Chapter 8
The stink of gunpowder and sweat still lingered in the air. His shield leaned against the wall, a dent catching the light and throwing a sliver of reflection across the room.
The private lounge in the SHIELD base was reeking of alcohol and smoke. Bottles clinked.
Rumlow was at the head of the table, boots kicked up, chair tilted back. Rollins shuffled cards, smirking, while the others sprawled across the room, half-drunk and laughing.
“Come on, Rogers,” Westfaul said, voice slick with amusement. He popped something small and white into his mouth before chasing it with beer. “Don’t tell me you’ve never tried it.”
Steve leaned against the wall, shoulders relaxed and arms crossed.
“It’s not heroin,” Rollins said as he tipped his bottle toward him. “Even the boss does it sometimes.”
Rumlow didn’t say anything. He just watched.
Steve took the bottle and sighed. “Ok. Just one.”
It was burning faintly at the back of his throat. It didn’t hit the way it seemed to hit the others. No dizziness, no fog—just sharper awareness.
Rumlow scooted over, making room at the table for him to sit. The noise pressed in, voices tangled with laughter.
“Nice shooting, Anderson—thought his head was gonna pop clean off.” Rollins tossed him a vape.
Anderson caught it one-handed, flicked it on, and took a long drag, “Didn’t even have to line it up. Guy practically walked into it.”
“I’m telling you, you should’ve seen her.” Westfaul’s voice cut through, “And that mouth? Could make a man beg.”
Murphy leaned in, grinning. “Who’s heading down there with me tonight? Haven’t seen her in a while.”
“Which one?” Rollins asked, flicking a card onto the table. “Blonde or brunette?”
“The brunette,” Westfaul said, and something about the way he said it made him a little uncomfortable. “Big eyes. Quiet. Obedient.”
“Obedient?” Rollins laughed, “I’d call her accommodating. Didn’t need much convincing last time.”
Murphy chimed in, “Didn’t even blink when Westfaul put his hands on her. Bet she’s used to it.”
Smith shrugged. “Didn’t stop her from coming back, though. What was it you said to her?”
Westfaul smirked, leaning back. “Didn’t have to say much. She knew what she was there for.”
The laughter rose again. Rumlow leaned in smiling faintly, passed him another beer, voice low enough that only him could hear. “They don’t mean it.”
He raised his bottle a half-hearted toast and took another sip.
“Rogers.” Smith’s voice cut through the noise. “You ought to give her a go. Bet she’d be real sweet for you—likes the rough ones, but she’d make an exception for Captain America.”
The group laughed, jeers and whistles bouncing off the walls.
Smith raised his eyebrows with a grin on his face. “You’d like her. Ask Rollins—He had her first.”
Steve paused, his fingers tightening briefly around the neck of the bottle. “Sounds like you all kept her busy,” he said, voice even.
It wasn’t a joke, but they laughed anyway.
“Relax, Cap,” Anderson leaned against the bar, “You’re allowed to have fun, y’know?”
Rumlow leaned back in his chair, watching Steve with that same predatory calm. Steve took another sip of his beer and let the noise roll over him.
Rollins leaned closer, voice low. “Don’t worry, Steve. She’s tougher than she looks. Knows how to take orders.”
Something in the way he said it made Steve glance up. Rumlow’s smile was there, but his eyes weren’t smiling.
“I’ll pass.” Steve’s voice was calm, he blinked and shook his head. “Not really my style.”
“Yeah?” Rumlow grinned this time. “What is your style, then?”
“Well,” Steve raised his bottle and tipped it toward Rumlow. He’s really not interested in this locker-room bullshit, “She’d probably get attached.”
The laughter exploded again. Rollins clapped him on the shoulder. “There he is. Knew you had it in you.”
Rumlow leaned back, tipping his bottle in return, but his eyes never left Steve’s face. The burn in his throat didn’t go away.
The Asset didn’t do anything wrong.
He repeated it in his head, over and over, trying to steady his breath.
One of them stepped closer, the ember of a cigarette glowing between his fingers. The heat brushed against his skin, close enough to make him want to scream.
“Think he’s fireproof?” The man smirked, and the others chuckled.
The cigarette pressed into his neck without warning, searing through flesh. The pain shot straight to his spine, but he didn’t make a sound.
Commander was there.
He looked toward the door. Commander was watching. Leaning against the frame. Silent.
If the commander wasn’t stopping it, then it wasn’t wrong. He just had to endure.
“A war hero, gentlemen,” Rollins sneered. The strap was fastened around his neck. The buckle bit into raw skin already rubbed red.
Rollins tugged—hard—and he stumbled onto his hands and knees.
“Good dog.” Rollins smirked. “Now bark for us.”
He barked, his voice barely audible.
“Louder.” Another pull.
The sound came out broken this time, his face burned hotter.
Laughter erupted.
Hands were on him—pushing, pulling. His knees scraped against the concrete. Someone shoved his pants down.
Commander is still watching.
Why isn’t Commander stopping them? What had he done wrong?
A sharp thrust stole his breath.
It hurts.
“Smile,” Rollins ordered. “Go on, show us you’re enjoying yourself.”
His lips twitched. His breath hitched. It took everything he had to force the corners of his mouth upward.
Commander.
“You can do better than that,” Rollins said, yanking his head up by the leash until their eyes met. “Or maybe you like being punished.”
He forced his face to obey, stretching a smile wider.
Commander, please—
Fingers gripped his chin—Westfaul this time—digging hard enough to bruise. “Try harder, Asset. Or should we see what it takes to make you beg?”
He tried. God, he tried. It was all he could manage. The thrusts came harder. Deeper. He couldn’t stop the way his body jolted with each one.
Commander was still leaning against the door. Silent.
Westfaul smirked. “See? Told you he learns fast.” A hand patted his hair, and Smith barked another laugh. “Just a little encouragement, huh?”
Why did his commander punish him?
Rollins crouched to meet the Asset's eye level. His heart hammered against his ribs as Rollins leaned closer.
“Look at me.”
He obeyed. The instinct was automatic.
He bit down hard enough to taste blood and tried not to make a sound as the next thrust ripped through him.
“You think Rogers would recognize you now?”
Steve hasn't thought about that mission in a long time—not in detail, at least.
He never fully trusted Rumlow. There was always something between them. But when you’re in the trenches with someone, trust isn’t earned; it’s required. And before you know it, you’d die for them without ever knowing why.
“Agent Hill to Cap. We had eyes on him ten minutes ago before we lost the signal. He can’t have gotten far, but you need to move now.”
He adjusts his shield. “Ten minutes.” He sighs. “For a guy like Rumlow, that’s enough time to disappear.”
He hates that he knows that. Hates knowing exactly what Rumlow is capable of—how his mind works, his tactics, his reasoning—and yet was still gullible enough to trust him. Once, it was easy to trust him. Rumlow isn't the kind of man who seemed dangerous at first glance. A principled leader, a competent commander, a reliable friend. He wasn’t a bully; that much was true. It was easy to trust someone like that. But that was before Steve found out about Bucky.
“You sure you don’t need backup?” Hill asks.
“I’ve got this,” Steve replies.
The jet touches down in a clearing surrounded by Montana’s thick forests. The old SHIELD base is ahead, a relic buried underground. It has been two weeks since Rumlow broke out of the hospital, and Steve knows he isn't here to stay. He's likely scavenging for supplies, but at least it means he hasn’t crossed the border yet.
I know what that’s like, Brock. I know what it’s like to see their faces every time you close your eyes.
No, Steve. I don’t sleep at night because I didn’t pull the trigger fast enough. Because if I’d done it sooner, my men would still be breathing.
Steve hasn’t called in the Avengers. He doesn't need them for this. Maybe it was the argument with Tony, or maybe he needs to do this alone.
“Cap, one more thing,” Hill pauses. “We need him alive.”
“I know.” he double-checks the straps on his shield and cuts the connection. Then he steps off the jet.
Sure it was. Because they were the bad guys, right? Because you fought the righteous war, huh? Nazis, Hydra—Real easy when the lines are clear. But that’s not the world we’re in anymore. You don’t get to judge me Rogers. You don’t get to stand on your high ground and look down at the rest of us…
They argued a lot, back in the day, and that’s how they came to know each other. Sometimes Steve wondered if he had been born in a different time, if he had met Brock before the Howling Commandos—would he have turned out just like him?
You need to get over it, Cap. We’re not dancing around war bonds and USO girls anymore.
The base reeks of decay, the air heavy with dust and stale metal. He rests his gun atop his shield and steps close. As he descends a creaking staircase, the venting system above hums faintly, its sound masking any distant movement. Every creak of his boots echoes in the empty corridors. A flickering light guides him toward a half-open door at the end of the hall.
Look, I get it. You want to save everyone. But that’s not how this works.
“Rumlow,” Steve calls, voice low.
No answer.
Steve lowers his gun. He hasn’t expected much—Rumlow wouldn’t wait for him like this. Still, the absence of an ambush is unsettling. There is no sound in the room.
Are you out of your damn mind? You don’t turn your back on someone like that, Rogers!
He’d been there before—cornering an enemy operative who had dropped their weapon, trembling hands raised in surrender. He’d lowered his shield, thinking it was enough. Move in fast, restrain them, avoid more bloodshed.
Kids? You weren’t there, Rogers. You weren’t there with us when some kid came at our med truck with a grenade launcher….
He should have seen it coming. He remembered the heat first, then the pain—searing agony that roared through his side as his legs gave out. He hit the ground hard, struggling to breathe. His vision blurred, and the noise of battle dimmed like he was sinking underwater.
You’re not dying today, Cap. Not on my watch
It were experimental rounds designed to pierce his armor. Steve's suit had held up against most of it, but a shard had punched through just below his ribs. He'd tried to push himself up. His shield lay just out of reach. The sniper had the high ground and two Hydra agents were closing in.
Civilians? Are you kidding me, Rogers? Churchill flattened Berlin. Firebombed Dresden. I didn’t hear you crying about civilians when Germans went up in flames...
Rumlow had taken the bullet meant for him.
Steve shoves the door open, bracing himself—but the sight still hits him. Steve swallows the bile rising in his throat.
Blood hits him first—the copper tang thick in the air.
His hand trembles slightly as he clicks his radio back on.
“Hill,” his voice cracks. He forces himself to clear it. “Hill, it’s our guy.”
Rumlow did this on purpose.
Better? Better gets you killed. Better gets your men buried in pieces…
The agent’s body sags against the ropes, blood pooling near his boots. Steve steps closer. His gloved fingers brushes against the agent’s neck.
Nothing.
You think I wanted to be there? You think any of us did? A hellhole where half the population wants to kill us and the other half stones women to death in the street. Those people don’t need saving—they need cleaning out…
“Hill, we need forensics here. Now.”
Rumlow didn't left him a trap; he left him a warning.
And Steve understands it perfectly.
You keep asking questions like that, and one day it’s gonna cost someone their life…
They had sat at opposite ends of the table, half-empty bottles scattered between them.
“Then maybe you’re in the wrong line of work, Steve. You think I’m worse because I did what had to be done? Because I didn’t hesitate?”
Rumlow stared at the table, jaw tight, fingers flexing around the empty bottle in his hand. Then he looked up, and Steve saw something behind his eyes.
“No.” Steve set his own bottle down carefully. “Because you’re starting to believe it’s the only way.”
In retrospect, he doesn't know how to justify it. For one moment, he had trusted him so much.
And he still doesn't know what to do with that.