Chapter 9
"Alright, I've got your six. Let's move."
Khalid Khandil had proven to be quite a task to track. Every time the supervisor of Sam's unit thought that they'd gotten close, he'd orchestrate an attack on a crowded marketplace or business district or a guerrilla attack on a government building, sending the men off in one-hundred different directions, and making his getaway.
"Ground floor is clear. Move in."
A day before, they'd snatched the man's brother, who with a little persuasion by means of US sanctioned immunity, sang a beautiful tune of his criminal sibling's whereabouts, leading Sam and the rest of his unit to the complex they are currently raiding.
Up ahead of him, Riley is in the same position he's been in since they were ten years old. He's always jumped headlong into terrifying situations, Sam following close behind, watching his back.
This would more than likely be their final op together; Khalid being the very man they had been tasked with ascertaining when they'd first ascended the ranks of the army.
Riley's wife had called just three days earlier, saying that they'd be having a baby girl, and he'd have to hurry home to pick out a name.
To say that Sam was excited for his best friend would have been the understatement of the century, knowing the man would make a perfect father to his future daughter.
"Top floor clear."
At Riley's words, Sam's thoughts are drawn back into the task at hand, as he follows his friend out of the tight stairwell they'd been descending into a large open room, floor to ceiling windows cascading moonlight into the building.
"Made..... Hostile.... Fall Ba....."
The most blinding white light envelops the room preceding the broken transmission, and Sam's knocked completely off his feet as the entire complex shakes.
It's all not nearly enough to pull Sam from his irrevocable front seat witnessing of Riley being taken in the blink of an eye.
"Sam! Sam, stop, please!"
This voice is new. Familiar, and safe in a way, but not Riley's.
Flames and heat are all around still, this time emanating from a police cruiser a few feet away.
The guttural sting of loss hits him just as hard the second time, and he collapses to his knees, Steve falling down to meet him, placing strong hands on his shoulders.
"Fuck! Steve! I....I, I... I couldn't..."
Steve doesn't say a word, just pulls Sam's face to rest on his shoulder, letting the man choke out the sobs he'd been holding in through his flashback.
A few feet away, Rhodey can't do anything but stare on in disbelief at the mangled pile of metal consumed in fire, his best friend's voice now dead in the air around him.
He knows he should see red, all-consuming anger. Knows he should want to march until he's found Rollins and his men, and kill them all slowly and intimately, then hand-deliver their corpses to Alexander Pierce before doing the same to him.
But he doesn't feel a thing.
Not a damn thing.
Wherever his emotion and volition used to lie has been so absolutely gutted, he thinks in that moment, standing under the steady spray of the wash, that he'll never feel a damn thing again.
The other four seem only there to witness the nightmare, Bucky holding Bobbi close, both far too hollow to truly process any more loss.
Clint has a far away expression on his face, seeing in grotesque detail the burning vehicle in front of him; smelling death in the air, but not processing any of it.
Natasha is somehow able to keep her emotions reigned in enough to tear at the fabric of her husband's jacket, using it to patch up the knife wound on his hand. With each unsteady breath, she feels as if she's skirting closer and closer to the abyss of an attack, and she's determined to stay strong in the moment.
She's tries not to think on the fact that the satellite phone; their only way of keeping in touch with Agent Carter, had been in the cruiser when it was obliterated.
Though her mind has been bombarded with so many sights she'll never un-see, her grip on reality is enough that the black SUV heading at alarming speed in their direction doesn't pass her attention.
"Guys. We've gotta move."
She turns in horror to see Rhodes going for the pistol he'd lost in his struggle with Fisk, no doubt looking to avenge his best friend.
"Jim, don't!"
The Colonel doesn't acknowledge her words in the slightest, rather, continues walking toward the gun, his face schooled to an expression of deadly intent.
"Colonel, please. We need to go."
"Can't do that, ma'am."
She surprises herself by jumping to her feet, and throwing Rhodey up against the wall, everyone (including Rhodes himself) just as shocked. Nat doesn't relent on her grasp, pleading with wild eyes.
"You won't be any help to him if you're dead."
By this point, Bucky and Steve have moved with Bobbi and Sam to the far end of the building, her husband waiting behind for her and the Colonel.
With every beat of their hearts, the vehicle gets closer and closer, and Nat has half a mind to knock Rhodes unconscious and have Clint carry him out.
"I........"
He gives one final gaze over the carnage that was supposed to be their ticket to salvation, knowing that Tony wouldn't stay here and die in a blaze of misplaced glory. So, he says one final silent farewell, and nods toward Natasha, before they all make their escape.
"CAN YOU IDENTIFY THE BODIES OR NOT!?"
Rollins has a vice-like grip on the trembling soldier in front of him, eyes ablaze with anger over what is most likely another failed attempt at eliminating Rhodes.
"No.... No I can't. The most I can tell you is that there are two females and one male."
Rollins throws the man to the ground before stalking his way to stand in the center of the small group of men under his order.
"We have to assume that Colonel Rhodes is indeed still en route out of town. I needn't remind you all of the nuke Representative Pierce has locked and loaded if we haven't completed our task by nightfall. Move out."
Everyone of them pops a perfect salute to their commanding officer, the man marching back toward the SUV, radioing in to Pierce on his (lack of) progress.
"Hail Hydra."
"Typically all parties remain in the situation room until the situation has been resolved."
If it weren't for the blatant roll of eyes, Fury would have been certain that the Senator had not heard his words.
He just throws his arms up in surrender, sinking back into his seat in the process.
"But what do I know?"
Stern has been pacing the room for what feels like an eternity, the same smarmy and repugnant curve of lips plastered on his face.
Pierce and Carter have been gone for an alarming amount of time, and the Director is trying desperately to block the gruesome images of what their absence could entail.
The representative had lost his trust almost twenty years earlier, after a series of questionable proceedings had resulted in the loss of thirteen of his agents, all young with families they left behind.
Extremis would be a new level of evil for the man, but not one Fury thinks he's not capable of.
He's also never liked Stern. For no other reason than he just really doesn't like him.
He's also the type that has more than likely covered up corruption and tax evasion for himself and his wealthy friends, while the poor of Iowa get woefully poorer.
"Awfully fortuitous, all this happening just before your Senate bid, isn't it?"
For the first time all morning, the weasel actually makes a show of reacting to the Director, whipping around and leveling him with a glare.
"I hope that you're not insinuating that I plan to use such a tragedy for personal gain."
"Not insinuating a thing, just making an observation."
Stern doesn't seem pleased with the answer, but also doesn't raise any further argument; instead turning to pace the floor once again.
"Not even two-thousand people in Waverly. The rest of the world will scarcely know it's gone."
Stern clenches his fists and moves to slam one on the table, face flush with anger, glaring with intensity that Fury wasn't aware he was capable of conveying.
"Please don't dance around your words, Nick. Tell me exactly what you want to say."
The director doesn't flinch, doesn't betray a single emotion as he holds the Senator's gaze, hands flat on the table in front of him.
He's got the man right where he wants him.
Stern, to his credit, doesn't relent in his stare, face still shining with anger.
Then, the man's phone screen lights up with a text notification, startling both men.
Fury looks to the screen before the Senator can take it, reading the message over quickly, overwhelmed but not surprised by what it says.
"I have Agent Carter. Keep Fury occupied until I can come take care of him myself."
Bingo.
Stern's face finally reveals the character of the man underneath, pale and frightened and guilty and evil, as he ever so slightly shies away from the Director.
"Let's not jump to conclusions, Nick."
He suddenly grabs a hand under the table, pulling out a handgun, aiming it right between Fury's eyes.
"You ever hear the proverb, lying lips are an abomination, Senator?"
"Not too big on the bible, actually. I haven't prospered in Washington for twenty years by breaking bread with the least of us."
Stern quirks his lips in a challenging smirk, reveling in having complete control of the situation.
Or so he thinks.
"I'll tell your wife you died doing what you love. Being a pain in my a-"
Fury takes advantage of the quip to level his feet firmly on the floor, grabbing the table in both his hands, and throwing it forward into Stern. He loses his balance almost immediately, dropping the weapon as he careens toward the wall, slamming against the plaster.
Fury throws the table out of the way, kicking the man in the face as he tries to reach for the gun once again, before kicking it across the room.
Stern staggers back against the wall, and Fury grabs his neck in both hands, slamming his head against the hard surface once again.
"I'm gonna kill you!"
"Yeah, no... No, I've got two years until I retire. I'm not dying today."
One good punch is all it takes to have the bastard on the floor, and the Director makes quick work of holstering his gun and tying him down.
A quick scan through the Senator's phone is enough for Fury to decipher his texting style, and he sends a message back to Pierce, hoping the man won't suspect a thing.
His only task now is finding the bastard before he has a chance to do any more harm to Waverly or Agent Carter.
Taking a deep breath, he schools his features, and steps out of the situation room and into the fray of the building, making sure no eyes are on him as he makes his way to the nearest fire alarm and pulling it, immediately sending the building into a panic.
Amongst the madness, he continues on his way, praying that he can get to Sharon in time to save her life.
Oh won't you take me, from this valley. To that mountain high above.
In what feels like an eternity later, the remaining seven finally arrive at the truck depot, the song on the speakers cascading throughout the empty complex, setting a tone of unease even here, where they will at last make their escape from this Hell.
This is not the scene Clint had found himself in the night before. There were emotional reunions, frightened parents, and even more frightened children. It was chaos. It was panic.
Now, just like the rest of their hometown, it's empty. A harrowing reminder of the sins of the government sworn to protect against terrors exactly like this.
"This place was Grand Central last night."
No one responds; nothing needing to be said. The best they can do is follow the lead of the rest of the residents, and make their way out of town, then finally mourn their lost ones properly.
"I'll try to find a vehicle for us."
Sam attempts a smile, but it's not hard for any of the others to see that it doesn't quite reach his eyes.
"I'll go with you."
Bobbi just places a hand on his shoulder, and begins following him off on his search.
Rhodey doesn't say anything, but starts following the two as well. The man had been so stoic and unbreakable since the first morning in Nat's office. Seeing him so haunted now makes the rest of the group fight against a feeling of hopelessness.
As soon as they have entered the building, Natasha immediately begins dragging Clint away from Steve and Bucky.
"I'm gonna find a bathroom to wash up his hand in. You two find some food."
"I don't even know how you manage these things."
Clint just dipped his head away from his wife, avoiding her teasing gaze as she bandaged his freshly wounded hand; the man having been 'bested' by the crib he had been assembling.
With his pride at stake, he'd promptly tossed the thousand page instruction manual, telling Nat that it couldn't be *that* hard.
His bleeding hand was testament that experience should have taught him well, but hadn't.
"It's a lot harder than it looks, babe."
As she puts the finishing touches on the dressing, she leans forward and places a soft kiss on her husband's cheek.
"That's what the manual was for."
-
Clint doesn't realize how lost in memory he'd become until the first tug of gauze wrapping around his hand pulls him back into the present moment.
Nat is staunchly quiet, staying focused on her task, and he lapses into the recesses of his mind once again.
He thinks of Thor and Maria, how they'd been so young, so much life left to live. Thinks of the promise he'd made the morning Rhodes showed up to protect his wife and friends.
He's done one Hell of a job.
"We haven't picked any names yet."
Natasha's words take a moment to register, but a small smile snakes its way to his lips when they do.
"We don't even know if it's a boy or a girl yet."
Nat doesn't look up from her work, but the slight smirk she gives him is enough to make their current situation seem like any other quiet moment the couple would share.
"That's why we decide on a name for a girl and a name for a boy. It's called being prepared, sweetheart."
He rolls his eyes, though he's far from annoyed.
If he's being honest, Maria and Thor immediately come to mind as he thinks of potential names for their unborn child. The namesake seems a small step in forgiving himself and the universe for what happened to his friends, but his child shouldn't bare the weight of being named after his dead comrades.
Nathaniel.
He's always liked the name Nathaniel.
"I like it too."
He hadn't realized he said the name out loud, but is overjoyed at the smile Nat is giving him.
His body takes over for his mess of a mind, and he places a hand on Nat's stomach, rubbing small circles and reaching up to cup her face and pull her into a kiss with his other.
"What about a name for a girl?"
They sit close together on the cold tile of the bathroom floor, foreheads pressed close, breathing in the same air as the aroma of grilling burgers fills the space around them.
They both laugh as Clint's stomach chooses that moment to growl loudly.
"Let's eat first. Then we can swap ideas."
The barrel of Pierce's gun digging into her back is a harsh reminder of Sharon's predicament. Going up against the man had been harrowing, no doubt, so a scenario such as this playing out has plagued her thoughts ever since Fury had alerted her of his treason.
That's not what has the blonde marching to whatever end the Representative has in mind for her in poignant silence, however.
Tony, and his wife, and the life they have in that town cross her mind. Rhodey, and her promise to do everything she possibly could to help him help those people. Innocent people, and she'd failed them.
"Your Aunt ever tell you what went down in Colombia in '78?"
Pierce's words cut through the fog of grief surrounding Sharon's mind, and the woman can't seem to help but flinch, having grown used to the silence that had settled in between them since Pierce untied her and started making her march, aiming his gun at her back.
The thing is, her Aunt Peggy never told any stories about her line of work. She'd talk about the time she spent with the Strategic Scientific Reserve and the help that the organization offered to the U.S. military, but everything that happened during her time with the Homeland Division was kept tucked away in old file folders and three-ring binders behind storage units filled with Christmas decorations in the attic at the home she and Sharon's Aunt Angie shared. The woman taught Sharon to be a strong and independent young lady without turning her into a soldier made to follow orders. Sharon had joined the CIA of her own volition, the drive of wanting to make a difference fueling her spirit.
"Afraid not."
Pierce stays silent for a moment, and Sharon is able to entertain ideas of exactly what he has planned for her. She knows he isn't dull enough to shoot her; it would be too hard to explain away.
"I was young, just like yourself. Had the opportunity to take down one of the most prolific drug cartels in the Western Hemisphere, so I jumped at the opportunity. The op was simple; we were to infiltrate their ranks, find the key players, and lock them away. What my supervisors weren't prepared for was the massive amounts of munition and bio-weaponry we stumbled upon when we got there. They had children and women alike, packing explosives powerful enough to completely level New York into produce shipping crates. The operation had to be shut down, obviously, so I followed my orders."
And he let the statement hang in the air between them for a beat too long, making Sharon go rigid. She could pretty much assess the ending of the story, and certainly didn't like it at all.
"I hope you can agree that as gruesome an image as it is, we did what had to be done to protect our countries own interests and people. We make difficult decisions in this business, Agent Carter. Hydra may seem like a ruthless organization to you, but the funding they've done on closed door tactics under my guidance are going to be the only thing defending our country one day."
A humorless laugh bursts through her lips at the words, and she can feel Pierce press his gun further into her back as she does it.
"I'm sure the people of Waverly will be lining up to kiss the ground you walk on."
Pierce chuckles languidly at the quip, and Sharon, try as she may to fight it, feels tears begin to sting her eyes. She'd been working for a sociopath for years now, and now he's going to take not only her life, but Lord knows how many others in his misplaced quest to make a better world with help from a bunch of terrorist zealots.
"I'm sorry we can't agree on this sweetheart."
They make their way through a myriad of corridors, eventually coming upon a large set of metal doors opening up into a large stairwell, wrapping around all forty floors of the building, themselves being a good twenty stories up.
"I ran to try and stop her, but Ms. Carter jumped long before I ever had a chance."
Each word echoes in the large open space, as Sharon clings onto the hope that she'll be given an opening to draw Pierce's attention long enough to disarm him and save herself.
"The workload was too heavy. The poor girl couldn't juggle the responsibilities of juggling her career and her own personal relationships, and fell easily into depression. I only wish we had noticed sooner."
"You sure know how to sell a story, Representative."
The man once again beams an evil smile, marching Sharon closer and closer to the twenty-story drop.
"Even the bible is just a collection of stories, dear-"
As her body gently hits the railing, Sharon realizes she's reached the end of the line, and the open stairwell might as well be an abyss. She can't help but stare, accepting her fate.
"Go ahead and climb over."
It's an almost out of body experience, her own arms and legs helping to lift her over the metal bars, and take purchase on the small overhang of tile on the other side.
The sound of a fire alarm suddenly blaring causes her to nearly jump out of her skin, and combined with the sudden spray of the ceiling sprinklers, she feels herself losing her footing.
"Buck, keep your eyes closed!"
"They are closed!"
..........
"Bucky...."
"Fine."
How Steve, from his place in the on suite, is even able to tell that Bucky's peeking an eye through his fingers is beyond him, so Bucky just huffs in defeat, and closes his hands fully over his stormy blue orbs.
Bucky had used every trick in the book to coax his boyfriend straight to bed after he left to run a few errands, wearing Steve's favorite warn out flannel (and nothing else) which was two sizes too big for his body, the metal of his prosthetic making the left sleeve fall down off his shoulder. He'd even deigned to playing around a bit with a vibrator once he got a text from the blond saying he'd be home soon, usually hating that they pale in comparison to the real thing.
Steve however, had other plans, and retreated to the bathroom as soon as he set foot in the apartment, saying he had a surprise.
The last time Steve had a 'surprise', Bucky had to work two extra shifts a week for almost a month to help pay for a new oven after Steve turned Lasagna and Sangria bread into opening every window in their duplex and turning on every fan into the late hours of night, trying to clear the lingering smoke.
He's been resigned to chopping veggies and grilling on occasion ever since.
"Are your eyes still closed?"
...........
"Buck."
"Yes, yes. Jesus."
The door to the bathroom is slowly opened, and Bucky fights the urge to peek as Steve moves to stand just a few inches from the foot of the bed.
"Alright. Go ahead and look."
Bucky's breath catches in his throat as he takes in the sight in front of him. Steve had been coming home in sweaty NYPD tees from the academy and joggers for so long, that seeing him now in a sleek black NYPD uniform, every last muscle threatening to burst from the tight shirt is like an oasis on the horizon of the Sahara.
"Stevie...."
The guy in all his mirth and usual swagger, dips his head and blushes back at his boyfriend.
"It's official now, baby. This is the first step in the rest of our lives together. I can buy you your dream house and an actual car so I don't have to drop you off to work every morning on the Harley-"
And Bucky's eyes betray him, as tears begin to cloud the beautiful sight in front of him.
"And maybe one day, we can start a family together."
"Yes. Fucking Hell, yes."
He's wrapped up in Steve's embrace a moment later, spinning around the room, before their lips meet in a sweet kiss that very quickly turns hungry and dirty.
And then he's being tossed back into the bed, Steve smiling that crooked, breathtaking smile back at him, looking so very debonair in his uniform. He raises his brow and plasters an authoritative (incredibly sexy) stare on his face.
"Sir, are you aware that it's a crime here in the state of New York to be so damn sexy?"
And it's sweet, but Bucky's clutching at his stomach, chuckling at his boyfriend who's now got his brow raised and arms crossed over his chest.
"Oh my God..... C'mere you dork."
And another tender kiss is placed to Bucky's lips as he finds himself in the safest place in the world, lying underneath Steve.
"I love you."
"And I love you."
Not many more coherent thoughts are voiced after that, Steve pinning his giggling boyfriend to the mattress. The uniform is going to pose a problem, or so Bucky thinks, until Steve turns him onto his stomach, grabs his ass in his big hands, and brings him to a climax with nothing but his mouth.
-
Steve has been uncharacteristically stoic since he'd found the frozen patties about ten minutes ago, grilling the burgers in silence as Bucky just sits on a barstool on the other side of the counter, arms wrapped around himself, staring back at his fiancé.
He'd in true form looked over Bucky's bandaging and checked to make sure no significant damage had been done to his prosthetic from Simpson's attack, then kissed the brunet on the forehead and went off in search of the food.
No matter what has happened in the recent days, Bucky will be damned if he lets it drive this wedge between himself and Steve.
"You remember Daisy Johnson?"
Steve barks out a laugh before turning and raising a brow at his other half.
"Remember her? I was convinced I was gonna drop outta high-school and marry the girl."
Bucky just laughs back at the words, remembering the misplaced resentment he held for a girl who was actually very sweet and good to Steve.
"I hated that poor girl so much, Stevie. I used to be so jealous of her. I was prepared to be your side piece in a heartbeat if you asked."
They both are laughing at this point, and Bucky actually feels himself relax for the first time in what feels like a lifetime. Steve reaches across the counter to take Bucky's hand as his attention stays focused on the grill in front of him, and Bucky smiles absentmindedly as Steve begins to rub small circles over his knuckles.
"That's how I felt about Mike Peterson. You, of course, got your first boyfriend while I was still a scrawny sophomore, and he was a senior. I felt so damn emasculated whenever you would invite him to hang out with us."
Bucky's expression grows soft once more, remembering the way Steve used to walk a bit taller and push himself a bit harder whenever he'd tag along to the mall or the movies, Mike with an arm wrapped around Bucky's waist.
"He never had a thing on you, baby."
Steve's smile is like the sun, and Bucky can't help but bask in the warmth.
"You want cheese on your burger?"
"Duh."
Steve pulls Bucky's hand to his lips and gives it a kiss before setting down the spatula he'd been holding and moving toward the galley doors leading into the kitchen.
"I'll be right back."
As Bucky watches the retreating form pass into the kitchen, he moves to take Steve's place behind the grill, tending to the burgers. The new position leaves him with his back turned to the dark figure staring his way from the glass outside the building.
Sam remembers going to see 28 Days Later with Riley when it first hit theaters and not being able to fathom such unparalleled silence and extinction.
Looking around the empty lots of the depot however, he feels as if the movie maybe didn't do enough justice to the all-consuming quiet.
As expected, the few vehicles he, Bobbi, and Rhodes had come across all had slashed tires or boots, and the communication block was still lingering, meaning absolutely no means of contact with anyone outside the barriers of the quarantine zone.
The silence of the lot around him is such a stark contrast to the panic and chaos that he'd stumbled upon just the day before when he and Maria-
And if that doesn't cut into him like a knife to the gut.
What a cruel bastard this life is that he lost his closest friend and first real love interest in years in almost identical fashion while he could do nothing but witness.
He chances a look Bobbi's way, and is met with her blank gaze scanning over the useless vehicles in the lot.
Rhodes doesn't look any better, a fire still raging behind the matching lifeless expression painting his face. And here he thought the worst of America's threats died with Khalid in the Middle East, taking his best friend with them. Never did he think that the very country he lost so much of himself for, still wakes up screaming in horror from the nightmares of his time serving, would be the reason he's just lost even more friends.
"This van looks intact."
Sam follows Rhodey's gaze, and sure enough, he's met with a large black commercial van, all four tires seeming full of air. As the Colonel steps ahead to check the engine, he pulls the side doors open, and is met with a wall of screens. Simultaneously looking upon the empty school, church, village green, grocery store. The operation had eyes almost everywhere in Waverly, and though he's not surprised, a chill still envelops Sam's body realizing that they truly had been the stars of a horror film.
A smaller screen has a file attached, and Sam reaches down to the laptop sitting on the small leather seat on the passenger side of the van, accessing the file and opening it.
The names Lance Hunter, Johann Fennhoff, and Jeri Hogarth among others, all friends and neighbors he's known for years, immediately catch his attention and he scrolls down the page to find an attached e-mail, sent from Rollins to none other than the very senator for the great state of Iowa.
Senator Stern,
All parties have agreed to a lump sum of thirty-million. A ghost account has already been set up in the Cayman Islands, and the capitol will be transferred in small increments over a span of ten years. The pretense will be for psychological and physical trauma suffered during the events of the Pym factory of Waverly's explosion and subsequent destruction of said town. Ross was not able to ascertain a cure further than a medically-induced coma, which leads me to believe our enemies will not stand any hope in finding a cure themselves. I believe our weapon will be quite effective.
Agent Rollins
Sam has to grab a hold of the sides of the van walls to steady himself, feeling bile threatening to rise to his lips. People he saw everyday, people he called neighbor and friend, all took a payoff while the rest of their hometown was massacred. Fucking Hunter, who he was just playing pool and drinking with a week before, ran out of town with a check signed by Stern while his wife was left to die.
As he staggers back from the vehicle he takes notice of Rhodey standing over Bobbi, who's on her knees in front of a row of the same vehicles that shuttled everyone out of town, holding a handful of something he can't discern.
Fighting the dread pooling in his stomach, he slowly makes his way over to crouch down in front of the blonde, lightly cupping her cheek and making their eyes meet.
Then, in a barrage of small metallic clinks, a handful of empty shell casings fall from her now open palm. It's then that he takes notice of the stench hanging in the air and turns his head to see the aftermaths of the governments efforts to silence Waverly for eternity.
"They put the communication block on the town so no one could call for help, told everyone a gas leak was the reason they were being ripped from their homes and shuttled out here like cattle, and now they're going to fake a factory explosion to cover this up."
Sam had already gathered the magnitude of the situation by that point, but Rhodes laying it out to the letter still makes his blood turn to ice.
And up until this point, even after watching Maria get taken away in a blast of fire, he hadn't lost hope on escaping this Hell. But standing here, even the Colonel looking ready to collapse to his knees and accept his fate, Sam thinks that his time has run out. It takes all his strength to pull Bobbi up off the ground and just take her hand in his.
"It's over. They win. They've taken everything. They won."
Bobbi, much to Sam's surprise, doesn't yell or pull away, just turns to him and very softly speaks.
"You wanna sit here and die, tell me. I'll sit here and die with you."
Maria wouldn't.
Riley wouldn't.
He knows with an absolute certainty that they'd soldier on. It's in their blood. It's why Sam loved them both so much.
He looks at Bobbi; thinks of the one person that she should have felt safe with, leaving her to die for a couple million dollars. She's standing here, after desperately fighting for her life for days, willing to sit down and give up completely if Sam so desires.
And he doesn't.
"Not today."
The sound of feet approaching and Rollins familiar voice snap them out of the horror in front of them, and Sam's met with a firm hand on his shoulder, and Rhodes giving him a look he used to see far too often on the men he lost back at war.
"You two get the others and get out of here. I'm the one he wants. Take that laptop and drop it off on the Whitehouse doorstep. Tell President Ellis it was an honor serving for him."
Sam holds the Colonel's gaze, and all he can do is pop a salute before grabbing Bobbi's hand and taking off toward the building.
Sharon has a brief moment where she knows with an absolute certainty that she is going to die, staring down at the massive drop below her.
For all the acceptance she'd had for her fate up to this very second, the piercing fear that courses through her body is like the force of lightning rendering her paralyzed.
A voice that she can only assume is her aunts screams through the panic taking root in her head and tells her that now is not the time to give up, and she reaches back in time to take hold of the railing behind her and stop herself from falling.
Using the momentum and spike of adrenaline, she's able to catapult herself back over the railing to the solid slab of floor on the other side, which brings her face to face with Pierce, who is looking just as shocked by the blaring sirens and raining sprinklers as she is.
She's able to smack his gun across the floor.
Then, just as quickly, he's lunging at her.
His experience as a field agent and hand-to-hand combatant are terrifyingly displayed as Sharon struggles to fend off his attack on the slippery tile beneath her feet.
"Chin up, Sharon. These men are going to be twice your size, you'll need to use their weight against them."
She's able to plant her feet and throw a firm kick into Pierce's chest, making the man stagger backward, as she moves to throw a punch.
He moves shockingly quickly and takes a hold of Sharon's fist, then uses his leg to knock her off her feet. And before she can defend herself, he's got both hands wrapped around her throat.
"Time's up, dear."
His words are hardly past his lips before she's throwing a knee up into his groin, and tossing him aside as he succumbs to the blow.
As she slides across the now soaking wet floor, gun in sight, he's got his hand fisted into her hair, pulling her to her feet.
Then, acting on nothing but the sheer will to survive, she kicks back with her feet, once again causing Pierce to stagger on his feet, and Sharon turns to throw a hard punch into his chest.
Then she watches as he hits the railing, slides on the slick tile, and falls over the edge.
And for as quick as the struggle started, time seems to stop in that moment. Sharon can't do anything other than stand frozen in place, not daring look at what lies at the bottom of the stairwell.
Two hands are on her arms a moment later, and her scream cuts through the overwhelming silence that was threatening to consume her just a second before.
"It's alright. You're alright."
Fury materializes next to her seemingly out of thin air, steadying her shaking knees and pulling her even further away from the ledge and the gruesome sight that now lays at the bottom.
"He jumped. The evidence was insurmountable, and he jumped."
Sharon's not sure where she finds the strength to argue, summing it up to the fact that her Aunt probably would do the same.
"Does anyone around here tell the truth?"
"Of course not dear. This is DC."
He continues supporting her with an arm around her waist, carrying her through the threshold into an empty elevator and pulling out his cellphone.
"You're young, Ms. Carter. You don't want to have this ordeal in your ledger for the rest of your life."
Every aspect of these past two days, all the deceit and evil that she's witnessed is never going away, certainly she can live with the blood on her hands belonging to the monster that caused all this to begin with.
Fury seems deep in concentration while the phone in his hand rings, and once again, the images of Pierce's face as he fell to his death plague Sharon's mind as silence fills the small space around the two of them.
"Major Danvers, this is Director Fury. I need a direct line to the president."
Sharon has followed Carol Danver's career with both NASA and the Air Force for years, and under other circumstances, she'd probably be very star struck in this moment.
"What do you mean? Can't it be tracked? If it doesn't belong to us, then where did it come from?"
And just when she thought the day had finally eased up in the twists and turns....
Fury hangs up the phone with an absolutely haunted face painting his features, and Sharon can't bring herself to ask what it was that has him so disturbed.
"There's a nuke headed straight for Waverly. The pilot seems to have been working with Pierce and.... and Hydra."
That has her springing out of the dark recesses of her mind to once again assume her agent roll, remembering exactly what's at stake, as she hands the number to the Sat phone in Rhodey's possession to Fury.
"Call this number. Rhodes is still in Waverly. Someone needs to get in touch with Jack Rollins and tell him he's out of a job."
Fury dials the number as instructed, and slowly, Sharon's hope once again dies away as the phone rings, and then continues ringing and ringing until Fury finally ends the call.
He tries once, twice, three more times with no answer yet again.
"No answer."
"Can't we get another bird in the air? Take down or redirect the Hydra fighter?"
Sharon's damn near vibrating with panic, only able to see a quaint town that she spent so much of her childhood in engulfed in flames, Rhodes and the rest gone with it.
"The closest municipal base we have is in Nevada. They'd never make it in time."
Once again, she's sending a prayer to her Aunt Peggy, leaving it all in the hands of someone whose proven time and again how expertly she can handle situations such as this.
"Nat, look!"
Clint's already racing ahead of her as she takes sight of the tractor to a big rig parked in a small garage off the main wing of the building.
"It's on the lift, but I should be able to back it right off."
"I remember you saying that about the Jeep when you got it stuck on the snow bank last year. Then you totaled it."
And the tractor, and a golf cart a few months ago, and one of the department issued cruisers.
Clint, by all accounts, is accident prone. Vehicles are no exception.
"Check on those hooks over there for any keys. I'm gonna look in these drawers."
Right where Clint had pointed, Nat finds an old metal desk with a pin board hanging above it, only a few sets of keys hanging on the many hooks.
Plucking every one in sight, she makes her way up onto the lift that the truck is sat on, using one hand to grab purchase on the rig itself, and pulling the door open with the other.
Her shrill scream has Clint throwing his head up from where he's near tucked into a drawer on the opposite side of the garage, hitting his head against the hard surface above it in the process.
"What!? What's wrong?"
Nat just has her hands covering her face, and on the ground at her feet is the poor soul that had been manning the rig, a single gunshot wound to the head.
Clint's got Nat in a tight embrace moments later, helping her up to take a seat in the now empty truck.
"Let's find out which keys work and then get the Hell out of here."
The power to the complex dies the moment the words are off his lips, and paralleling another shrill scream from his wife, he's being yanked from the truck and pulled to the ground underneath it.
"Any luck, Stevie?"
Though he can cook and bake better than most, and Steve is actually so bad at both it should be criminal, the blond is most definitely a grilling pro. Bucky's pretty sure the insides shouldn't be so pink, but, who knows?
Oh, that's right. Steve knows.
"If you even think about jumping out and scaring me, you are never allowed in my pants again. I'm so serious."
Just then, the lights in the complex go dark, and Bucky almost drops the spatula in shock.
"I warned you, asshole! Better order a lifetime supply of playboys and lotion!"
He still gets no response from his fiancé, causing his mind to immediately jump to every worst case scenario fathomable.
He remembers walking down back alleys and empty car lots toward the sounds of a struggle, calling Steve's name and getting no response in turn.
Slowly, he peers through the open window into the kitchen, and it's just as silent and lifeless as the dining area he's currently in.
Then, his heart nearly leaps from his chest when he turns and sees a dark figure, definitely not his fiancé, moving toward the building out in the parking lot.
Bucky fights the urge to scream and dips behind the serving counter, trying to steady his breathing and stay as quiet as possible.
He waits what feels like a lifetime, but never hears the bell above the door signaling the figure from outside had made his way into the diner. That has him, still as quietly as possible, crawling across the tile to a small gray container sitting on one of the top shelves of the bar he's hiding behind, pulling out the biggest and sharpest steak knife he can find.
With each passing second, his panic surges inside him. Steve is still nowhere to be seen and now they've got another infected on their hands.
Going against every voice in his head screaming at him to stay hidden, he slowly rises to his feet to survey the room.
What he finds are three dead pairs of eyes staring murderously back at him.
This is it.
Rollins is the last remaining harbinger of Pierce's evil still remaining in Waverly.
And Rhodey is going to kill him.
He's going to make sure the man meets his buddy Brock in Hell, and Tony and Pepper and every other innocent soul that was a victim of this evil gets some inkling of the justice they deserve.
"Colonel Rhodes. I was hoping I'd find you here."
Rhodey just stares down the bastard in front of him, and the five men flanking him, all but two of which are armed.
Jack Rollins is just another protege of the superiors that trained him. Men like John Garrett and the like that Rhodey always despised. It's going to be such a pleasure to watch as the life drains from his eyes.
Without warning, two of Rollin's thugs are moving in on the Colonel, guns raised.
Every oath he ever made, every promise he gave to protect this country and its people ring in his mind as he effortlessly snaps the arm of the first attacker that gets to close, stealing the man's gun away and putting a bullet in him and the second man, then shooting the third armed soldier, before finally training the barrel on Rollins himself.
The man actually laughs, raising both hands in the air, smiling a grotesque smile back at Rhodey.
"You were always so righteous, Colonel. Tell me, who is going to remember this town ten years from now? What line of defense can we utilize against our enemies without first adhering to trial and error."
Rhodey takes a step closer, never wavering in his determination.
"Can you just shut the fuck up? I'm getting really tired of this anti-hero rhetoric from you asshats."
Another laugh, and then Rollins is signaling for his final soldier to advance on Rhodey, who is caught off guard as his weapon is kicked from his grasp as another kick sends his body careening backward into the van behind him.
This final man is far younger and faster than Rhodey himself, and he has hardly any time to gather himself before the man is lunging at him again, now with a blade raised.
He swats away the first two blows, but a third cuts into the top of his shoulder, and in the momentary blinding sensation of the blade being imbedded into his skin, the man is able to throw a hard punch up into Rhodey's jaw.
"You really sure you wanna get your ass kicked for the rest of your life?"
Tony's got a mischievous smirk dancing on his lips as he hands his friend a wet cloth, and Rhodey can't help but wince as he presses it to his bruised and bloodied face.
"The whole point of the training is that I don't get my ass kicked once I get out in the field."
His best friend just continues on with his shit-eating grin, once again taking his place in front of the heaps of work and notes sprawled across the kitchen table of their tiny apartment.
Rhodey finally sighs and moves to sit across from Tony, stealing a piece of the sub he'd been munching on.
"One of these days I'm going to make a difference, Tony. I'm gonna really help people."
Rather than the snarky retort or dismissive joke he's expecting, Tony doesn't look up from his work, but smiles a genuine smile regardless.
"I know you will."
The Colonel uses what leverage he can find to plant his feet firmly into the concrete underneath them and throw his shoulder into his attacker.
This catches the man off guard, and Rhodey takes the opportunity to pull the blade lodged in his shoulder out and turn it on the soldier.
Focusing his rage, his grief, and every amount of pain he and every other poor soul in this town has felt in the past few days, he schools his features, waiting for his attacker to pounce once again.
He does, and Rhodey immediately side steps him, throwing the blade into the back of his head the minute the man is within reach.
The air hangs deadly quiet for a beat, and Rhodey can hear nothing but his own heavy breathing.
Then Rollins begins to applaud, slowly moving toward the Colonel with a much more hostile gleam in his eyes.
"My turn."
"Clint!"
"Get on the ground, boy. Don't make me grab my belt again."
Clint's not sure which voices are real, and which his head are toying him with as he picks his head up from the cold concrete it landed on a moment earlier.
And it's just like being seven years old again, the dark figure looming over him very much like his father after having one too many drinks.
"You ain't good for anything. You hear me!? Nothing!"
He's able to roll himself over just in time to avoid the heavy boot that slams down where his head had been. Then, he's being lifted by a hulking form by his throat against the side of the concrete barrier he'd been dragged down into, fighting for air as he stares into two lifeless eyes.
The lights in the garage suddenly burst back to life, and Nat looks up in time to see a figure just on the other side of the observation glass holding a rifle toward her head.
In a heartbeat, she has the driver's side door to the truck closed as the bullets begin to pierce the metal.
Back under the rig, the large devil still has Clint by the throat, and it takes only a few moments for his vision to start to fade.
Above him, he can hear the sound of gunshots being fired against the metallic lining of the truck, and can only pray that Nat is tucked away out of the line of fire. As his peripheral vision blurs in and out of being, he spots a large metal wrench off to the side of his head, and without warning, grabs it and jams it into his attacker's eye.
Back up above, Nat has only seconds to think before the shooter is moving toward the truck. She moves quickly and opens the passenger side door, then ducks into the backseat and holds her breath.
The man slowly opens up the door and peers his gun in first, followed by his head, and Natasha watches his eyes scan the wide open passenger door, knowing that he had fallen for her trick.
She's able to wrestle his gun away and throw the stock into his face, sending him falling backwards out onto the ground.
With one pull of the trigger, the man is completely motionless in a puddle of blood, and she takes a second to calm her trembling hands and try to push away the nagging horror that she just killed a man.
Then, a strangled cry from underneath the truck has her whipping her head around in time to see Clint get punched in the face by a menacing looking figure.
Three more bloodied figures come running into the garage then, and before she can register the action, Nat is using the final two shells to put two of them down. The last is undeterred, and she has mere seconds to grasp the barrel of the rifle like a baseball bat and deliver one good blow to knock the third onto the ground.
Another piercing shout from her husband has her attention pulled away, and in that brief second, the man she'd just knocked to the ground gets back to his feet and lunges at her.
Her head hits the door of the truck with bruising force and she loses her footing, falling to her knees.
Back underneath the truck, Clint is still struggling to keep himself alive, even with one of his attacker's eyes impaled by a rusty metal wrench.
The man is huge, and each of his blows leave Clint more and more disoriented, his body screaming in pain.
He throws his already injured hand up to catch a punch thrown at his face, and a blinding white pain shoots through him.
The second punch hits him square in the jaw, and he falls to the ground as the man begins to stalk toward him again.
Back above, Nat pushes herself to her feet in time to use both hands to grab her attacker's wrist, stopping the knife he had plunging toward her face in the process.
She feels her strength waining, and each second the blade in front of her is pushed closer and closer toward her face.
Then, she lifts one of her feet and slams it into the bastard's knee, and moves her head in time for the blade to puncture the truck.
As she untangles herself from the man, another figure is moving in fast, and her heart stops before she watches as Sam pushes the man's head forward, impaling him on the blade protruding from the rig.
Clint can only just pull himself up onto his elbows before he's once again rolling out of the way of another kick.
Once on his back, he's able to throw both feet up into the man's stomach, sending him back a few steps, largely undeterred.
Clint begins to inch backward as the giant once more steps toward him, then watches in shock as Bobbi slides underneath the truck behind the man, jumping up enough to grab ahold of an axel above her head and swing her legs to kick the man in the back, sending him sprawling onto the floor. From there, she grabs a large pair of channel locks and throws them twice, three, four, five times into the back of the man's head until she's sure he won't be getting up again.
She and Clint hold each other's gaze, both breathing heavily before she's grabbing his hand and hoisting him to his feet.
"Thanks, Birdie."
"Don't mention it, Sport."
He's running.
Bucky doesn't dare look behind him as he bolts through the pitch black corridors of the massive kitchen, not seeing any signs of his fiancé.
He can hear the sound of several footsteps following in his path, and picks up his pace until he's out of the kitchen and back in what looks to be some sort of loading bay.
The footsteps behind him keep growing increasingly louder, and to his horror, one of the open bay doors is cascading the shadows of another four or so other figures headed his way.
Taking off again, he dips into a dark corridor, no doors or windows, and pushes past the pain in his abdomen from Sitwell's blade to run as fast as he can.
He can't help the aborted shriek in his throat when he turns a corner and finds a good dozen bodies lying in an endless Crimson pool.
Then, he gets an idea.
Dropping to his knees, he places two flat palms in the pool of red and brings them up to paint his shirt before lying flat on his back and steadying his breathing.
Then, he closes his eyes.
He wants to find a better paying job, even if he has to drive back and forth to Cedar Rapids every day. He'd like to help Steve save up as much money as they can before they decide to adopt, that way there is enough money saved for a nursery.
Steve doesn't know it, but he'd also like a wrap around porch one day, even if it has to wait a few years.
The sound of heavy breathing and too many footsteps to count keep increasing in volume, and he continues to try and keep his mind occupied and breathing even.
He wants to save enough money to help his mother retire early and buy her a small little house on the Carolina coast. After watching Sarah pass far too early, he and Steve both agree that Winifred deserves to be pampered.
He knows for certain the group is right on him by now, he can hear their labored breaths and the powerful thuds of their boots on the concrete around him.
He remains paralyzed in his spot and tries not to think about the fact that he still has no idea where Steve is.
Then, very lightly, the plates in his prosthetic begin to shift, and he immediately tenses, praying that it was quiet enough to go unheard.
It's almost like being tied to that table back in the morgue again, Sitwell looming over him, dealing out his fate as if it were any other sermon he'd preach on a Sunday morning. He's straining with the effort to hold his breath and stay still, slowly peeking an eye open to see what he's dealing with.
There are seven mindless souls that he can directly see, and thankfully, not a one has noticed his little act.
Then, stepping directly behind his head, he's aware of the sound of a knife being pulled from a sheath, as his mind begins to go into a panic. Half of him wants to stand and bolt right then and there, while the other half knows with an almost perfect certainty that he'll never make it past these monsters if he tries.
The sound of another set of footsteps descending quickly resonates in the concrete chamber, and Bucky just continues his act, praying that he can outsmart death.
"I could only find yellow-American, sugar. That okay?"
The lights in the building cut out in response to his question, and Steve swears he sees a figure move past him in his periphery.
His heart begins to beat frantically, slamming at the confinements of his ribs, and primal, decades-old instinct has him darting back to where he left Bucky.
"Buck!?"
No response. In that moment, he apologizes a thousand times over for all the times he threw himself into fights or came home with bloody lips and black eyes, Bucky always patching him up. This feeling? This awful anticipation and dread; he hates himself for ever putting Bucky through it.
"Bucky!!??"
He runs through a set of swinging doors to find himself standing in a gift shop, nowhere near the dining counter Bucky was at.
He turns on his heel and darts back through the dark corridors of the kitchen, all the while shouting his fiancé's name. With each call getting no response, Steve grows more and more despaired.
Another set of swinging doors open into a large loading bay, and he takes a moment to catch his breath and calm his screaming mind. He takes note of a large crow bar sitting up against the wall next to him and grabs it in his hands, slowly moving into the room.
"You've done a bang up fucking job of protecting the man you love, Rogers."
His hands tremble at his own words, and he swallows down the venom in his throat, trying to channel all of his pent up rage and fear into finding his fiancé.
Suddenly all he can see is Sitwell's ominous form looming over Bucky, preparing to kill him, and Steve throws the crow bar into a row of empty beer bottles sitting on a work bench in front of him, huffing in anger.
In the silent aftermath of his outburst, he faintly hears a heavy group of breaths coming from a corridor to his left, and as he steps closer, he can see the shadowed outline of a group of men.
As quietly as he can manage, Steve creeps around the corner toward the group, counting seven men, all with some type of cleaver or knife or something of the sort in hand.
Then, paralleling the final break in his psyche, he takes notice of the various bodies strewn around the ground at the group's feet, eyes finally landing on his fiancé's face, laying in a pool of blood at the feet of one of the men, who has a knife pulled.
He's always run head first into fights when the cause was worth it. There was always some helpless soul who needed his help, at least in his own righteous mind. Even when the odds were against him, Steve never held back from seeing that the wrong was righted.
As he advances on these men however, a blind, all-consuming rage is the only thing driving him, all that he knows.
Every last God damn reason for living and breathing in this world, the one thing that kept him going after losing his mother, is now lying on the floor; gone.
Steve is only slightly aware of the massive amounts of crimson splattering his face and body as he enacts his vengeance on the men, each one helpless to defend themselves from his torrent of blows.
He thinks of Jane and Thor, of Tony and Pepper and Maria, and all that he's lost; thinks of the last person left to fight for lying dead on the concrete behind him, and it's almost enough to drown out the sounds of bone breaking with each swing he takes.
The final bastard goes down just as easily as the rest of them, but that is no deterrent to Steve's immense fury, continuing to throw the metal bar repeatedly into the man's skull, only fueled by the mess he's making.
Two hands take a firm hold on his shoulders a moment later, and even in his mess of anger and grief, he'd recognize the weight of the metal prosthetic anywhere.
"Steve!"
His hands are still violently shaking as he drops his makeshift weapon and turns around to see the terrified stormy blue eyes of the love of his life staring back at him. It's all he's got not to fall to his knees. He grabs Bucky and pulls him tight against his chest instead.
"Bucky?"
Bucky holds him back just as tight, burying his face in the crook of Steve's neck, hands digging into the fabric of his shirt.
"I'm here. I'm okay... We're okay."
Steve just continues to cling Bucky to him, aware of the hot tears stinging his face. His hold becomes slightly firmer, cradling Bucky to him with everything he's got, still afraid that none of this is real.
"Buck... I.... I saw you on the ground, and...I thought I lost you."
"Shhh, I know. I know, I'm sorry. But I'm alright."
He, with no small amount of effort, pulls away from Steve's grasp, taking his left hand in his own, tracing a finger over the inscription, 'To The End Of The Line.'
"You still owe me that renovation, Stevie. And you're still selling the Harley. You're not getting out of it that easy."
Steve lets loose a wet laugh and pulls Bucky back into a tight embrace before grabbing his hand and leading him back toward the main area of the building.
"Let's get outta here. I can't wait to marry the fuck outta you."
The words no sooner leave Steve's mouth when a crash followed by blood-curdling shouts ring in the metal confines behind them.
Another group of men are suddenly charging their way once again, and Steve continues to pull Bucky along toward the front of the building and the rest of their group.
"Never seen you run away from a fight before, Stevie."
Steve lets out an almost unhinged, maniacal laugh as he throws a door open to the backside of the kitchen, turning quickly to flash a smile at his fiancé.
"I can go back there if you want."
"Don't even think about it. Go through the door on the right."
He throws open another set of doors and they once again find themselves in the dining area before turning and bolting into the small gift shop next to it.
"Where the Hell is everyone else?"
Another group of near a dozen men turn a corner up ahead of them, and Steve and Bucky suddenly find themselves severely outnumbered.
Steve pulls Bucky behind him and the brunet keeps ahold of his shoulders, praying he doesn't try anything stupid.
"So I think I'll go for the big ugly one on the right first."
"Steve..."
"Then I'll take the blade he's got and use it on the two in the back."
"Steve, don't you dare."
Before their bickering can continue, one of the men lunges toward them, but is cut short as a massive truck barrels through the glass windows beside them, taking the entire group with them.
The passenger door is opened to reveal Sam smiling down at them, extending a hand for them both to take.
"You boys need a lift?"
Rollins lunges at Rhodey with shocking precision, forcing the colonel into an immediate defensive position.
His body is screaming in protest, the stress and pain of the past few days taking a toll as he tries to block each of Rollins' brutal strikes.
"What do you owe these people, Colonel?"
Rollins strikes him in the gut.
"Why give your life for them? For anyone?"
He's thrown to the ground.
"The only person in this world worth looking out for is yourself. No one else is going to do you any favors."
Rhodey rolls out of the way before the heel of Rollins' boot can bash his skull.
"You could have been a force with HYDRA's help. Instead you waste your life on a town no one will remember a decade from now."
Rhodey finally gets a hit in, throwing a punch across Rollins' jaw.
"Didn't I tell you to shut the fuck up?"
The man gives another cliche evil sneer before catching Rhodey's second blow and throwing a punch into his gut.
"Who was in that car Colonel? Who was so important that you're willing to sit here and let me beat you to death?"
He parallels his words by tossing Rhodes onto his back and pinning him to the ground before throwing a punch across his face.
"That jackass Mayor? You were willing to stay behind and die for him?"
Another blow lands across Rhodey's face.
"The backwoods sheriff who was raised in a circus?"
He's hit again.
"A couple of faggots? A reformed criminal? You could have been great!"
Rollins picks him up with two hands around his throat, and Rhodey struggles to fight for every breath.
"Why come and face me alone? You had to know I'd kill you."
Rhodey gasps in all the air he can manage, before finding purchase on the foot ramp of the truck Rollins has him pressed against, throwing his fist into the man's face.
He doesn't have a chance to advance on Rollins again because a second later, a massive truck comes barreling out of a bay door in the back on the building, halting to a stop just in front of Rollins' stunned face.
"I've had about enough of you people thinking..."
Sam's got a bullet in the man's forehead before he can finish voicing his thoughts.
"I don't know what town you thought you were in, Colonel, but here in Waverly we never leave family behind."
Rhodey limps his way over to where Natasha is waiting with the door to the backseat open, all but collapsing once he reaches the foot stand of the truck, Steve offering a hand to help him up.
There's a glaring pit in his stomach as he foolishly realizes he was expecting to see Tony and Pepper in the truck as well.
And he's infinitely glad that he didn't allow any small glimmer of hope to flare on his mind because a moment later, Rollins' radio is crackling to life and paralyzing everyone in shock.
"Five minutes from drop point. Evacuate all operatives."
Sam is the first to start moving, helping Steve hoist Rhodes into the truck as Bucky moves into the blond's lap to make room for them both. Clint grabs the radio from Rollins' belt and jumps in the truck alongside his wife as Bobbi puts the thing in gear and peels out of the parking lot and onto open road.
"Take a right on 49."
"You wanna go to Cedar Rapids, Rogers, or Timbuktu?"
"Well, what do you suggest, Sam?"
"Stay on 151, it'll cut out like ten minutes."
"We might not even have that long."
Bucky stares down at the radio in Clint's hands, who holds it up so everyone in the small cabin can hear the voice from the other end.
"T minus three minutes and counting."
He shares a disparaging look with his wife before turning and facing the Colonel whose stare is no longer vacant and distant but brimming with a morbid anticipation for whatever the countdown entails.
"Is it a little too hopeful to ask if these guys are coming to our rescue?"
Rhodey lets loose a crazed laugh, turning and staring out the rear window of the truck before spinning back around and addressing the sheriff.
"I don't have any friends left in D.C."
Bobbi shifts the truck into gear and presses down as hard as she can on the gas, not daring glimpse in the rear view mirror, rather staring ahead at the dark and open stretch of road.
Nat can't handle the silence of the cabin, reaching ahead of her and turning the dial of the radio on.
"See me ride out of the sunset, on your color tv screen."
Rhodey can't help the small chuckle in that moment, knowing Tony is the one who is playing this song right now, messing with all of them.
As the chorus to TNT starts, it's paralleled by the radio crackling to life once again.
"Thirty, twenty-nine, twenty-eight, twenty-seven, twenty-six...."
Bobbi just continues down the highway with a steady pressure on the gas, Sam reaching over the seat to take a hold of her shoulder with one hand, clutching Riley's dog tags in the other.
To his right, Rhodey has his eyes glued on the horizon outside the rear window, scanning the pitch black for any indication of what is to come.
"Sixteen, fifteen, fourteen, thirteen..."
Bucky turns away from the radio in Clint's hands and tries to the best of his ability to drown out the the ominous sounds of the countdown it's broadcasting, leaning into Steve who wraps his arms around him and holds him close.
Steve gives Sam a meaningful look before kissing the top of Bucky's head and closing his eyes, reminding himself of all the undelivered promises he owes the man in his lap.
"Seven, six, five, four...."
Clint just shuts the radio off and throws it on the floor below him, wrapping an arm around Natasha and placing an open palm against her stomach.
Nat uses one hand to rest over her stomach, placing the other on Bobbi's arm and giving a squeeze.
She lets her eyes slide shut as the sounds of the music playing and engine running drown out the voices in her mind, and one of the last things she registers before a blinding white light encapsulates the small confines of the truck is how safe she feels tucked into Clint's arms.
"Direct hit."