Can You Open The Door?
Taking a look at his team, Sam asks, “Harley? Can you open the doors?”
“How funny would it be if I just said ‘no’ right now?” Harley replies with amusement dancing on every word.
Steve notices Y/n’s serious expression morph into something close to a soft-centered annoyance. He can’t help the way his lips twerk up at the corners. She used to wear that look quite often before (aimed commonly towards a certain billionaire, playboy, philanthropist). He remembers seeing it during missions, or expos that he never liked attending or the parties in a building with the same emblem as the one he used to sport on his uniform. He remembers it like it’s yesterday. It wasn’t yesterday, it was years ago. But he does.
He can’t take his eyes off her.
“Can you open the damn door or not?” Sam asks, the previous tension flooding away by a few morsels.
“I can, I can,” Harley placates him, but it’s mostly perfunctory. “Can you not get your feathers in a bunch?” He snickers then. “Get it? Cause you were the Falcon?”
“Junior,” Y/n interrupts with a hint of seriousness.
“I can,” Harley replies, instantly and solemnly.
And hey, Steve gets it. Y/n doesn’t often get serious, especially on missions. Steve had asked her about it once; why she preferred to joke around with Tony and not take any of it seriously. It was after a long day, a longer mission still. They were raiding a HYDRA camp and despite things taking a turn for the worse, she kept her attitude jovial. Even more so than Tony. And he just could not understand. Because unlike Tony (who he just learned to accept was never going to change, eventually the habit becoming unabashedly endearing), Y/n was trained. She was an agent. She wasn’t just any civilian who had picked a mantle. She was raised into this.
So when she said that’s exactly why she did it, Steve was thrown for a damn spin. She was made to grow up severe and grim, she had explained. “So I plan to grow old with nothing but lawfully wicked delinquency,” she had added with a smirk.
He’s only now coming to realize what that meant. How much pain was hiding behind the smirk, how much potential villain origin story worthy baggage was behind the sparkling eyes.
“But, I need time,” Harley adds.
“How much time?” Sam asks.
“I don’t know, like 5 to 10 minutes?” Harley ventures.
“That’s far too big a window, Mr. Keener. I suggest you be a little more specific,” Malcolm implores, calm yet urgent at the same time. He does that quite well, Steve notes. Stay painfully calm. It makes him understand why Malcolm and Y/n get along as well as they do. “What, with our lives hanging in the balance, especially mine.”
“Your wish is my command, you Latin speaking freak,” Harley answers.
Malcolm’s face scrunches up in confusion, “It was obviously Italian.”
“Fine,” Harley acquiesces. “I need six minutes, you Italian-speaking freak.”
“You gotta make it four, Keener. Backup has to be on the way,” Bucky urges, calmly.
“I’m working on it, Barnes,” Harley replies. There’s a familiarity they share, Steve realizes. Because Bucky’s jaw doesn’t clench at the condescending tone, almost as though he doesn’t mind it.
They’re friends, Steve realizes.
“No, hold on,” Malcolm chimes in, somewhat dramatically. The rest of the group standing down yet not relaxing completely. “Is no one going to acknowledge the fact that the MIT graduate, who did so with flying colors by the way, who has considerably a genius-level intellect, does not know what that quote was?”
Sam pshhhes. “He knows what that quote was.” He’s met with silence from the other end. “He’s gotta know that one, right?” Sam says exasperated. “The kid’s a freakin’ genius.”
Y/n frowns and slowly shakes her head from side to side, with mock defeat. Suggesting Sam give up his failed protest.
“That’s kinda embarrassing, man,” Bucky teases with a smile.
And Steve’s heart warms. He had tried so hard to coax out that smile from his best friend after all the horrible shit that went down with HYDRA. They were a rare sight but they were always Steve’s favorite. Reminded him of the ‘40s, when things weren’t so… chaotic… despite the war.
“Dude, it was Italian,” Harley defends.
“Abandon all hope, ye who enter here,” Steve translates, trying to help the far younger man.
Harley groans, “It’s someone’s Inferno or something, right? By some Alighieri guy? The final level of Guitar Hero III is based on it.”
“Y/n, lend me a knife. I’m going to stab myself in the face,” Malcolm says as Torres begins laughing.
Steve looks at Y/n who’s chuckling too, then at Bucky who seems like the only person in the room who is just as lost as him.
“Man, tell me you didn’t just admit that your only point of reference for Dante’s Divine Comedy is a damn video game,” Sam throws back laughing.
Steve laughs too then, at the absurdity of it all.
“What?” Harley exclaims. “When the fuck does Dante’s book of heavenly jokes come in handy during day-to-day life?”
But no one cares about the defense presented, far too busy with their chuckles.
“Alright, you literature hating buffoon, pick up the pace. We’re on a clock,” Y/n chides with a smile.
Harley clicks his tongue. “Well, if you wanted to get this done faster, I told the best plan would—”
Y/n’s smile fades instantly. “Junior,” she warns.
“—have been to bring me along, so I could have direct access, making things far easier. But nooooo,” Harley says snidely. “Harley is too—”
“Junior,” she warns again.
He barrels on completely undeterred. “—fragile for that shit. He’s too fucking young.” His tone becoming more serious, more angry. “Unlike Peter who’s fighting alien space monsters while still in high school. Harley’s just not cut out for this shit—”
“Harley,” she cuts him off. And the use of his actual name seems to be an unusual enough occurrence because he does stop immediately.
“I’m just saying I can handle it,” Harley says easily, after a pregnant pause.
“I never said you couldn’t,” she answers.
“But that is what you think,” Harley remarks.
“Didn’t know you could read minds,” she throws back.
“So you admit that you do.”
“No I don’t,” she defends.
“Then why the fuck am I benched here? Several continents away?” Harley asks, incredulous. “You just want to use me as the last resort when there isn’t anyone else you can call, but then the moment I want to help, I’m told I’m not cut out for this shit.”
The conversation is far too personal for Steve to be a participant in. Torres and Malcolm look mostly uncomfortable. Sam looks apprehensive in a way, but Bucky… Bucky’s eyes are fixed on Y/n with nothing but worry swimming in them. He looks so… gone on her. Steve’s eyes have a hard time adjusting to it. He never thought there would come a time Bucky would look at a girl like that, let alone for that girl to be Y/n Stark.
His heart breaks all over again.
“I don’t think this is the time or the place—” Y/n tries, her face stern. She looks like she’d rather be fighting a horde of men instead of having this conversation.
“I think it’s a great time, seeing as I’m doing you a favor again, only for you to patronize me, again!” Harley exclaims. “You only use me when it’s convenient for you,” he spits out.
“Look, kid.” She’s reached her limit. Which seems quite short as compared to her usual tolerance for petulance. She is quite fucking petulant herself. It confuses Steve. “You and I grew up in different fucking worlds. I was younger than Peter the first time I was forced to kill, alright? I know you idealize this life, and fuck I know why you do it. I watched Tony do what he did. I fought next to the world’s mightiest heroes, alright? I’ve banged two of them. I know why you want this, I get why you test out your equipment without telling me and I get why you’re so set on coming along, why you’re as driven as you are… But I’d give almost everything for you to get to be normal, just a little bit longer.”
There’s nothing but silence on the other end.
She sighs, anger fading. “I can’t stop you from wanting this,” she runs a hand through her hair in defeat. “I know that, okay? But I just—I’ve lost too much to this shit. And I know that’s no reason to stop you and one day I promise you, I won’t. Fuck, I’ll probably help you. But I—I need time, okay?” Her head falls in defeat, “I just need a little more time to hold on to you having a normal mundane job and not worrying about whether I’ll see you for coffee next Saturday.” She whispers then, “Please.”
More silence.
And the feel of it makes Steve want to itch.
Until the door makes a tell-tale click, indicating the young man’s success.
“We’re gonna talk about this when you get home,” Harley states gravely. “So you have to come home, alright?” Ah, there it is. The fragile care reciprocated equally and unequivocally.
The door begins to open slowly and everyone stands back on their guard. Stance straightening.
“Harley,” she says easily, a stark contrast to the tone she used just moments ago. “Do me a favor will you?”
“And what did I just do, right now?” He retorts.
“Public service,” she replies. “Will you do it or not?”
“Hit me,” he prompts.
As the gates fall open, the sight in front of them makes Steve want to learn more languages than he already knows, all so he can find more words to curse at it with more passion.
“Play me a song,” Y/n says, back to being unfazed and calm.
“A song?” Harley asks.
“Helps me focus, keeps my head from getting too crowded. So yeah, a song.”
“We’re so fucked,” Steve hears Malcolm whisper to himself.
“Not yet,” Bucky says with a smile. And Steve can just look at him in pure confusion, because there’s a giant hall in front of them, with over a hundred uniformed men, guarding the way to the long spiral staircase in the middle with a huge patterned skylight, with white light flooding in.
But then he notices his gaze is fixed on her fists, clenching. And then he understands.
Frankly, he missed it.
He remembers the conversation where she’d told him of her dilemma with the powers. It was one of the last times they’d talked before he had left for the past. He hated how helpless she looked but he hated how useless he was in helping her, far more.
But now, she takes the machine gun off her back and hands it to Torres. She pushes her shoulders back and moves her neck from side to side, cracking it. Standing at the entrance she calls out, “Junior.”
“Static,” Harley answers.
“Drop my fucking needle.”
And as the song flows in her hand drops. Armor manifesting itself, being created piece by piece on her arms as her fingers curl around the hilt of a sword. The steel of it extending and then catching a pink flame.
Her pace starts off slow, lazy steps that make the men in front of them cock their guns. And the moment the shot is fired, she takes off running. White, pink, black, and blue lights flashing, the signature sound of static crackling in, and then she vanishes. Only to appear right above the crowd ahead and jumping into action.
“We can’t just let her show us up like that,” Sam says with a smirk, his wings unfolding. As he takes off, Bucky, Malcolm, Torres, and Steve himself run in.
With Bucky and Steve in front, covering Torres and Malcolm who are raining down a hail of bullets in their wake, Steve begins throwing punches left and right. He can spot Sam trying to fly up the staircase to reach the top where (who he presumes is) Hera stands in a glass room, looking down, watching. She looks like every fucking human-shaped super-villain they’ve ever fought; old, grey, white, and annoyed.
Sam swings the shield at the offending glass but it doesn’t shatter. So he does it again, and again, and again. He pulls out his gun and trying to shatter it with bullets. The glass remains insolent.
“What the fuck is that thing made out of? Bucky’s forehead?” Sam asks incredulously, flying back down to assist their on going assault. Upon the staircase stand more men, aiming down at them with guns of their own. Sam swings half of them off while punching the other.
“I heard that!” Bucky shouts back in offense.
“In Madripoor, when we say shit’s bulletproof, we mean it’s fairly everything proof,” Malcolm explains, dropkicking a man and shooting two other in the process.
“Yeah, well, we gotta infiltrate on foot,” Sam states. “Bucky, Steve, cover Malcolm and Torres. Get them up there. We need those files or all this is going to be a very useless global incident.”
“What about Y/n?” Steve asks, worried. His eyes begin looking around for her, while his arms are strangling a man with his biceps.
The moment his eyes find her, Sam says, “Does she look like she needs backup?”
And fuck if Sam isn’t right. It almost looks like the rest of them would only get in her way. With her sword, a blazing fury, the woman is carving a path for herself with a devious smile on her face. Glitching from one place to another, she’s moving only on instinct. And Steve has witnessed her with that smirk before. It reminds him why he was always just a little scared of her. When wars came calling, reluctant as she was, her power was always entrancingly terrifying.
She was too good at this shit for someone who claimed to be a pacifist.
“Come on,” Bucky says, pulling him by his collar. It breaks him from his trance.
Bucky leads the way with Malcolm’s one hand placed on his vibranium shoulder and the other aiming a gun at assailants. Torres is right on his heels and Steve is last. They are making their way up the staircase, through the path that Y/n has so generously cleared for them. Bucky’s gut-punching whoever comes in their way from the front, blocking bullets with his arm, while Torres uses the machine gun to drop as many people he can, coming at them from behind. Steve’s busy back-kicking men, punching them till they drop.
As they finally reach the top, they are met with another door.
“Really?” Bucky asks, annoyed. “Another fucking door?”
Malcolm pulls out a small kit of tools from his back pocket, sitting himself down in front of it. “Relax, Sergeant. This one I can handle,” he assures them as he begins working. “I’ve been practicing.”
“Practicing picking locks?” Bucky asks.
“Practicing picking locks without triggering the explosion that it is definitely rigged with, yes,” Malcolm answers easily.
Steve can’t help but roll his eyes. “I feel so much safer,” he retorts.
“It’s an absolute honor, Mr. Rogers,” Malcolm teases, brows furrowed in concentration.
“YOU COCK SUCKING SON OF A WHORING SLUT!” The shout is loud enough to hear it all the way up the stairs.
Bucky and Steve’s eyes connect instantly knowing who it is, and they run back to the stairs, down a couple flights to see what caused it.
When they finally spot the woman they’re looking for, she’s looking down at her armored hand covered in blood that seems to be running down from a bullet grazing her cheek.
Steve is about to jump down to help her when Bucky’s hand comes to halt him.
“Buck, she needs help.” Steve reasons, looking at him.
Bucky however, seems too lost in the sight of her. God, Steve’s never going to get used to this. Why does his damn heart keep cracking?
Somebody ought to tape it back up.
“She’s fine,” Bucky dismisses him.
“Buck—”
“If you jump in now, you’ll just piss her off,” Bucky states. “I wouldn’t suggest that.” He nods his head down onto the scene unfolding.
She wipes off her cheek. “Stop going for my damn face!” She shouts. “Or so help me god I will make this so much more painful than it needs to be” Her sword charging back up with pink fire. “Facial wounds take ages to heal.” She begins swinging it with such expertise it almost seems like a rehearsed dance. The sword, like the armor on her arms, stuck to her skin is a part of her. “My niece makes me wear fucking hello kitty bandaids!”
She jumps, spinning herself in the air, landing on her knee, and dropping five men in the process.
“See?” Bucky remarks with a smile. “I told ya.”
Before Steve can ask him wherein God’s name did Bucky get this infallible faith in her that Steve himself couldn’t muster, that reminded Steve of a friend of his who had the same faith he possessed in her, Malcolm’s shouts break the moment.
Steve hasn’t known the man for very long but he has only ever associated calmness with Malcolm Brekker. The distress his tone carries now puts everyone on edge.
Because at once, Sam flies up, landing next to them at the same time as lights flash and with a buzzing sound ringing out next to them and Y/n falls out of a portal. All four of them rush over to the door Malcolm just opened to see him standing with a gun pointed towards Hera, while in front of her stands a line of… kids.
“You’re a goddamn monster!” Malcolm accuses, Torres standing behind him, looking back at them helplessly.
“They’re wearing shock collars,” Torres explains. Pointing at the remote in Hera’s hand he adds,” The charge is connected to her heartbeat. If her heart stops—”
“—The kids go boom,” Hera finishes.
Her posh British accent, evident.
“You’re crazy! You’re fucking crazy!” Malcolm has lost all his tranquility. He’s not just angry, he’s furious. “You fucking crazy bitch!”
Hera, the older woman in front of them just tuts. “There’s no need for that kind of language, Malcolm. There are kids present,” she says, smiling something godless. Or perhaps exactly as immorally as a God with that much power would.
“Hera,” Y/n warns, stepping up. “We really don’t need to do all this bullshit you know? We don’t want you. Get out of the way and no one gets slashed in half.” Y/n says pointing at the metal in her hand that isn’t currently glowing.
Hera laughs. “I know what you want,” she says as she pulls out a flash drive with her free hand, from her cleavage, waving it around. “But why the hell would I let you have it?”
“So I don’t murder you with my bare hands,” Malcolm supplies.
“Who says I plan to make it out of this alive?” Hera asks, her voice sharp and her eyes sharper. The insinuation that her life and by extension the lives of the kids in front of them means nothing to her, sends a startling chill down Steve’s spine. “Besides,” she adds, “you want me alive… evidence and all that.”
“Malcolm, Y/n,” Sam tries.
But he’s promptly cut off by Malcolm. “I don’t give a single shit about evidence. Y/n, do you?” His eyes are fixed on Hera in front of him as he asks.
“I can be convinced to share the same sentiment as well,” Y/n answers, nodding her from side to side in assent to the idea.
“Guys,” Sam cuts in, more demanding this time. “Calm down. We need her alive.”
“We can’t hurt her till the kids are wearing the collars,” Bucky reasons, he sounds like he’s pleading. He probably is. He’s looking at only Y/n.
Both Malcolm and Y/n seem unfettered.
“Ah, they were The Orphanage’s greatest assets,” Hera says. “You really think they are even remotely incorruptible?” She shakes her head in disagreement. “They were made and beaten and broken but only because they could survive it… And to survive all that you need… malice. You need to have something darker and far uglier inside.” She begins walking over at them, with slow calculated steps. “And they are as ugliest we ever had.” She faces them head-on, only inches away. “Do they even know about the shit you both have done for us?” She looks over their shoulders to Sam, Bucky, Steve, and Torres who are flanking the pair from left to right in that order. “Do you even know the people you’re fighting with? The ruthless killers… since before either of them popped their damn cherries. Hell, since before puberty.”
Y/n’s armor falls off, as her right-hand darts out suddenly grips onto Hera’s throat, choking and pushing up. But the other woman just smiles.
“Ring-a-ring-a-roses. A pocket full of posies,” Hera sings, well technically chokes out. “You kill me, you kill me and the kids blow up.”
Y/n drops her to the ground.
Hera just chuckles as she rubs her throat, while Y/n goes to pull the flash drive from her cleavage suddenly the room goes still. Because she’s stopped with a kick to her jaw by one of the children standing in front.
Steve knows the whole thing is fucked.
“Oh, did I forget to mention that they will fight you?” Hera laughs as the kids begin taking up fighting stances and charging on before anyone can react.
They are young, barely 16, some of them younger still. But they move with a certain amount of intent that is sometimes lacking in even trained field agents. The kids attack all six of them and they all seem to try their best to dodge the punches without actually having to fight.
“Are you seriously making us fight kids?” Y/n screams.
“You killed the rest of my security,” Hera answers, getting off the floor. “And I don’t know how the fuck you managed to stall my backup… but yes. You left me no choice.”
Oh for fuck’s sake.
Steve moves back, swinging from side to side to avoid the punches thrown his way. He doesn’t want to hurt them, but ducking out of the way isn’t a very long-term solution.
“We’re gonna be fucked if we can’t take the damn collars off,” Bucky shouts out.
“That is the idea,” Hera says, as she begins making her way to the door. “Oh, yeah this thing,” she points at her pulse that has a small device atop it—presumably relaying her heartbeat back to the charge of the shock collars, connecting them, “has a 10-mile range, so I really would advise against the idea of you know, shooting me? You know the drill; you hurt me, I shock them, you kill me, they die, yada yada yada.” She waves her hand around in mock chagrin.
“Anyway. Malcolm, Morgan,” she says snidely, addressing Y/n with her older name, making it sound like an insult. And it feels like one as Steve notices Y/n’s jaw clench. “It was nice of you to swing by, but I have to rush. Crimes to commit, people to kill.” Hera shrugs. “I’ll see you around.” And with that, she walks out of the room.
“Y/n—” Malcolm calls out.
“I know, I know!” Y/n pacifies him. Looking around, her eyes land on Steve, and for a second, he thinks this is it. It’s selfish but he wants her to rely on him like she once did. And for one shiny moment, Steve thinks he’s got her. But then her gaze moves quickly over his shoulder to Bucky. “I’m gonna do something and I’m so very, very sorry about it, sunshine,” she says politely. Her voice is small and her face is genuinely apologetic.
“I trust you,” Bucky replies easily without hesitation.
God, they’re in love. They are so in love it hurts Steve more than he’d ever want to admit. He had grown up envious of Bucky. Bucky was healthier, bigger, more charming, and smoother. He got all the girls and all the glory. But then one day Steve got pumped full of some blue liquid and became taller than Bucky. He thought then, finally, they were equals. They were brothers in arms, fighting together and downright inseparable. Steve was convinced he would never envy Bucky of anything anymore. He really didn’t want to be envious of his best friend… But here he was; envious enough to be green enough to put Banner to shame.
“I’m sorry,” she repeats, pulling out a cylindrical device from her utility belt and throwing it at the ground. The moment she does so, a charge flows out. A wave of air and electricity erupts, expanding from the point of impact, shutting down all the electronic devices in the room, and probably even outside. The lights above them go out, plunging them into darkness and the last thing Steve sees is Y/n reaching for Bucky, regret etched onto her face.
The emergency lights come back on, the hollow red lighting them up.
“What the hell was that?” Torres asks, looking around.
“An electromagnetic pulse,” Malcolm explains, grabbing on the kid attacking him, and pulling the shock collar off her neck. He waves it in front of her, “You’re free. So for Christ’s sake stop trying to punch me, please.”
“You’re the bad guys!” She screams out, thrashing her arms at him.
He backs away, “Bad guys are usually the ones who put the shock collars around your neck, not the ones who take it off.”
One by one, all the kids start taking off their collars. Seemingly convinced by Malcolm’s explanation or perhaps too ecstatic over the turn of events, they let the six of them pass by without a struggle.
“We have to stop her,” Bucky says, his vibranium arm motionless and limp on the side as they all run down the stairs. “If she leaves, we’re never getting the damn files or her, ever again.”
“I can’t fly, my wings are off,” Sam adds.
“Yeah, sorry about that,” Y/n says.
“Nah, we would’ve kept fighting those kids if you hadn’t done it,” Sam tells her.
“So what now, Cap?” Torres asks as they come to a halt at the end of the staircase.
“We don’t have comms anymore, so we gotta rely on you,” Sam says looking at Y/n. “Can you find her?”
Y/n nods, and glitches out.
They’re running out, leaving the giant gates of hell behind when she glitches back in. “Northside, third floor, service exit,” she informs them.
“Can you glitch us there?” Sam asks, hesitant. “If not then, just stall her till we—”
But he’s cut off by a burst of light and suddenly they’re surrounded by bright pink light along with grain suffocating them. None of them have the time to take in the vision because Y/n is ushering them, pulling them to make them run as another portal opens and everyone falls out, dropping down from the ceiling.
Apart from Y/n herself, who lands gracefully, everyone else falls flat on their ass, blocking Hera’s way out.
“Oh come on,” Hera says, annoyed.
As she’s about to break into a run when a shot rings out. Everyone’s eyes fall onto the shooter; Malcolm. The bullet pierces through her calves and she screams out in pain. He’s still on the ground on his back. As she falls to the ground in front of them, he gets up to his feet. Walking over, pointing the gun to her temple. He pulls out the drive from the valley of her breasts, throwing it back at Torres as the rest of them get up as well.
His gun doesn’t move from her temple though.
“Malcolm,” Sam calls out, his tone borders on a warning.
“Yes, Captain?” Malcolm asks, eyes fixed on Hera, as he crouches over her.
“We’ve got the drive, the mission’s over,” Sam says. “Let’s go, man.”
“Oh no no, come on, you can’t possibly leave me behind Malcolm,” Hera chides. “I’ll keep coming after you till the day I die,” she adds with a smile.
“Don’t listen to her, Brekker,” Bucky says evenly.
“She’s riling you up. You kill her, we have no one to prosecute,” Steve reminds him.
“Yeah, but if I let her live then she keeps fucking tormenting me…” Malcolm chokes out, his voice cracking at the end. “Like she has been since I was 7 fucking years old!” His hands are shaking. Steve didn’t even know Malcolm could lose his calm this bad. But he gets it. He can’t blame the guy for wanting revenge. “Rotting away in a cell is too fucking. Good. For. Her,” he punctuates the last three words by tapping the gun onto her temple, contempt evident in the words.
“Mal?” Torres urges gently. He takes soft steps over to where Malcolm crouches, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Mal?” Torres calls out again. “Babe?”
Malcolm finally takes his eyes off her to look back at Torres. There’s tears in his eyes.
“Let’s go home, okay?” Torres coos at him. “We’ll forget this whole thing and grab those fish and chips you promised me, remember?”
Malcolm lets out a watery laugh.
Torres extends a hand to help him up, and after a pause, Malcolm takes it.
They begin to walk back towards the group, turning their back to Hera.
Hera groans from behind them. “You’ve gone soft, Malcolm… and what the fuck did I say about going soft?”
And it all happens instantaneously. Suddenly Hera is pulling out a gun, aiming at Malcolm and there are flashes of light that go off from next to Steve and Y/n glitches out between Malcolm and Hera, deflecting the bullet with her arm.
But then Y/n’s fingers are curling, Bucky is calling out her name to no avail along with Sam. Meanwhile, Steve is rushing over in what he knows will be a failed attempt to stop her. And fail, he does.
Her sword appears, already lit aflame, pink, and bright. She plunges it into Hera’s chest.
Steve reaches her a second too late, pulling her off.
“What the fuck did you just do???” Sam screams out.
Y/n’s eyes are fixed on Hera’s body that lies at her feet, now bleeding out. The blood seems like a dull black in the harsh redness of the emergency lights. “What needed to be done,” she answers, plainly. And with one last look at the body, she turns around.
Before anyone can have any more philosophical debate over the wrongness of it all, there’s a giant explosion from somewhere close by. The proximity of it seems to be far too close for it to have been from somewhere outside.
“What was that?” Bucky asks as he brings one of Y/n’s arms over his shoulder, holding her up. She looks so exhausted it’s painful for Steve to even watch. She looks like she’s coming apart at the seams. The powers she’s been using, draining her.
“Self-destruct,” Malcolm answers.
And before anyone can say anything to that, another explosion rings out this time from outside the building.
They all exchange knowing looks.
Backup’s here.
They’re going to be engulfed in fire and hail of bullets in no time. And the ace up their sleeve looks like she’s barely holding onto consciousness as it is. They need to fucking move or they’re going to be toast.
All of them begin making their way out of the facility as the flames begin to spread. Dodging falling debris and the barrage of smoke engulfing them whole, they make it to the exit.
“Everybody out!” Sam shouts out.
The ceiling is giving out then, falling and crumbling upon them. There are more screams and orders hauled but all Steve can focus on are Bucky and Y/n. He needs them out and the rest, he thinks, will figure itself out. Urging the couple outside, and then calling behind for Sam he makes his way out following Y/n and Bucky.
Sam follows him but then he’s pulling a very distraught Torres by the waist.
“MAL!” Torres shouts. “MALCOLM!!”
The wretched nature of the screams breaks everyone from their adrenaline-pumped reverie.
“Mal?” Y/n calls out slowly. “Where’s Mal?”
“We’ve gotta go!” Sam commands.
And they really gotta fucking go. Because there’s a whole war going on behind them.
Unlike, as they had previously expected, the backup isn’t aiming at them but at the barricade made around the compound of what seems like a garrison of bounty hunters. A garrison of bounty hunters, who seem to be defending against the backup, and protecting the team.
Steve doesn’t have time to look a gift horse in the mouth right now, because Y/n is spiraling.
“We have to go back!” Y/n screams.
“No, you have to get out!” comes a shout from behind them. All their heads turn in unison to see Sharon, poking her head out of an SUV. “This whole thing will turn into something far worse if you don’t get out of here, right the fuck now!”
“But Mal,” Torres chokes out, tears streaming down his face.
“I’m sorry,” is all Sharon says. Another explosion rings out and Sharon looks back at them, “Get in, please. We have to go.”
As Sam pulls Torres into the car, Steve can see Bucky trying to soothe Y/n with hushed words and a soft touch. Her eyes, though, remain stuck at the burning wreckage, glistening with unshed tears. She’s covered in blood, sweat, soot, and now tears.
It reminds Steve of a familiar sight from not too long ago and he fucking hates it.