 

Dean barely had time to recover before the Soldier seized Dean's wrist and threw him into the side of a car with bone-crushing force. The impact sent pain exploding through Dean's metal spine, the air ripped from his lungs in a single brutal exhale. 

 

The Winter Soldier advanced, reaching for the holster at his hip. Dean lunged, pushing off the wrecked car to throw his entire weight forward. His shoulder rammed into the Soldier’s chest just as he pulled his sidearm free. The gun was knocked aside, sending a shot into the windshield of a nearby car.

 

The soldier barely staggered, before his metal hand lashed out again. It wrapped around Dean's throat, lifting him off the ground. Dean's hands clawed at the unyielding grip as his airflow cut off, black spots appearing in his vision.

 

Dean was thrown to the ground as Steve slammed shield first into the Soldier’s side, breaking his hold. Dean gasped for breath as he forced himself upright, while the Soldier was already on his feet again. His metal fist collided with the shield, the impact sounding like a bell tolling for war. The force pushed Steve back slightly, but he recovered instantly as they exchanged blows. The Soldier was inhumanly fast but Steve matched him, countering his every move with sheer determination and skill. Then Soldier caught Steve’s shield and flung it at him. Steve ducked just in time, and the shield got embedded into a van door. 

 

Then Natasha joined the fray, shooting a taser disc right onto the Soldier’s metal arm. He tore it off, spun, and shot her through the shoulder. The Soldier prepared to open fire on her and Dean launched himself at the Soldier’s back, suplexing him to the ground before he could pull the trigger.

 

The Winter Soldier was quick to his feet and drew a knife, slicing through the air as he lunged at Dean. The blade slashed dangerously close, forcing Dean to twist and dodge with every ounce of skill he had. He blocked with his arms, countered with quick jabs, but the assassin just kept coming.

 

Dean saw a blur of red, white, and blue in his peripheral, and caught the soldier’s metal fist just in time for Steve to slam the shield down on his arm. The shield caught between the plates of the prosthetic, pulling them apart. Steve pulled the shield out, forcing the Soldier to turn just enough for Dean to hook an arm around his neck to throw him. The assassin was sent flying, his body twisting mid-air to land in a controlled roll. The force was enough to dislodge his mask, and it fell to the ground as his head snapped up to face them.

 

Dean froze, his spine clicked violently in protest as the earlier damage caught up to it. He fell to one knee, eyes locked on the ghost of a man who had haunted him for decades.

 

Because Dean knew that face. The one he’d only seen in photographs for the last seventy years. In classified files. In his dreams when he dared to close his eyes. He knew it better than anything, the one face he refused to ever forget.

 

But it wasn't possible. He was dead, Dean had seen his body.

 

Steve's voice, raw with disbelief, cracked through the silence. "Bucky?"

 

The name landed like a thunderclap. Spoken like a curse, like Steve had just seen a dead man rise from the grave. His voice carried every nightmare he had refused to let himself dream.

 

The Winter Soldier's expression faltered, almost confused. His gaze shifted to Dean, and for less than a second a pained look flashed across his face. His brow furrowed, his lips parting slightly as if searching for something, an answer, a memory. Then the moment vanished.

 

"Who the hell is Bucky?" He said coldly, the empty words were a knife to Dean’s heart. 

 

The assassin was the first to move as he lifted a gun, aiming to fire. Before he could pull the trigger, Sam dove down in a rush of air to slam his foot into the Winter Soldier's shoulder. The force sent the Soldier sprawling onto the pavement.

 

Dean didn't move. He couldn’t tell if it was because of his spine or sheer shock. He watched as Bucky pushed himself off the ground. He turned his head slightly, wide eyes locking onto Dean again. And just stood there. Completely still as he just stared, like there was something clawing at the back of his mind, something important. Then, as if something snapped back into place, the assassin turned fast, raising his gun to shoot at the brothers. 

 

But Natasha fired first. The grenade launcher roared, sending a shockwave through the street as the explosion engulfed where Bucky had been standing. Smoke swallowed his form, and when it cleared—He was gone. It was over.

 

Dean didn't move when Steve tried to help him to his feet. Didn't react when the sirens started screaming around them. Didn't flinch when the HYDRA agents started shouting, closing in.

 

Because there was no way. No way the only person he had ever loved was the same ghost that had hunted him for decades. The same hands that had touched his face with warmth, that held his heart, that had pulled him close; had also killed his kids, stalked him and taken what he held dear.

 

There was no way. Dean refused to believe it. Because if Bucky hadn’t died, then he had suffered a fate worse than death. For the last seventy years.

Notes:

I'm sorry I'm really horrible at writing fight scenes :(

Anyways... It's Bucky!

Chapter 14: CHAPTER ELEVEN: DEAR AGONY

Notes:

Sorry I haven't uploaded since last month, have a whole chapter of Dean being depressed as an apology :)

" I have nothing left to give, I have found the perfect end”

 

~~~

 

 

Dean sat in the van, silent and numb, the shackles on his wrist and wings biting into his skin with every small movement. The chains scraped against the floor of the truck as he shifted his weight, but he didn't have the energy to fight them. His mind wasn’t here, it was seven decades in the past.

 

Bucky. The man he had once known, the man who had been a part of him, was gone. The loss was a wound that had never closed, only deepened. For seventy years, Dean had carried that ache like an extra rib.

 

Across from him, Steve sat hunched in silence, his jaw set tight, his eyes fixed on a point far away. But there was an unmistakable glint of something fierce behind his gaze. A will to survive, a stubborn streak that Dean was always proud of. But even Steve Rogers seemed broken by this revelation.

 

“It was him.” Steve’s voice was strained, his eyes shifted to Dean, searching, almost pleading for validation. “He looked right at us like he didn’t even know who we were.”

 

Dean felt his chest tighten, that cold, unrecognizing gaze still sharp in his mind. His fingers curled hard around the cuffs until the metal bit into his skin, a dull sting compared to the one in his chest. His vibrant green eyes were now so dark that they almost looked black.

 

“That’s not possible,” Dean muttered, his gaze falling to the floor.

 

Steve’s voice softened, like he was trying to convince himself as much as Dean. “When your units were captured in ’43, Zola experimented on him. Those experiments could’ve helped Bucky survive the fall. They must’ve found him and—”

 

“They killed him, Steve.” Dean’s voice snapped like a whip and his head shot up, eyes locking on Steve’s. “Right in front of me. Then they dumped his body at my feet. He’s dead .”

 

Silence fell heavy in the van and Natasha shifted beside him, her head falling weakly against his shoulder. Dean instinctively tilted slightly toward her. Her breathing was shallow, strained, each inhale a battle, but she still managed to speak. Her voice was soft, barely more than a breath, but it cut through the tension like a knife.

 

"None of that's your fault, Dean." Her eyes were half-closed, face pale from blood loss. "None of it."

 

Dean didn’t look at her. He didn’t have to. He could feel the softness in her gaze, sympathy without pity, understanding. But there was no pulling him out of this pit. Not now. Maybe not ever.

Sam's voice snapped him out of his haze, sharp and urgent. "We need to get a doctor here. If we don't put pressure on that wound, she's gonna bleed out here in the truck!" His gaze darted toward the front, toward the two guards wedged behind the cab’s armored bulkhead.

 

The guards didn’t move. One shifted in his seat but kept his rifle angled toward them, unmoved by Sam’s demand. Then, without warning, the guard on the right whipped his arm sideways and jammed an electric baton into his partner’s ribs. The crackle of voltage lit the air and the second man slumped instantly.

 

Dean’s head snapped toward the commotion. The guard tore off their helmet, revealing a woman with dark hair and a determined, grim expression.

 

"Ugh, that thing was squeezing my brain," Maria Hill muttered, tossing the helmet aside before noticing a stunned Sam Wilson.  "Who's this guy?"

 

~~~

 

The truck came to a stop outside a weathered, long forgotten S.H.I.E.L.D. hideout. 

 

Dean gritted his teeth as Steve hooked an arm under his shoulders, hauling him to his feet. Dean's legs barely cooperated, the muscles locking up under the strain of his prosthetic. Each step was painful, and every movement only caused more damage.

 

"I got you, De," Steve muttered, tightening his grip when Dean nearly buckled under his own weight. 

 

Dean’s spine whirled and clicked like a broken piece of machinery, sending sharp spikes of pain up through his ribs.

 

From behind, Sam whistled low. "Damn, your back sounds horrible."

 

"Feels just as great too," Dean bit out through clenched teeth.

 

Sam was with Natasha a few steps behind them, ready to catch her if she lost consciousness. She was pale, her skin nearly translucent from the amount of blood she had lost. 

 

The facility’s dim corridors led them into a cramped med bay, walls lined with outdated monitors and cold steel counters. Maria wasted no time, her voice cutting through the quiet like a blade. 

 

"GSW. Nat's lost at least a pint." She told the waiting medical staff stationed inside.

 

"Maybe two," Sam added as one of the staff moved forward to take Natasha. 

 

Maria lifted a hand to stop them. "She'll want to see him first,"

 

The group barely had time to process the words before Maria yanked a curtain aside with a sharp tug. It revealed Nick Fury, alive, propped up in a hospital bed. His face was marked with exhaustion, but he looked like he’d been expecting this moment all along.

 

The doctor, apparently deciding that Natasha was too weak to be moved, set up his supplies and began treatment on her shoulder right there.

 

Fury gave them all a long look before he spoke hoarsely. "Lacerated spinal column, cracked sternum, shattered collarbone, perforated liver, and one hell of a headache." He listed off his injuries.

 

The doctor treating Natasha didn't even look up as he added, "Don't forget your collapsed lung."

 

"Oh, let's not forget that," Fury muttered with dry amusement. "Otherwise, I'm good."

 

"They cut you open. Your heart stopped," Nat said, doubt lingering in her voice.

 

Dean nodded slightly, still leaning heavily on his brother. “Guess I’m not the only one who can come back from the dead.”

 

"Tetrodotoxin B," Fury answered. "Slows the pulse to one beat a minute. Banner developed it for stress. Didn't work so great for him, but we found a use for it."

 

Steve's brows furrowed. "Why all the secrecy? Why not just tell us?"

 

Maria answered for Fury. "The attempt on the Director's life had to look believable."

 

"Can't kill you if you're already dead." Fury added curtly, letting the words hang for a moment before sighing. "Besides, I wasn't sure who to trust."

 

~~~

 

Later, the med bay became a war room. The dim lights casted long shadows over the room and the air was heavy with unspoken tension. Fury sat at the head of the table, his one good eye scanning the picture of Alexander Pierce in his hand. 

 

"This man declined the Nobel Peace Prize," Fury finally spoke, voice laced with bitter amusement. "He said peace wasn't an achievement, it was a responsibility." 

 

He let the photo drop onto the table. "See, it's stuff like this that gives me trust issues."

 

Natasha, seated beside Steve, looked like she wanted to say something. Maybe she still hadn't forgiven Fury for keeping his own death a secret, but she didn't voice it.

 

"We have to stop the launch." She stated instead.

 

Steve nodded in agreement as he helped Dean into a chair. Maria sat down behind him, and Dean tugged off his jacket and shirt to give her access to his spine. Scar tissue and metal plating glinted under the light. Some of the components were clearly damaged—twisted screws, bent sections, and other parts had been completely torn away. Dean quietly started giving Maria instructions and she worked carefully, her brow furrowed in concentration as she made her way through the damage. 

 

“I don’t think the Council’s accepting my calls any more.” Fury replied to Nat as he opened a sleek black case, revealing three computer chips nestled inside.

 

Sam glanced down at them. "What's that?"

 

"Once the helicarriers reach 3,000 feet, they'll triangulate with the Insight Satellites and become fully weaponized," Maria explained, not looking up from the bent plate she was working on.

.

"We need to breach those carriers and replace their targeting blades with our own," Fury continued.

 

"One or two won't cut it," Maria added, carefully extracting a bent screw before replacing it with a fresh one. "We need to link all three carriers for this to work. If even one of those ships remains operational, a whole lot of people are gonna die."

 

Fury nodded. "We have to assume everyone aboard those carriers is HYDRA. We have to get past them, insert these server blades. And maybe, just maybe, we can salvage what's left..."

 

"We're not salvaging anything," Steve cut in firmly, blue eyes locked onto Fury with unwavering resolve. "We're not just taking down the carriers, Nick. We're taking down S.H.I.E.L.D."

 

"S.H.I.E.L.D. has nothing to do with this—" Fury started, but Steve wasn't done.

 

"You gave me this mission. This is how it ends." Steve snapped. "S.H.I.E.L.D.'s been compromised. You said so yourself. HYDRA grew right under your nose, and nobody noticed."

 

Fury exhaled sharply, pushing back from the table slightly. "Why do you think we're meeting in this cave?" His voice was sharp with defensiveness. "I noticed."

 

Steve’s hands were planted firmly on the table, his expression unwavering. "How many paid the price before you did?"

 

That question hung in the air as Fury paused and took stock of every face in the room. He glanced between the brothers, his expression unreadable. 

 

"Look, I didn't know about Barnes," he said.

 

Dean flinched as Steve's expression hardened. 

 

"Even if you had known... would you have told us?" 

 

Dean said nothing. He didn't need to. The answer was clear in Fury's silence.

 

Steve pressed on. "Or would you have compartmentalized that too? S.H.I.E.L.D., HYDRA, it all goes."

 

The finality in Steve's voice left no room for argument. Maria set down the tools, and her hand paused briefly on Dean’s shoulder before she nodded. 

 

"He's right."

 

Fury looked from her to Natasha, who leaned back slightly, her face unreadable. Then he turned to Sam, who gave a small shake of his head.

 

"Don't look at me," Sam held up his hands. "I do what they do. Just slower."

 

A beat passed before Fury leaned back with the faintest smirk.

 

"Well," he said, the slightest hint of amusement in his tone, "looks like you're giving orders now, Captain."

 

The room remained silent for a moment, the weight of the decision hanging in the air. S.H.I.E.L.D. was finished. The only mission left was to burn HYDRA out of existence.

 

~~~

 

Dean’s spine ached with every step as he walked, though the constancy was almost comforting. The last stubborn strip of nerve endings still intact there protested with each movement, but it didn’t matter. It would hold. It always did. He’d walked away from worse. From shattered bones, crushed ribs, and days where survival felt like a punishment rather than a victory. This was nothing.

 

He moved slowly, boots heavy against the ground as he made his way out of the facility. The bridge stretched out in front of him, leading away from the entrance of the building. 

 

It reminded him of another bridge, an old weathered thing in Washington state, faded and cracked, connected to a small cabin. The memory crept up without warning, bittersweet and dangerous, and Dean didn’t fight it.

 

 He stepped up onto the railing, his boots finding the narrow edge like he’d done it a hundred times before. His balance was steady, the spread of his wings shifting slightly in the wind behind him. Below, the river roared steady and relentless as it tore its way through the trees and jagged stone. Dean stared down at the water, feeling the pull. 

It promised nothing, but it promised it honestly. No lies. No orders. No one pulling strings. Just the dark cold silence beneath the surface. 

 

His dull eyes stayed fixed on the rushing water as he hung one foot over the edge. Just one small step. That was all it would take.

 

The fall would kill a normal man. But it wouldn’t kill Dean Rogers.

 

"Dean?"

 

Dean flinched, his foot returning to the ledge as he turned. Steve stood a few feet away, posture cautious, concern carved into every line of his face. Dean realized, with a flicker of unease, that he hadn’t heard his brother approach. Usually, nothing slipped past him.

 

"That's not going to fix anything." Steve said softly, approaching like Dean was a scared animal.

 

“I know.”

 

"You won't die."

 

“I know.” 

 

"Then why?" Steve asked.

 

Dean dropped his gaze back to the rushing current. "Offers a little relief. Like punching a wall when you’re angry." He looked back at Steve, something unreadable flickering across his face. "He's gonna be there, and he's gonna be after me."

 

Steve studied him. "How do you figure?"

 

“I can never truly get away. It’s always just a matter of time before they find me again.” Dean said, the words dragging out of him. “When I escaped the first time, it was to get the twins out. Hydra sent him to drag us back. And he did. It only makes sense to do it again.”

 

Steve met his gaze, a hundred unsaid words behind his eyes. “If any of us has a chance of bringing him back Dean… it’s you.” 

 

"You're wrong."

 

“No, I’m not.”

 

"He doesn't remember me," Dean reminded, voice breaking.

 

"He will," Steve replied, the words heavy with conviction and leaving no room for doubt.

 

For a long moment, they just stood there, with the river below carrying away every answer they didn’t have.

 

Finally, Steve’s voice cut through the silence again, steady and certain. “Gear up. It’s time.”

Chapter 15: CHAPTER TWELVE: LET DOWN

“Wings twitch, legs are going, don’t get sentimental”

 

~~~

 

 

Steve stood in the heart of SHIELD's headquarters, holding a microphone like it was a weapon. Sam and Dean flanked him, while Natasha was elsewhere playing the part of inside agent.

 

He pressed the button and his voice began to echo through the facility. "Attention all SHIELD agents, this is Steve Rogers. You've heard a lot about me over these last few days, some of you were even ordered to hunt me and those around me down. But we think it's about time you know the truth. SHIELD is not what we thought it was. It's been taken over by HYDRA. Alexander Pierce is their leader. The STRIKE and Insight crew are HYDRA as well. We don't know how many more. But we know they're in the building. They could be standing right next to you.”

 

“They almost have what they want. Absolute control. They shot Nick Fury, and it won't end there. If you launch those helicarriers today, then HYDRA will be able to kill anyone who stands in their way. Unless we stop them. I know I'm asking a lot. The price of freedom is high, but it always has been. It's a price I'm willing to pay. If I'm the only one, then so be it.” Steve glanced over at his brother. “But I’m willing to bet I’m not." He finished, and silence settled over the comms.

 

Sam tilted his head, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "Did you write that down first? Or was it off the top of your head?"

 

Dean snorted. "Nah, he's got a shit ton of heroic speeches in his head, and he just waits to use them."

 

Steve barely shot him a glance. "Very funny."

 

The three of them moved fast toward the launch bay. The massive helicarriers loomed, engines growling as they lifted off. One of the carriers was already airborne. The second hover lower, while the third remained docker, engines sputtering to life. 

 

"Hey, Cap, how do we know the good guys from the bad guys?" Sam shouted to Steve as they sprinted onto the landing platform.

 

"If they're shooting at you, they're bad." Steve answered.

 

"Three of us, three helicarriers, ten minutes." Dean's voice was serious as his green eyes began to glow. "No dying. That's an order."

 

"Yessir Sarge," Steve shot back without hesitation.

 

Sam activated his wings, engines humming as he soared toward the second carrier's platform. Dean followed suit, wings extending out before he launched off the ground with a rush of air. The helicarriers immediately opened fire, forcing the winged pair into tight, twisting maneuvers through the sky.

 

“We found those bad guys you were talking about.” Sam reported over the comms.

 

 Steve wasted no time in responding. “You guys okay?”

 

“We’re not dead yet.” Dean shot back dryly.   

 

Dean landed on the first helicarrier, his boots hitting the metal with a clang, sword already raised. More gunfire erupted but Dean moved fast, ducking behind ammunition crates and hurling blasts of energy back at the HYDRA agents. He took them out quickly before pushing forward. Dean turned a corner, only to be met with a boot to the chest.

 

The impact sent him hurtling backward as he crashed through a row of pipes, metal bursting around him in an explosion of steam. His back slammed into the grates hard as he hit the floor. Pain exploded through his spine, and he let out a groan before pushing himself up onto one knee. He knew who was waiting for him before he even looked.

 

Even in the dim light, he could make out Bucky's face, still cold and blank. Dean let out a breath, chest heaving. 

 

"Of course they put you on this carrier," he muttered, wincing as his spine cracked painfully.

 

Bucky said nothing. Just stood there, unmoving, his gaze unreadable.

 

"Six minutes." Maria's voice crackled urgently in his earpiece. "Where are you, Sarge?"

 

Dean ignored her. His fingers twitched around the hilt of his sword, mind racing. Bucky's stare was heavy, unyielding, and thick with something unspoken.

 

Then, with a sudden movement, Dean reached up and yanked a valve. The pipe beside him burst, steam hissing out in a thick cloud, swallowing the entire corridor. Dean didn't hesitate, vanishing into the haze like a ghost.

 

Dean had thought, or at least wished, that getting to the operations station would be a straightforward mission. Clear a few guards, hit the panel, get out. Instead, it was a deathtrap suspended over a bottomless drop.

 

He had just reached the first support beam when two bullets tore into his side and stomach. He yanked them free just in time before a hailstorm of gunfire shredded the catwalk. He dodged sideways, boots skidding against the grates as he took cover behind a maintenance panel. He got eyes on the shooters, a dozen guards, all armed to the teeth.

 

HYDRA wasn’t stupid. They’d known someone would try to disable the carriers. This was a kill zone. Dean gritted his teeth. Fine. If they wanted to make this difficult, he could do difficult.

 

One of the guards called out, "Sergeant Rogers spotted—south side catwalk. Hold position and wait for reinforcement."

 

Dean just smirked, pushing off to weave through gunfire. He flipped midair to slam feet first into one of the guards, sending them over the railing. His body twisted in ways that would have shattered bones if he weren't superhuman as he dodged under another barrage of bullets.

 

He quickly closed the distance, twisting a rifle from one guard’s grip and slamming an elbow into another’s helmet. He quickly followed with a brutal roundhouse kick that sent the man sprawling. He grabbed one by the vest and hurled him into two others as another agent lunged at him from the side. Dean ducked under the man's punch, grabbing his arm mid-swing and twisting it behind his back with a sickening pop. The guard screamed, and Dean ended it quickly with a kick to the back of the head. 

 

More gunfire rained down and Dean launched upwards, landing behind the remaining soldiers. He smited two of them before they could react. One of the guards tried to radio for backup, but Dean was on him before he could even get a word out. He grabbed the man's wrist, driving a fist into his jaw with a loud crack, and he crumpled. The last two rushed him and he dropped low, sweeping his leg out. The first soldier's legs were kicked out from under him, and the second was sent over the railing with a blast of energy.

 

Dean turned to the last guard, still struggling to get back up. He knelt beside him as he tried to reach for his sidearm. But Dean pinned him down by his throat before crushing the communicator beneath his boot and slamming the guard’s head against the catwalk.

 

Dean exhaled, rolling his shoulders as he turned toward the control panel. And there stood Bucky.

 

He was still as a statue, with a lifeless expression. His fists were clenched at his sides, shoulders squared, and feet planted firmly against the grated catwalk. He stood like an executioner in front of the panel, and Dean was in front of him like they were in a stand-off.

 

The wrongness of it all hit Dean harder than a punch. This was never meant to happen. They should’ve been old men by now, gray-haired and laugh-lined, together . Or maybe buried side by side to finally rest in peace. Instead, they were still in their twenties, still fighting wars. But this time not against the world. 

 

Against each other.

 

Bucky didn't recognize him. And Dean barely recognized Bucky.

 

The last time Dean had truly seen him was decades ago, but his memories of Bucky were burned into his mind like they'd happened yesterday. Bucky had always been full of life and warmth. 

 

But it wasn't James Barnes standing before him. It was the Winter Soldier.

 

Dean swallowed the bitter lump in his throat. He kept his voice steady, but barely masked the ache beneath the surface.

 

"I can't let you stop me."

 

No response. Bucky didn't move, just stood like a machine waiting for a command.

 

Dean's head shook slightly as he all but pleaded, "Please don't make me do this," 

 

Still nothing. Bucky didn't even acknowledge him, a void where his soul had once been. Dean's stomach turned. Is there even any part of James still left in there?

 

Maybe. Maybe not. He needed more time to find out.

 

Dean clenched his jaw and then shot forward, straight toward Bucky. His punch was anticipated and stopped cold. Bucky’s vibranium fingers closed around Dean's fist like a vice. Dean gritted his teeth as Bucky twisted his wrist at an unnatural angle . He pivoted to absorb the force, but Bucky drove a knee into his ribs. Dean flew backward, metal shrieking under his boots as he barely caught himself from going over the edge. 

 

Then Bucky lunged. Fast. Almost as fast as him . Dean twisting sideways as Bucky's fist buckled the railing. He aimed a sharp kick at Bucky's ribs, but Bucky caught his ankle mid-air and wrenched. Dean twisted, using the momentum to flip himself upright, but Bucky was already closing in.

 

They moved at a deadly speed as they clashed across the catwalk. It was a brutal back and forth, as they were too matched for either of them to gain any ground.

 

Dean hated it. He could never force himself to truly fight Bucky. But he gritted his teeth, forcing himself to push everything down. The memories, the grief, the gut-wrenching sorrow that clawed at him. If he let himself feel any of it, he'd hesitate. Hesitation meant Hydra would win and would lead to the deaths of thousands.

 

Next time Bucky swung, Dean didn't dodge. He grabbed Bucky's wrist and shot forward, dragging Bucky careening with him toward the operations panel. Dean let go at the last second, twisting his body to slam Bucky into the steel wall. The impact shook the catwalk. Bucky barely flinched.

 

Dean turned his focus toward the control panel. He got it open, and tore out the old chip. Then a hand clamped around the back of his neck, and Dean barely had time to curse before Bucky threw him. He hit the ground hard and rolled across the platform, his back slamming against the railing. Bucky approached as Dean forced himself up.

 

He met Bucky's cold, dead stare. And for the first time, Dean wasn't sure if he’d win this fight.

 

"Sarge, you have one minute—" Maria's voice cut through the comms, laced with an edge of panic.

 

"Ran into an old pal, you're gonna have to give me a second," Dean huffed, twisting away as Bucky lunged for him again. 

 

Dean ducked behind him and slammed his weight into Bucky's back, the force sending him over the edge of the catwalk. He dropped hard onto the reinforced glass floor below. The impact cracked the surface beneath him, but it held.

 

Dean didn't wait to see if Bucky got up. He launched toward the operations panel, almost slamming into it before he tore open the casing. Every second felt like an eternity as he raced to get the slot to open. He finally put the new chip in with a sharp, metallic click .

 

"Charlie locked," he reported, voice tight.

 

"Alright, Sarge, get out of there," Maria ordered.

 

Dean barely had time to breathe before the helicarriers shifted . Their targeting systems recalibrated to aim at each other . They were all going down.

 

"Fire now," Dean ordered.

 

There was a pause of hesitation. " But, Sarg—"

 

"Do it. Do it now ."

 

Maria gave the command a beat later, and the first explosion ripped through the helicarrier like a shockwave. They kept coming, and the debris started falling. Jagged pieces of steel, shattered panels, entire sections of the carrier's frame breaking apart and raining down like lethal hail.

 

Then a shout split the air. Dean's breath hitched as he turned towards the noise. Below him, Bucky was pinned beneath the fallen wreckage. His arm and part of his torso was trapped beneath the weight. And for the first time, Bucky's expression changed. It wasn’t blank– it was panicked.

 

Dean's chest clenched at the sight. He moved without thinking, jumping down onto the glass. The cracks beneath his boots deepened, but he ignored it. He gripped the steel frame, using all his strength to lift it. There was just enough space that Bucky was able to force himself out from under it. 

 

"You know me," Dean took a step back, his voice level despite the chaos around them.

 

Bucky's head snapped toward him, his face contorting with something pained. "No, I don't."  

 

He swung, and Dean barely had time to brace before the punch connected. It sent him sprawling across the floor, but he just gritted his teeth and pushed himself back up.

 

"Bucky." Dean’s voice was strained, but steady. "You've known me your whole life."

 

The next hit was hard enough to knock Dean off his feet entirely. He hit the glass, breath ripped from his lungs. The carrier shook with another explosion. The entire structure was coming apart. 

 

Dean forced himself up again. "Your name..." he gasped, looking Bucky dead in the eyes. "Is James Buchanan Barnes."

 

"Shut up!" Bucky's voice cracked with desperation. 

 

He sounded like he wanted Dean to stop talking. Like hearing anything he had to say was painful. He swung again, and Dean moved at the last second, barely avoiding the hit. 

 

"I'm not gonna fight you, I’m not capable of it." Dean said, his voice steady and decided. "You’re my best guy."

 

He retracted his wings, then pulled his sword from his back and let go of it. He didn't throw it, just let it fall through a hole in the floor beneath them.

 

Bucky froze. His face twisted in anger and something Dean couldn't name. Then he attacked. A raw, wordless shout tore from his throat as he tackled Dean to the ground. There was a sharp, gut-wrenching snap as Dean’s spine slammed into the metal frame of the floor. Dean cried out at the white-hot agony, before his nerves died and the pain vanished. 

 

Dean wasn't going to get back up. Pinned beneath Bucky's weight, he didn't struggle. Didn't fight. Didn't resist. Bucky's breath came ragged, his metal hand tightening around Dean's collar.

 

“You’re my mission.” Bucky stated.

 

Dean took the punches, his lip splitting and bones breaking, but he didn’t care.

 

"I love you, James." Dean managed to rasp out. "Harley… паук … loves you."

 

Bucky’s fist froze, eyes wide in a look of disbelief. He looked pained for a second, like he was fighting against himself. Dean watched as he slowly began to lower his raised fist. Then a giant metal beam came crashing down beside them, and the entire floor shattered.

 

Dean reached up, grabbing Bucky by the harness, pulling him in. He shielded his head with his own arm as they began to fall . The wind screamed and wreckage spiraled around them as they plummeted toward the river below. 

 

Dean was pretty much unkillable. That didn't mean his body couldn't be broken beyond function. But Bucky was still human. One wrong angle could kill him, and Dean refused to let that happen again. Bucky was struggling, still trying to fight, but there was no way to control a fall like this or break free. 

 

Dean knew from this height, hitting the river was basically the same as slamming into concrete.

So he forced his body to move, pain blazing through his nerves as he turned them in the air. Bucky had to land on top of him. It was the only way he’d survive.

 

The impact came like a gunshot. The water crashed against Dean's back, hammering into his already ruined spine, sending an explosion of agony tearing through his body. His bones buckled and his lungs emptied as everything inside him shut down. But before the darkness swallowed him, before he let go, Dean felt something. 

 

Bucky, still moving in his arms. Still alive.

 

And that was enough for Dean to let death take him again.

 

~~~

 

The first thing Dean registered when he came to was the steady, rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor. A sound that was equal parts grounding and suffocating.

 

Then came the pain, a dull, persistent ache crawled along his spine. But below his waist was nothing, just a deadened silence in his nerves. He felt like he’d been run over by a tank. Yet beneath it all was the familiar throb of his body working to pull itself back together in that slow, stubborn way it always had.

 

With effort, his eyes fluttered open. The dim hospital room came into focus, washed in the muted light slipping between the blinds. He first saw Steve, sitting beside the hospital bed with his elbows resting on his knees. Sam sat beside him, doing a better job than Steve at hiding his worry. Then Dean’s gaze found Peter.

 

Dean blinked, his heart tightening at the sight of his boy. Peter was sitting at the edge of the bed, holding Dean’s hand gently as if it was glass. His curls were a mess, and his big brown eyes were red rimmed from tears.

 

“Pete…” Dean whispered hoarsely, his voice thick from unconsciousness and disuse.

 

Peter’s head shot up, and he all but threw himself into Dean’s chest to hug him. Dean winced at the pain that flared in his ribs, but it didn’t stop him from embracing him back.

.

“Ma, you’re awake!” Peter gasped in relief. “I thought you—” He didn’t finish, the sentence crumbled into a choked sob as he buried his face into his Ma’s hospital gown.

 

“Hey, kiddo... it’s okay. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.” Dean held him tighter, bringing a trembling hand to the boy’s curly hair. 

 

Steve finally spoke, his voice low with concern. “He’s been a wreck since they brought you in. You… didn’t come back. Not right away.” His gaze flicked to Peter before meeting Dean’s again. “You scared the hell out of all of us.”

 

Dean swallowed hard, looking down at the boy in his arms. “I’m sorry, Pete. I didn’t mean to worry you.” His voice cracked, a rare show of vulnerability from the usually tough-as-nails older Rogers. 

 

“I thought... I thought you weren’t gonna wake up this time.” Peter mumbled against Dean’s chest.

 

Dean’s heart ached at the words, and Sam exchanged a look with Steve. 

 

“It’s gonna take a lot more than that to take him out, kid.” Sam told Peter with a lighter tone. “He’s one tough son of a gun. Or as Steve calls him—”

 

“A stubborn asshole,” Steve finished.

 

Peter gave a weak laugh at that, and Dean’s eyes met Sam’s with an unspoken gratitude. The boy still didn’t let go, curling tighter into Dean’s side. Steve’s expression softened as he looked at them, and there was an almost familiar ache in his chest. 

 

Because it looked so much like the way he used to cling to his older brother when they were kids, that it was painful .

 

Dean’s wings flared out on instinct, the feathers rustling against the crisp hospital sheets. The stiff, unfamiliar angle made him wince. He tried shifting his body, and his prosthetic let out a faint mechanical sound. But nothing below his waist moved at all. Steve noticed it instantly, his expression dropping minutely, and so did Sam. Their eyes flickered with something unspoken, but Dean ignored it. His body would fix itself like it always did. And if it didn’t, he’d deal with that later.

 

Right now, his mind was already somewhere else.

 

Bucky Barnes.

 

Dean wasn’t about to just let him disappear. He didn’t say it aloud. Not to Steve, not to Sam. Not yet. But the decision was already carved into him as surely as the scars on his skin.

He was going to find him. 

 

No matter how far he had to go, no matter what it cost. He had lost him twice now, and he’d be damned if he didn’t do anything about it.

 

He was going to get Bucky back even if it was the last thing he’d ever do.

Notes:

I need someone to realize how well Let Down by Radiohead goes with this chapter. PLEASE.

Chapter 16: THIRD INTERLUDE

Notes:

For reference, according to google, the helicarriers fell on April 10th, 2014, so that is the date used for the dates in this chapter.

~~~

[May 2014]

 

Dean,

 

I know I’m not in a position to ask anything of you, but please go home. You’re wasting your time searching for me. I don’t remember much, but I do remember how stubborn you are. So if you won’t listen for your own good, then listen for Peter’s sake. Please, he needs you home.

 

You’re still doing that thing where you carry the whole damn world on your shoulders. You’ve got no business doing that, not after all the times I’ve seen it nearly break you. I remember that too. That look in your eyes when you think you’ve failed someone. You don’t get to wear that because of me.

 

So I’m not coming back yet. Not because I don’t want to. Please believe that. But because I’m not just the man you remember. I’m the man they made me. And I won’t risk lettin’ that anywhere near you. Near Peter. I don’t deserve the kind of home you’re trying to give me, Dean. Not yet. Maybe not ever. But I’m still gonna try to be the kind of man who could. And that starts with making sure you two are safe.

 

I have no doubt that you’re taking care of Peter. But please take care of yourself for me too, even if you hate it.

 

Yours,
James

~~~

[June 2014]

 

Dean,

 

You actually listened to me. That surprised the hell outta me. But I’m glad. Peter’s been a wreck without you close, can’t blame the kid.

 

I promise I’m holding up my end. I swear it. Cutting out the rot piece by piece. There’s blood on my hands I can’t wash off, but maybe I can keep from adding to it.

 

My memories have been coming back in pieces. I remember the way your laugh hit me in the chest, but not the joke that made you laugh. I remember your hands patchin’ me up, but not the fight that put me in your arms. But the way you looked at me, back then and now, that stuck. It always has.

 

I’ve been thinkin’ about the last time I saw you sleepin’. I stared for so long, trying to memorize your face. Turns out it’s the one thing I can’t forget, even if I wanted to.

 

I love you. And even when I’m gone, I’m still yours.

 

Forever and always.

James

~~~

[June 2014]

 

Petya

Peter,

I know I don’t get to call myself your dad right now. But you still deserve a letter.

 

I doubt you remember much of the time you spent with me before your Ma got you out. You were small, and I was not in my right mind most days. But I remember. Every minute. You had this way of laughing that could make even the worst parts of me shut up for a second.

 

You probably think I left ‘cause I didn’t want you. That’s not true. I left ‘cause you and your Ma are the only things I’ve got worth keeping safe. And right now, I can’t do that if I’m standing next to you. Not while there are still people out there who know how to make me their weapon. I don’t want you to grow up remembering me with blood on my hands. I want you to grow up knowing I stayed away because I loved you more than I loved breathing.

 

One day I’ll come back. And then you can yell at me and tell me all the ways I’ve screwed up. I’ll take it. Hell, I’ll deserve it.

 

Take care of your Ma for me.

I love you, kid.

Bucky

~~~

[July 2014]

Dean,

 

I remember the twins. 

 

I remember that Wanda got your stubbornness, while Pietro got all your blonde curls. I remember the way they talked about you like you were the only safe place they had in the whole damn world. Because you were.

 

I led them to you. I didn’t know, not at first. But that doesn’t matter. It doesn’t change the fact that I brought the wolves right to your door. They made sure I saw enough of the aftermath to understand it was my fault before they put me in the chair again. Nothing’s ever hit me like the look in your eyes when you realized they were gone. And now I remember that it’s all my fault.

 

This letter isn’t me looking for forgiveness. I know damn well I will never deserve it. Hell, I don’t want you to forgive me. What I did, what I didn’t do, it’s not something an apology can fix. But I need you to hear me say it anyway, even if you throw them back in my face. I’m so sorry, Dean. I’m sorry for the twins. I’m sorry for every second of pain I ever put you through. 

 

I carry all of it with me, every day. Every breath. Everywhere I look, I see the pieces of what I stole from you. I see their faces every time I close my eyes. And I deserve to live with that.

 

I’d give anything to change it. To take your place that day. To take theirs. But I can’t.

 

I know now that I’ve taken enough from you. So this is the last letter I’ll leave. 

 

I’m sorry.

~~~

Notes:

Fun fact but actually kinda sad fact, Bucky signs the letters to Dean as James because he hopes it shows Dean that he remembers him, since Dean is one of very few people to call him James.

Chapter 17: CHAPTER THIRTEEN : HUM HALLELUJAH

Notes:

I don't think I made this clear earlier, but I changed the twins and Peter's ages a bit, Peter is twelve during this. It's also unclear when the three kids were born as Dean has no sense of time while in Hydra, and the kids were put in cryo so Dean just kept track of the time they weren't frozen.

Now buckle up, this is a longer one.

“You are the dreamer, and we are the dream”

 

~~~

 

 

The mission was over, and the scepter was secured. The Avengers had won, technically.

 

Yet Steve couldn’t stop thinking about the two kids that had been in the Hydra base. The boy who was a blur of motion and the girl surrounded by a crimson haze. He’s only caught glimpses of them, but that was apparently enough for them to stick in his mind.

 

But it wasn’t their powers that haunted him. It was something else.

 

The boy's unruly blonde curls looked too much like Dean’s. The same bright gold hue Dean had as a kid. And his grin, cocky and just a little reckless– Steve might as well have been staring across time at his nineteen year old brother. The kid had it down to the same challenging tilt of his head.

 

Then there was the girl. Steve swore he had seen those sharp green eyes before. When she glanced toward the boy and her gaze softened, he recognized it instantly. Every time Dean looked at him, every time his Ma’s memory resurfaced, he saw those bright, watchful eyes. And Steve swore there was a faint flicker of Bucky in the way her mouth pressed into a determined line.

 

What accompanied this in Steve’s head was Dean’s voice, broken and pain filled, recounting how his two kids had been killed at the hands of Hydra. That day was the closest Steve had ever seen his brother get to tears, and Steve never wanted to see that again.

 

So Steve wasn’t about to even breathe word of any of this to his brother. Because they couldn’t possibly be the twins. Dean had been through enough, and his kids… they were dead.

 

But the thought still nagged at him. 

 

Against his better judgement, Steve found himself imagining what Dean’s twins would have looked like if they’d grown up. If they had lived.

 

What he pictured, was almost exactly what he’d seen today.

~~~

 

Steve later pushed all of that aside when Tony invited him and Dean to the party for Thor’s departure. He was more than happy at the excuse to drag Dean out of his apartment. Dean hadn’t been the same since D.C., and somehow it had only gotten worse. 

 

Avengers Tower was already alive with music and laughter when the brothers arrived. The bar was fully stocked and drinks flowed. The floor was crowded with allies, old friends, and other guests, all mingled easily.

 

Dean spotted Natasha standing behind the bar and made his way over, Steve trailing close behind him.

 

“Damn,” Nat smirked when the pair reached her. “Didn’t know you guys owned anything that wasn’t from the forties.” 

 

Dean wore dress pants and a white button down from a suit, but had swapped out the blazer for his bomber jacket. Steve’s outfit was similar but simpler, a darker blue button down tucked into jeans. Natasha’s eyes flicked between the brothers. Steve had his collar buttoned to the top, while Dean already had his undone and slightly open at the neck. 

 

Dean gave her an unimpressed look. “I do know how to clean up, thank you very much.” he shot back, but there was no real bite to it.

 

“I had to stop him from pulling out his army blues.” Steve deadpanned.

 

Nat smirked. “That I’d pay to see.”

 

The conversation flowed easily, Natasha making sure to tell Dean about his brother’s new stance on profanity, much to Steve’s exasperation. Then Steve was challenged to a game of pool by Sam, leaving Nat and Dean alone. 

 

“So Sarge, how’s your missing person’s case going?” Natasha turned to Dean, her light tone trying to cover the weight of the question.

 

Dean’s jaw tightened. “It’s gone cold.” 

 

Nat studied him for a beat. There was a heaviness in his eyes that made it clear to her that there was a lot he wasn’t telling her.

 

“I’m sorry.” Nat said sympathetically. “You and Peter holding up?”

 

Dean let out a shaky exhale. “Yeah. Peter’s taking it about as well as you’d expect a twelve year old to.” He hesitated before adding slowly, “He… wrote a letter to Peter.”

 

Natasha just nodded like Dean had told her the weather. “Did he write you any?” She asked casually.

 

Dean’s voice dropped as he admitted, “Three. Stopped after a couple months.”

 

Nat didn’t press for anything, but she knew enough to guess. “You think he blames himself.”

 

“He always has. Doesn’t matter whose finger is on the trigger, he’ll carry the bullet holes.” Dean said, staring down at the drink in his hand.

 

Silence stretched between them, the party noise fading into the background.

 

“You’ll find him. You’re too stubborn to quit until you do.” Nat said finally, a certainty to her tone that Dean wished he could share. “But you don’t have to do it alone. Just say the word.”

 

 “Thanks, Nat,” He said, the words quiet and sincere as he glanced up at her. “Really.”

 

She gave him a small, understanding smile.

 

Then Clint wandered over to the bar, pulling Natasha into a conversation. So Dean straightened, and gave Nat a short nod in goodbye as he stepped away. It didn’t take him long to find Steve and Sam leaning against the railing of the upper balcony.

 

“Sounds like a hell of a fight.” Sam told Steve, a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

 

Dean joined them, adding on to Sam in a matching tone. “Yeah, sorry we missed it.”

 

“If I had known it was gonna be a firefight, I absolutely would have called.” Steve defended himself.

 

“Please. I’m just trying to sound tough” Sam assured lightly. 

 

Dean gave Steve a look. “Avenging is your world, not mine.”

 

“It is yours, from time to time.” Steve shot back.

 

~~~ 

 

The party continued into the night, until it got late enough that only Earth’s mightiest heroes were left. Now, the group was lounging around the livingroom, their conversation more unfiltered and easier than earlier. Dean was slouched on one of the couches next to Steve, his jacket discarded and wings sprawled out lazily behind him.

 

“But it’s a trick.” Clint told Thor, twirling a chopstick between his fingers.

 

The god just laughed. “Oh no, it’s much more than that.”

 

“Ah, ‘Whosoever be he worthy shall haveth the power!’ Whatever man! It’s a trick!” Clint scoffed, still unconvinced.

 

Thor, clearly entertained now, gestured a hand to Mjolnir on the table. “Well please, be my guest.”

 

Clint arched an eyebrow in surprise. “Really?”

 

“Yeah!” Thor nodded.

 

The group chuckled as Clint stood and walked over to the hammer.

 

“This is gonna be beautiful.” Rhodey said in amusement, leaning back in his seat to enjoy the show.

 

“Clint, you’ve had a tough week,” Tony quipped from beside Rhodey, “We won’t hold it against you if you can’t get it up.”

 

Clint squared his shoulders and gripped Mjolnir’s handle. He pulled once like he wasn’t really trying, then gritted his teeth and pulled again with more force. The hammer didn’t even shift. 

 

Clint released the handle and stepped back with a laugh. “I still don’t know how you do it,”

 

“Smell the silent judgement?” Tony mocked the archer lightly.

 

“Please, Stark, by all means.” Clint shot back, motioning a hand toward the hammer.

 

“Never one to shrink from an honest challenge.” Tony rose from his seat, replacing Clint in front of the hammer. “It’s physics.”

 

Bruce scoffed from his seat. “Physics?”

 

Tony ignored him as he glanced at Thor. “So, if I lift it, I then rule Asgard?”

 

“Yes, of course.” Thor said, failing to hide the smirk on his face.

 

“I will be reinstituting Prima Nocta .” Tony announced, before grabbing the handle with both hands and pulling.

 

He let out a grunt from the effort, but the hammer still didn’t move at all. 

 

He quickly let go and stated, “I’ll be right back.”

 

Tony walked off and returned a minute later with his Iron Man gauntlet on his right hand. He stepped back up to the hammer, planted his feet, and yanked. He even engaged the thrusters in the gauntlet, but the hammer stayed put.

 

Then he pulled Rhodey into it, they tried to tag team it while using both of their suit’s gauntlets and they still failed. Banner was up next, and pretended to hulk out before admitting defeat.

 

“Go ahead, Stevie. No pressure.” Dean teased as clapped a hand on his brother’s shoulder.

 

Steve shot him a look but rose from his seat on the couch. He pushed up his sleeves before placing his hands on the handle and pulling. And Mjolnir shifted, just barely. Almost imperceptible.

 

But Dean caught it. So did Thor.

 

The god’s smirk faltered for a split second, and he sat up slightly straighter. But as quickly as it happened, Steve let go, raising his hands in acceptance.

 

“Nothing,” Thor let out a forced chuckle, covering his unease behind a smile and his drink.

 

“Alright He-Man, you’re up.” Tony told Dean, gesturing to the hammer.

 

Dean just scoffed. “No thanks. I already know the answer to that one.”

 

“And here I thought you were the fun Rogers.” Tony huffed, waving a dismissive hand.

 

Bruce turned to Natasha, motioning his hands out.

 

“And Widow?” Clint asked.

 

Natasha shook her head. “Oh, no. I’m with Sarge on this one.”

 

“All deference to the Man Who Wouldn’t Be King,” Tony turned to Thor, “But it’s rigged.”

 

“You bet your ass.” Clint agreed, clapping Tony on the back.

 

“Steve, he said a bad language word!” Maria cut in, pointing a finger at Clint.

 

“How does everyone know about that already?” Steve grumbled.

 

Dean glanced at his brother with a smirk. “Want me to put him in time out for you?”

 

Meanwhile, Tony was still stuck on the hammer. “The handle’s imprinted, right? He asked Thor. “Like a security code. ‘Whosoever is carrying Thor’s fingerprints’ is, I think, the literal translation.”

 

“Yes, yes, uh.. It’s a very, very interesting theory. I have a simpler one.” Thor stood and picked up Mjolnir with ease, turning to them with a grin. “You’re all not worthy.”

 

Everyone groaned in protest, hands flying into the air as arguments broke out. Laughter filled the room again. Dean leaned back against the couch, shaking his head as he sipped what little remained of his drink.

 

The banter ended abruptly when a shrill noise cut through the entire building, short but sharp enough to make everyone wince. A few brought their hands to cover their ears, and an uncomfortable shudder ran down Dean’s spine. Meanwhile, Tony had pulled out a small data pad from his pocket to find the source.

 

They didn’t have time to ask questions, or figure it out, before it was replaced by another sound. The harsh scrape of metal on metal. Everyone turned towards the entrance to Tony’s lab as a figure emerged from the shadows. It staggered forward with an uneven gait. It was a crude patchwork of scrap metal and pieces of the Iron Man suits, welded together into something vaguely humanoid.

 

“No. How could you be worthy?” It spoke as it turned to face them. “You’re all killers.”

 

Steve kept his eyes locked on the robot. “Stark?”

 

“JARVIS.” Tony called, but the AI remained silent.

 

But the robot answered, sounding disturbingly human. “I’m sorry, I was asleep.” Its head jerked in a twitchy movement. “Or I was… a dream.”

 

Tony glanced down at the device in his hand, muttering under his breath. “Reboot Legionnaire OS. We got a buggy suit.” 

 

“There was this terrible noise, and I was tangled in… strings.” The robot kept going, ignoring him. “I had to kill the other guy. He was a good guy.”

 

“You killed someone?” Steve asked tensely as Dean shifted his stance beside him.

 

“Wouldn’t have been my first call.” The robot responded, too unbothered for having just admitted to muder. “But, down in the real world, we’re faced with ugly choices.”

 

Thor stepped forward this time and commanded, “Who sent you?”

 

The robot didn’t respond directly. Instead Tony’s voice crackled through its speaker system. ‘I see a suit of armour around the world.’

 

For a moment it was dead silent, as realization slowly washed over the room.

 

“Ultron,” Banner whispered with disbelief.

 

“In the flesh.” The robot’s head snapped toward him. “Or, no, not yet. Not this chrysalis.”

 

The statement sent a fresh wave of unease through the room. Thor tightened his grip on Mjolnir. Maria silently drew her handgun as she stood. Dean's wings flared slightly as he assessed the exits.

 

“But I’m ready.” Ultron continued, seemingly oblivious. “I’m on a mission.”

 

“What mission?” Nastasha asked carefully.

 

Ultron turned his head to stare at the group, blue optics brightening. “Peace in our time.”

 

Not even a second later, all hell broke loose. The lad wall exploded in a shower of debris as the Iron Legion suits came crashing through. They flew at the group with terrifying speed, too aggressive to be under Tony’s control.

 

Steve kicked up the coffee table for cover right before one of the bots hit him . The impact sent him crashing backwards, while Dean cleared the table, wings snapping wide with a rush of air. He barreled into the bot, tearing it in half and throwing the pieces to the ground.

 

Dean barely turned before he was blindsided by another bot. It slammed into him, sending him crashing to the ground into an adjacent room. A metallic glint in the corner caught his eye. He snatched up his sword and Steve’s shield from where they’d left them earlier. He rejoined the fray just in time to see a suit charging at Steve.

 

“Steve!” Dean called, chucking the shield toward him.

 

Steve caught it midair and swung it in a fluid arc to slam the robot to the ground.

 

“That was dramatic.” Ultron mused with irritation, pacing among the chaos. “I’m sorry, I know you mean well. You just didn’t think it through.”

 

Dean softly landed beside Steve, the brothers exchanging a sharp look before turning their attention back to the monologuing machine.

 

“You want to protect the world, but you don’t want it to change. How is humanity saved if it’s not allowed to evolve?” Ultron lifted up one of the destroyed robots. “With these? These puppets?” It sounded almost agitated as it crushed the robot’s head with it’s hand and threw it aside. “There’s only one path to peace. The Avenger’s extinction."

 

Thor didn’t wait for another word before hurling Mjolnir straight at Ultron. The hammer instantly crumpled Ultron’s frame into a sparking heap. Yet, even as it lay in ruin, its voice remained eerily calm. From the broken speaker, the last haunting words softly drifted out.

 

"I had strings..." The blue optics flickered, dying out. "But now I'm free."

 

Then, finally, Ultron's first body died.

 

~~~

 

The moment of reprieve the heroes had during the party was now long gone as they all stood in the destroyed lab. The air hung heavy around the damaged machinery and settling debris. 

 

Bruce and Tony were hunched over their computers, eyes scanning endless streams of code, searching for some clue as to where their creation had gone.

 

"All our work is gone," Bruce finally exhaled in defeat. "Ultron cleared out, used the internet as an escape hatch."

 

“Ultron.” Steve repeated, tension evident in his voice and stance.

 

“He’s been in everything.” Natasha added sharply, pulling the bomber jacket tighter around herself. “Files, surveillance. Probably knows more about us than we know about each other.”

 

Dean let out an sharp huff from beside her. “He’s in your files, he’s in the internet.What’s stopping him from accessing something a little more exciting?”

 

Maria glanced up from her seat on the edge of a table. “Nuclear codes.” She realized aloud.

 

Dean confirmed it with a nod, a grave look on his face.

 

“Nukes?” Natasha shot Dean a questioning look. “He said he wanted us dead.”

 

Steve glanced at both of them. “He didn’t say ‘dead’. He said ‘extinct’.”

 

His tone carried the weight of the distinction. Extinction was more than death, it was erasure.

 

“He also said he killed somebody.” Clint reminded everybody.

 

Maria frowned. “There wasn’t anyone else in the building.”

 

“Yes there was.” Tony broke his silence, stepping forward.

 

He lifted the device in his hands and tapped it. A holographic projection of JARVIS's consciousness appeared in the center of the lab. The digital pathways of light, once fluid and alive, were shattered and fractured into floating shards of data. They pulsed weakly, like the last beats of a dying heart. The sight of it left the lab in complete silence.

 

“This is insane…” Bruce muttered, staring at the projection in shock.

 

"JARVIS was the first line of defense," Steve said, his arms crossed. "He would have shut Ultron down. It makes sense."

 

"No, Ultron could've assimilated JARVIS." Bruce interjected. "This isn't strategy, this is... rage."

 

The doors to the lab flew open, and Thor burst into the room. Without a word, he seized Tony by the throat and lifted him off the floor. The team tensed, but the look on Thor’s face kept them from moving.

 

“Come on, use your words, buddy.” Tony choked out, his usual bravado slightly faltering.

 

"I have more than enough words to describe you, Stark," Thor growled as he tightened his grip.

 

"Thor.” Steve commanded, taking a step forward. “The Legionnaire."

 

Thor begrudgingly released Tony before reporting, "Trail went cold about a hundred miles out, but it's headed north, and it has the scepter. Now we have to retrieve it, again."

 

"Genie's out of that bottle," Natasha crossed her arms. "Clear and present is Ultron."

 

Now it was Dean that faced Tony with a look of simmering anger. “You built this goddamn program. Why is it trying to kill us?" He demanded, wings twitching behind his back.

 

The silence that followed was heavy. And then, Tony laughed. A sharp, humourless chuckle.

 

"You think this is funny?" Thor's voice rumbled dangerously.

 

"No," Tony replied, still smiling faintly. "It's probably not, right?" He turned with a slightly unhinged look. "Is this very terrible? Is it so... is it so... it is. It's so terrible."

 

"This could've been avoided if you hadn't played with something you don't understand," Thor snapped.

 

Tony's grin dropped as he cut him off. "No, I'm sorry. I'm sorry. It is funny. It's a hoot that you don't get why we need this."

 

"Tony, maybe this might not be the time to—" Banner stepped in cautiously.

 

"Really?!" He rounded his temper on Banner. "That's it? You just roll over, show your belly, every time somebody snarls?"

 

"Only when I've created a murder bot."

 

"We didn't," Tony shot back. "We weren't even close. Were we close to an interface?"

 

"Well, you did something right," Steve cut through the arguement with sharp disapproval. "And you did it right here. The Avengers were supposed to be different than SHIELD."

 

Tony glanced around the room. "Anybody remember when I carried a nuke through a wormhole? Saved New York? Recall that?” He was met with silence, and then continued. “A hostile alien army came charging through a hole in space. We're standing three-hundred feet below it. We're the Avengers. We can bust arms dealers all the livelong day, but that up there?" He pointed to the ceiling. "That's... that's the endgame. How were you guys planning on beating that?"

 

"Together," Steve answered simply.

 

Tony stepped up to him. "We'll lose."

 

"Then we'll do that together, too," 

 

Tony didn’t reply. But the words hung in the air, heavy and unwavering .

 

Steve turned to the others. "Thor’s right. Ultron's calling us out. And I'd like to find him before he's ready for us. The world's a big place. Let's start making it smaller."

Notes:

I realized after I wrote the beginning that Steve not telling Dean about his suspicions is actually very in character for him, considering he didn't tell Tony that he knew Bucky killed his parents.

Also, I came up with the He-Man joke myself, so I'm basically a genius. And world-class comedian :)

Chapter 18: CHAPTER FOURTEEN : JIGSAW FALLING INTO PLACE

“Wish away the nightmare, you’ve got a light”

 

~~~

 

 

The tension in the lab still hung just as heavy the next day. Most of the Avengers were scattered throughout the room, their expressions a mixture of concern and determination. Natasha was hunched over a computer with Dean beside her, the screens casting a dim blue light over their tired faces. Together they sifted through encrypted files, cross-referencing locations, and piecing together a trail of destruction.

 

Their heads snapped up in unison as Steve and Maria entered the room. Steve held a tablet in one hand, a dark expression on his face. He said nothing, just passed the tablet to Thor. Dean glanced over to see a single, grim image. Baron Strucker, dead, with a message scrawled next to his corpse in his own blood: PEACE.

 

"What's this?" Tony asked, walking over to them.

 

"A message," Steve answered as Thor shoved the tablet into Tony's chest. "Ultron killed Strucker."

 

Tony barely caught it, looking down at the screen with an unimpressed expression as Banner leaned over his shoulder to look. "And he did a Banksy at the crime scene just for us."

 

"This is a smoke screen," Natasha stated firmly before she questioned, "Why send a message when you've just given a speech?"

 

Dean leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. "Strucker knew something that Ultron doesn't want us to.” He guessed, glancing over at Nat.

 

Nat met his gaze before turning back to the computer. “Yeah, I bet he… Yeah. Everything we had on Strucker’s been erased.” She said, staring at the screen that now read, ‘record deleted’.

 

“Not everything.” Steve said. “SHEILD kept physical copy of all their files.”

 

The team pulled the books of paper files from the storage room, and soon enough they were all elbow-deep in classified documents.

 

"Known associates," Steve muttered, pulling the lid off one of the boxes and rifling through the contents. "Baron Strucker had a lot of friends."

 

"Well, these people are all..." Dean one of the files. "Horrible." He dropped it and picked up another, scanning the contents before Tony suddenly pointed at the document.

 

"Wait. I know that guy," Tony said, and Dean held out the file to him.

 

Tony's eyes scanned the file as the others watched him. "From back in the day," he explained. "He operates off the African coast. Black market arms."

 

Steve gave him a disapproving look, and Tony quickly defended himself. "There are conventions, alright? You meet people. I didn't sell him anything. He was talking about finding something new, a game-changer. It was all very Ahab ."

 

Thor suddenly pointed at a photo in the file. “This.”

 

Tony glanced over. “It’s a tattoo, I don’t think he had it.”

 

“He’s pointing at the brand marking.” Dean clarified.

 

Bruce turned to his computer at that, his fingers tapping rapidly against the keyboard. "Oh, yeah. It's a word in an African dialect meaning 'thief'. In a much less friendly way."

 

“What dialect?” Steve asked.

 

“Wakanda?” Bruce said, struggling with the pronunciation.

 

Tony turned to Steve. "If this guy got out of Wakanda with some of their trade goods..." 

 

“I thought your father said he got the last of it.” Steve’s brow furrowed.

 

"I don't follow. What comes out of Wakanda?" Bruce cut in.

 

Dean just pointed to Steve’s shield in the corner. “The strongest metal on Earth.”

 

~~~

 

They tracked the dealer to a cluster of rusting cargo ships in a salvage yard on the African Coast. The team quietly infiltrated the fleet into one of the ships just in time.

 

"Don't compare me to Stark!" Ultron's voice echoed through the ship as he loomed over the dealer. "It's a thing with me. Stark is... he's a sickness!"

 

"Ah, Junior," Tony quipped from behind the robot, with Thor and Steve flanking him. "You're gonna break your old man's heart,"

 

Ultron's head snapped around and he turned to face the three heroes. "If I have to."

 

“Nobody has to break anything.” Thor said.

 

“Clearly you’ve never made an omelet.” Ultron retorted as the two kids from the hydra base stepped into the light behind him.

 

"He beat me by one second," Tony muttered under his breath.

 

"Ah, yes, he's funny, Mr. Stark. It's what? Comfortable? Like old times?" The boy sneered, glancing at the missiles and weapons stacked in the cargo hold below.

 

"This was never my life," Tony shot back sharply.

 

Steve turned his gaze toward the twins. "You two can still walk away from this."

 

The girl tilted her head with something eerily close to amusement. "Oh, we will."

 

Steve took a measured step forward, his voice softer now. "I know you've suffered—"

 

Ultron let out a dry chuckle that held no mirth. "Captain America," he drawled, voice laced with mockery. "God's righteous man. Pretending you could live without a war. I can't physically throw up in my mouth, but..."

 

Thor took a step forward, cutting him off before the words could linger. "If you believe in peace, then let us keep it."

 

Ultron turned his piercing gaze toward the god of thunder, his expression unreadable. "I think you're confusing 'peace' with 'quiet.'"

 

"Ya-huh," Tony interjected, uninterested in Ultron's philosophy. "What's the vibranium for?"

 

"I'm glad you asked that," Ultron said, delighted by the opportunity to elaborate. "Because I wanted to take this time to explain my evil plan."

 

Before anyone could react, Ultron raised a hand, and in an instant, a powerful surge of energy connected with the arc reactor to blast Tony backward.

 

Natasha, Dean and Clint heard the ensuing chaos from where they were positioned. They hid in the shadows above, keeping the element of surprise. Dean kept his wings curled tight to his back as he crept through the corridors of the ship, taking down the dealer’s armed hired hands.

 

Meanwhile, the girl was making her own rounds through the ship. She turned a corner and paused, spotting a figure standing ahead of her, back turned and cloaked in shadow. Her gaze landed on the sword in his hand. So an Avenger, she assumed. Red energy curled from her hands, creeping forward. 

 

Dean’s step staggered as his vision turned red, the corridor becoming unfocused. Before he can fully comprehend what's going on, the ship dissolves around him, shifting into something else. 

 

Someplace else.

 

Dean felt his breath catch. He knows this place. He knows every chipped bit of paint, every creak in the wooden floorboards. It’s the old apartment in Brooklyn. He stares around the room in disbelieving horror. This wasn’t possible.

 

He felt… lighter. Like a weight was lifted off his shoulders. He rolled them instinctively, and felt something missing.

 

His wings. They were gone.

 

He reached a trembling hand back to press against his shoulder blade where his wings usually sat. The skin was smooth, unscarred. Nothing was there.

 

And then he heard it.

 

“Doll?”

 

It was a voice he hadn't heard that young and delicate in decades. A voice still untouched by war, blood, and silence. A voice that shouldn't— couldn't —be here.

 

Dean turned, and the sight almost brought him to his knees.

 

Bucky Barnes stood in the bedroom doorway, wearing a white T-shirt and boxers, short hair mussed from sleep. His stance was easy, his eyes warm in a way Dean hadn’t seen in decades.

 

“You’re up early,” Bucky says with a smile, voice warm.

 

Dean’s throat tightens as he moves toward him on instinct. “James…”

 

He had spent so long accepting that Bucky was gone. But here he was, standing in front of him, flesh and bone, voice warm and familiar, eyes filled with something Dean hadn't seen in so long .

 

Dean had no idea what was happening. But he knew this wasn’t right. Wasn’t real .

 

Bucky stands, that crooked smile tugging at his mouth as he reaches for Dean’s hand. His touch is warm, solid. Dean moved before he could think, wrapping his arms around Bucky’s waist and pulling him close.

 

“I missed you.” Dean breathed, pressing his forehead to Bucky’s shoulder.

 

He squeezed his eyes shut, an old but familiar comfort washing over him. For a desperate second, he let himself be here. Let himself have this.

 

Then a different voice cut through it all, shaky with disbelief.

 

“ Ma? ”

 

It was a voice Dean hadn’t heard in what felt like an eternity, but it was one he could never forget.

 

He blinked hard, and whatever illusion was around him began to crumble. Next thing he knew he was back on the ship. He stumbled and landed in a half-way slump against the wall. His eyes darted around, and quickly found a girl staring at him, wide eyed. He blinked again and a boy was standing next to her with the same shocked expression.

 

“Wanda? Pietro?” Dean whispered, the names sounding almost like a prayer.

 

“No…” Wanda trembled softly, fear flashing across her face as she stepped back. “You can’t… You’re dead , Hydra told-”

 

“Our Ma is dead.” Pietro interjected, moving in front of Wanda with a guarded expression. “Who are you?” 

 

“Hydra lied to you. They made me believe the same thing about you.” Dean pleaded, voice cracking. “They- God, Hydra had you this whole time. I’m so sorry, milseáin .”

 

“How did you-” Pietro started. 

 

The twins glanced at each other. That name. Only one person had ever called them that.

 

Not even a second later they launched themselves into Dean’s arms, Wanda burying her face into his chest and Pietro clinging around his waist. Dean embraced both of them just as tightly, holding on like they would vanish again if he let go.

 

“It’s really you…” Wanda whispered, her voice breaking.

 

“You’re alive,” Pietro said into his shoulder.

 

“Yeah, it’s me. I’m not going anywhere.” Dean promised, his eyes beginning to sting.

 

For a moment they just held each other, until Dean pulled back just enough to look them over. “Wait, what are you two doing here?” He asked with a tight tone.

 

Pietro’s expression flickered for the briefest second before he crossed his arms. “We’re here because of you.”

 

“Me?” Dean shot back, brow furrowed. 

 

“Ultron found us. Hydra wasn’t… finished with us. He told us he could give us the justice we wanted.” Wanda added softly, then hesitated as her eyes locked on him. “We thought—”

 

Pietro cut in, almost defensive. “They took you from us. They had to pay for it.”

 

Dean’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t say anything.

 

Wanda’s gaze dropped. “But he lied. About a lot. I… saw what he’s planning. He doesn’t want justice. He wants to burn everything. We were looking for a way to stop him.”

 

Pietro nodded quickly, looking determined. “We can help. Keep him believing we’re on his side, and we can get information. Stop him before it’s too late.”

 

Dean shook his head. “It’s too dangerous—”

 

“We’ve lived in danger our whole lives. Let us do this.” Wanda pleaded.

 

Pietro gave him a rare, serious look. “It’s what you would do.” He argued stubbornly.

 

Dean stared at the two of them for a moment before letting out a heavy sigh. “Keep each other safe, and be careful. I mean it.”

 

“We will,” Wanda promised as Pietro nodded.

 

Dean held both of them one last time, letting the reality sink in. They were alive. Then he forced himself to let them go, and they slipped away as quickly as they’d appeared, leaving Dean alone in the corridor.

 

He was still rooted to that spot when Clint appeared in the corridor in front of him a minute later. 

 

“You with me Sarge?” Clint asked, coming closer to check for damage.

 

Dean shook his head, clearing the lingering shock. “Yeah… yeah, I’m here.”

 

Clint gave a knowing nod and the two set off through the wreckage, steady and focused in search for the rest of their teammates. Sure enough, Dean found Steve in an adjacent corridor, his eyes distant and unfocused.

 

“Steve,” Dean gripped him by the arms and lightly shook. “Come on Stevie, wake up.”

 

A second later Steve blinked, and Dean breathed a sigh of relief as he watched the haze fade from Steve’s face.

 

Meanwhile, Clint found Natasha crumpled on the ground and pulled her up, steadying her as she came back to herself. Then he moved on to Thor, who barely acknowledged the archer’s presence, just let himself be guided.

 

No one spoke as the five of them regrouped, shell shocked but moving, and slowly made their way back to the quinjet.

Notes:

milseáin - 'sweethearts' in Irish.
Sarah taught Dean a little bit of Irish when he was little.

Chapter 19: CHAPTER FIFTEEN : I’M NOT OKAY (I PROMISE)

Notes:

I should probably clarify that in this universe, Wanda finds out about Ultron's real plan before she does in the movies. Also, if there is ever anything that confusing, don't hesitate to ask in the comments, I'm more than happy to explain, I know my writing can get kinda confusing sometimes. :)

“Trust me”

 

~~~

 

 

The jet was suffocatingly silent. No one spoke, no one moved more than necessary. The only sounds were the faint hum of the engines and Bruce's unsteady breathing from where he sat slumped in his seat, still reeling from what had happened. 

 

Dean sat in the corner, head down and staring at the floor. Steve and the others believed he was just dealing with the aftermath of the hallucinations like they were. And he let them believe it.

 

But he was struggling with much more. He was trying to grasp the fact that the twins were alive . And even worse, he had left them to rot in some Hydra facility for the last decade, at least. He hadn’t even questioned it, hadn’t even tried to look for them.

 

Outside, dawn broke the skyline as the jet descended. It wasn't until Clint landed the jet in the middle of nowhere that Dean forced himself to lift his head. 

 

A farmhouse appeared out of the early morning haze, tucked away in the center of a sprawling green meadow. It was the kind of place that didn't look like it should exist in their world. Too quiet. Too peaceful. A jarring shift from the chaos they’d endured only hours earlier.

 

“What is this place?” Thor finally broke the silence as they stepped onto the wooden porch, his deep voice carrying an edge of suspicion.

 

"A safe house," Tony answered, uncertainty lacing his tone.

 

Clint let out a breath. "Let's hope."

 

With that, he opened the door and stepped inside. One by one, the others followed. Dean and Natasha were last with his arm around her shoulders, bracing her as she walked unsteadily beside him.

 

"Honey," Clint called out, voice lighter than it had been in days. "I'm home."

 

From around the corner, a petite woman appeared, a stack of papers in her hands. She froze for only a heartbeat before her warm brown eyes lit up with a smile when she saw Clint. Setting the papers down, she crossed the room quickly and wrapped her arms around Clint’s neck.

 

“Company,” Clint said, tilting his head toward the group huddled awkwardly in the entryway. “Sorry I didn’t call ahead.”

 

The woman just kissed him before stepping back, eyes sweeping over the team with surprising calm.

 

“This is an agent of some kind,” Tony declared immediately, pointing at her like he’d uncovered a grand conspiracy.

 

Clint sighed. "Gentlemen, this is Laura."

 

Laura waved, her expression kind but amused. "I know all your names."

 

Before the Avengers could react, the thunder of small feet echoed from the hallway. Two children rushed into the room—a boy and a girl—throwing themselves at Clint with squeals of delight. Clint crouched, catching them both, pressing a kiss to the top of his daughter’s head.

 

Tony squinted at the children, "These are ... smaller agents. "

 

"Tony, stop talking." Dean hissed under his breath, and Tony just held up his hands.

 

“Did you bring Auntie Nat?” The little girl asked Clint.

 

Nat stepped forward, her face softening into something rare and warm. “Why don’t you hug her and find out?” She smiled as the girl ran over to her for a hug.

 

Steve turned to Laura, offering a polite, "Sorry for barging in on you."

 

"Yeah, we would've called ahead," Tony cut in, arms crossed, "but we were busy having no idea that you existed."

 

Clint just shrugged, unbothered. "Yeah, well, Fury helped me set up this joint when I joined. He kept it off SHIELD's files." He explained before adding, “I’d like to keep it that way. I figure it’s a good place to lay low.”

 

A few minutes later, Thor turned and quickly walked out of the house, a dark expression on his face. 

 

Steve immediately followed him. “Thor?” 

 

“I saw something in that dream.” Thor stated, turning to face Steve. “I need answers. I won’t find them here.”

 

Without another word, Thor launched himself into the sky, leaving a cloud of dust in his wake.

 

~~~

 

Clint and Laura were generous enough to offer the team their spare rooms and clean clothes. Steve and Dean thanked them before retreating into the guestroom they were pointed to.

 

They quickly kicked off their boots, unstrapping their holsters and gear. Steve went straight to the shower while Dean sat down on the edge of one of the beds.

 

He hadn’t moved from that spot when Steve came back out. And he still had that complicated, far away look on his face. 

 

“What’s going on with you?” Steve asked gently, a concerned look on his face.

 

Dean's eyes flicked up, before he hung his head down. “The twins—they’re alive.”

 

Steve froze in front of him. “Alive?”

 

Dean ran a hand over his face, taking a deep breath. “Wanda and Pietro were on the cargo ship. Hydra lied to me while they buried the twins deeper in the facilities. But they’re alive.”

 

Steve’s brows furrowed. “They were with Ultron.”

 

Dean nodded. “Ultron broke them out, promised them the justice they wanted. But Wanda figured out his actual plan. They were trying to find a way to stop him, and they’re on our side now. They’re playing his side to get intel.”

 

“You didn’t tell me they had powers.” Steve stated, skepticism written clearly across his face. 

 

“Never really came up. All Hydra cared about was their powers, and they went to horrid lengths trying to figure them out. Forgive me if its not something I’m exactly thrilled to share.”

 

Steve exhaled slowly, moving to pace the room as his mind spun all the possibilities, threats, and contingencies. “Dean, this is… I mean, they’re… powers, Ultron, Hydra… It’s a lot to trust blindly.”

 

Dean’s eyes locked onto his, a quiet confidence in his tone. “Steve… They're my kids. I trust them. You know I don’t give that away lightly.”

 

“We don’t know what Ultron’s capable of. Or how far he can manipulate them.” Steve said warily, but his expression softened just slightly.

 

Dean didn’t say anything as Steve’s gaze lingered on him for a long moment. He was assessing, searching for any sign of recklessness. But he found none. Only determination and trust in a bond that had survived too much to be broken now.

 

Steve sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Alright. I trust you.”

 

“That’s all I need.” Dean let out a breath of his own, shoulders loosening a fraction.

 

~~~

 

Later, what was left of the team had gathered back in the living room of the farmhouse. There wasn’t much conversation, the weight of the mission still hanging heavy over all of them.

 

The sound of creaking floorboards cut through the quiet as the front door opened. Tony strolled in first, brushing hay off his sleeves like he’d just been working on something. Behind him came a taller shadow, one that made everyone pause.

 

Nick Fury stepped in like he owned the place, trench coat brushing his boots. “Miss me?” he drawled, gaze flicking over the room. 

 

Everyone looked mildly surprised, except Clint, who no doubt already knew.

 

Steve exhaled heavily. “Should’ve guessed you’d find us here.”

 

“You didn’t think I’d let the world burn without showing up, did you?” Fury answered, sweeping his eye across the rest of the team. 

 

Soon enough, the team had moved to crowd the kitchen. Dean and Nat sat at the table with Fury, while the others stood spread out around the room.

 

“Ultron took you folks out of play to buy himself time.” Fury started. “My contacts all say he’s building something. The amount of vibranium he made off with, I don’t think it’s just one thing.”

 

“What about Ultron himself?” Steve asked from where he leaned against the wall.

 

“Oh, he’s easy to track. He’s everywhere. The guy is multiplying faster than a catholic rabbit.” Fury answered quickly before shaking his head. “It still doesn’t help us get an angle on any of his plans, though.”

 

“Is he still going after launch codes?” Tony cut in from the other side of the room, half-heartedly throwing darts at Clint’s dartboard.

 

Furry nodded. “Yes, he is. But he’s not making any head way.”

 

Tony turned away from the dartboard with a scoff. "I cracked the Pentagon's firewall in high school on a dare."

 

“I contacted some friends about that.” Fury told Tony, before shifting his sharp gaze to Dean. “I also reached out to others for information on his two new sidekicks.”

 

Dean stiffened in his seat, and Steve’s head snapped towards his brother and the ex-director. The rest of the team caught all of it.

 

Tony raised a brow. “Mind elaborating on that Fury?”

 

“I’m not the one you should be asking.” Fury stated simply, still staring pointedly at Dean.

 

All eyes turned to Dean, who glanced up with an unreadable expression on his face.

 

“They’re my kids.” He said finally, voice low but firm. “The result of a Hydra experiment. They made me believe they were dead. I didn’t– I just left them to rot in that damn facility.” He let the words hang, raw and bitter.

 

Tony leaned back with a sharp laugh. “Oh, great. You’ve been holding out on us? They’re yours ? Remind me, we are talking about the two homicidal twins that have nearly tore us apart multiple times, right?”

 

“Lay off Tony.” Steve cut in. “He just found out on the Cargo ship. They attacked him too, they didn’t know .”

 

Dean glared up at Tony. “They were being used . Ultron broke them out and lied to them, promised them justice. But they figured out the truth. Themselves . They’re not with him anymore. They’re watching him, collecting intel to pass on to me. To us .”

 

Natasha frowned, doubt flickering in her eyes. “Dean… they might not be the same kids you remember. How do we know this isn’t a setup?”

 

“Because I know my kids.” Dean stated, his tone unwavering. “If I’m wrong somehow, then that’s on me. And I’ll handle it.”

 

The conviction in his voice left no room for argument. With that, the kitchen fell quiet, the only sound the ticking clock on the wall and the faint creak of the farmhouse settling around them. 

 

Fury finally leaned back, the corners of his mouth twitched like he’d expected this exact explosion. “Guess the family business just keeps getting bigger.”

 

“This is insane.” Bruce rubbed his temples, muttering under his breath. 

 

Tony stared at Dean a moment longer. “You better be right about this, Sarge. But just to be clear, one wrong move from either of them, and we’ll–”

 

Dean cut him off defiantly. “ Then I’ll deal with it. ”

 

A tense silence fell before Clint shifted the conversation. “Now that that’s out of the way, what did your friends say about the lauchcodes?” 

 

"He's fixated on the missiles," Fury answered. "But the codes are constantly being changed."

 

"By whom?" Tony asked, before a dart hit dead center on the board and Tony turned to scowl at Clint.

 

"Parties unknown." Fury replied.

 

“Do we have an ally?” Natasha tilted her head slightly. 

 

“Ultron’s got an enemy. That’s not the same thing.” Fury corrected. “Still, I’d pay folding money to know who it is.”

 

Tony stepped into the dining room. "I might need to visit your friends," he muttered. "Find our unknown."

 

Natasha cut in sharply from her spot at the table. "Well, this is good times, Boss… but I was kinda hoping when I saw you, you'd have more than that."

 

Fury didn't hesitate. "I do. I have you ." He stated simply. "Back in the day, I had eyes everywhere. Ears, everywhere else. You kids had all the tech you could dream of. Here we all are, back on Earth, with nothing but our wit and our will to save the world."

 

His gaze swept over them, one by one, taking in the exhaustion, the frustration, but also the resilience.

 

 "Ultron says the Avengers are the only thing between him and his mission. And whether or not he admits it, his mission is global destruction. All this , laid in a grave. So stand. Outwit the platinum bastard."

 

There was a beat of silence before Natasha said, "Steve doesn't like that kind of talk."

 

 Steve's arms were still crossed, but a lighter look crept onto his face. " You know what, Romanoff? " He started as she smirked at him.

 

Fury ignored them. "So what does he want?"

 

“To become better. Better than us.” Steve glanced at him, then around the room. “He keeps building bodies.”

 

"Person bodies." Tony added and they all turned toward him before he explained. "The human form isn't efficient. Biologically speaking, we're outmoded. But he keeps coming back to it."

 

Natasha raised a brow, glancing between Bruce and Tony. "When you two programmed him to protect the human race, you amazingly failed."

 

Bruce shook his head, voice tight. "They don't need to be protected. They need to evolve.” He looked up as the realization dawned on him. “Ultron's going to evolve."

 

“How?” Fury shot back.

 

The question hanging in the air for a moment before Bruce spoke again.

 

"Has anyone been in contact with Helen Cho?"

Chapter 20: Author’s Note

I’m very sad to announce that this story might not be updated for a bit. I am starting my first year of college and have a very full schedule, so I’m not sure when I’ll have time to work on this.

I WILL continue and finish this story, I’m just not sure when. I also doubt I will update as often either.

Thank you to everyone who’s read this so far, I really appreciate it! And I love seeing all of your comments too, it makes my day!

 

Thanks, Angel

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 1 of The Last of The Real Ones