#back to black
He has to admit – their plan is kind of shit.
“Do you have a spare toothbrush?” he can hear Clint asking, scraping at his tongue with his nails, a faint oily sheen glimmering in the light. “I can still taste the gas.”
A handkerchief is lobbed in the archer’s direction, Natasha wryly maintaining, “That’s because you stole it.”
“Karma,” chimes in Steve, who grins even as Clint scowls, wiping furiously at the black slick coating his mouth. Across the room, Bruce is tapping away on his carefully-built computer, their go-to tech guy in this time period, glasses slipping halfway down his nose. At his side, little Peter is watching him avidly, though his eyes, despite being practically glued to the screen, are sliding shut every few seconds. It’s a sure sign he’s about to conk out – he’s two years old, so it’s not surprising to James that he’s feeling the need to nap.
James wonders if he could take a nap, too.
An insistent hand bats at his shin wildly, Wanda letting out a childish grumble as she says, “You stopped.”
James pauses, looking down at her hair in his hands. None of the mouse-brown strands are tangled, but his fingers are lax; he corrects that immediately, attending to her long braid. When he finally ties it off with a hairband, the plait is tight enough that it hopefully won’t whip about everywhere when she goes zooming up into the air with her powers. They’ve all learnt the hard way how vindictive the six year old can get when the rat’s nest version of her hair has to be tended to.
“You’re a shitty friend,” Clint grumbles when he finally throws back Natasha’s handkerchief. She kicks it into a nearby open suitcase, the one that Bruce will pack his laptop into when he’s done fiddling with the security cameras remotely.
James looks at the calendar by the door. December 15th, 1991. A chill has already settled over his soul – they’ve been preparing for this, the closest event they can manipulate from when they landed and while knowing their odds are great, James still can’t get it out of his head that this might be where everything goes sideways.
“…I did it,” Bruce mutters, raising his voice to repeat himself. He doesn’t have to, though, the motel room of superheroes having tuned into his voice immediately. Drawing Wanda up onto his lap from the floor, James settles back into the deep armchair, affecting a neutral expression as Peter perks up at his side. He shares a look with Natasha.
Her sigh is in her eyes, rather than in any droop of her shoulder or noise she might make. As Steve checks on Bruce’s progress, Natasha fetches Peter, who guilelessly doesn’t expect any ulterior motives from the assassin. In her arms, the pseudo-nineteen year old looks like a young mother, Peter clasped gently in her arms as he lays against her breast. She crosses the room, singing a lullaby under her breath. Within a minute, Peter is asleep and only Clint’s quick shove stops Steve from loudly announcing their next move.
James thought his former best friend couldn’t look any younger. Like a deer in the headlights, his wide eyes and half-stricken expression makes him look younger than his bodily age of sixteen – which on Stevie is about twelve. Bruce, the fourteen year old of their bunch, adjusts his glasses nervously while Clint – the ten year old, which will never not be funny to Natasha, apparently – bounces in place.
“Sam is checking in,” Bruce announces quietly, vividly aware of the narrow-eyed look Natasha is sending him, that says if you wake Peter up, there will be hell to pay. Bruce ducks down to stare at the screen. “He’s packing away the equipment, so JARVIS should be reintegrating into himself soon – I’ve told him to head back. Vision is staying to make sure there are no hiccups, like planned.”
“How do you think Tony’s going to react? Really, I mean.” Steve crosses his arms, as if he can hide himself from the world behind a pair of skinny twigs. The confidence is inspiring, at least. “JARVIS is his creation. He’ll notice.”
“He will, but that’s the point,” Natasha confirms in a tender voice. In the armchair, James strokes Wanda’s head, knowing she’s noticed the same thing he has: they’re acting their apparent ages, no matter the truth of the situation. At her affirmation, Steve visibly relaxes, trusting her, his brain calming at her gentle assurances.
“The AI will keep him safe,” Wanda whispers. James can’t help the fond kiss he presses to her hair, grunting positively. She snuggles closer and he wraps his arms around her tighter, ready to drift off himself.
“We need to sleep,” he announces, Natasha heading to settle Peter in the travel-cot they have set up between the twin beds. Clint wrinkles his nose and James takes pity on him. “Barton can take first watch with Romanova.”
“Three hour shifts.” Natasha confirms with him, getting a nod in return before she changes into her pyjamas, gun tucked under her pillow and a knife strapped to either thigh. A quiet wheeze sounds, attracting his attention. Even as he shuts his eyes to sleep, James speaks to Steve in a hard tone.
“Use your inhaler, Stevie, before I have to make you.”
Steve grumbles, but thankfully does as he’s told. Drifting off quickly, feeling Wanda’s heated weight on his chest and her heartbeat pacing itself to his own, James lets sleep devour him.
They do not plan on saving Howard Stark.
This is not why James thinks it’s a shit plan.
Having stalked the inventor for several weeks, living off money stolen out of various Hydra and SHIELD drop-offs and safe-houses in the state, they’d figured out his schedule and his routes home, even checking on the precious super-serum he keeps stashed in the trunk, like an imbecile. From James’ previous experiences, they know the where and when that the Winter Soldier will assassinate the Stark’s and steal the serum.
Their own plan to steal the serum is dangerous because of how simple it is. Howard Stark always has his butler, Edwin Jarvis, fill up the tank of his car at the end of the day – enough to get him home, back and then various nearby landmarks, if needed. Clint has already stolen a quarter of that fuel, thereby ensuring that Howard Stark will run out of gas at least five minutes before the intended assassination sight.
James thinks their plan is shitty because it relies on chance. If Howard Stark sees the fuel gauge is lower than usual, he could change his route or his timing, or both. If the car runs out of gas later than they calculated, the Soldier could get to them first, before they have time to adequately surround, incapacitate and steal from him, post-murder op when his adrenaline is high and his priority is keeping the serum safe to give to his handlers.
What they want is for there to be a delay long enough that Wanda and Clint can steal the super-serum before the Soldier realises his quarry won’t be passing him by as planned. In general, James just does not like their plan. There’s too much relying on chance, but it’s the only one they’ve got – and hey, they’ve been multitasking.
“If I ever have to do that much tech magic again, kill me,” Sam moans, laying back on the motel bed with relish. Natasha ruins his mood by laying Peter on his stomach. Sam squints at the baby, who is adorable and clearly just as surprised at the change in hands. “What?”
“You’re looking after Peter,” she informs him, motioning to Bruce, “because he’s chicken and doesn’t want to do it alone.”
“I’m not chicken – I’m being sensible,” Bruce stresses, laughing awkwardly. James doesn’t look his way, just so he doesn’t feel any more embarrassed, checking the guns at his back once more before pulling on the leather jacket Clint had found him. It matches Natasha’s and for a moment, he’s struck dumb as he watches her tie her hair up, bandana keeping stray curls out of the way.
“Your jaw’s going to fall off, James,” says Wanda, cheekily. Clint snickers by the window, legs dangling on either side of the ledge. James snaps his mouth shut, feeling a flush in his cheeks as Natasha grins, winking at him.
Steve rolls his eyes from his place at the desk. “Can you just go?” he asks, impatient. “I want to get back to normal, thanks.”
“Punk, shut your gob,” James orders sweetly, smiling at his friend with menace. You’ve forgotten what ‘normal’ means, kid. “We’re going.”
“Okay.” Steve’s eyes trail them up and down, envy clear. He wants to help – but like Bruce, he’s a liability in the field. Honestly? James does want fighter Steve back, but right now, only Sam could better their odds and he’s just spent the whole day driving in circles, getting their future lodgings ready and securing their escape from the area, in no condition to offer support.
Shucking off his own thoughts, James concentrates on the mission. Hopefully, things will only deviate from the timeline slightly – the Winter Soldier will have to approach on foot and play a killer game of hide and seek, unaware that the ‘kids’ running around the woods are far from ordinary.
The car is still warm when they get in. Their plan is – once again – dangerous in its simplicity. Clint and Wanda will be let out a mile before the kill point and then Natasha and James will park right in the view of the Soldier’s sniper nest, pretending to be young lovers getting frisky. The possibility that the Soldier will recognise either of them has crossed his mind, another danger – but the risk is worth it. The Soldier doesn’t actively kill civilians and at this stage post-wipe, James doubts he’d even feel a flicker of familiarity upon sighting Natasha.
They set up. Natasha sits on his lap in the passenger’s seat, kissing him. He can’t really help his physical reaction to that, but their mission takes precedence. Knowing where his sniper’s nest is, James finds it easily, though actually seeing it is impossible, of course.
Close to eight pm, Wanda reaches out to their minds and tells them the car is still running on fumes. It will pass them. James, who has his hands roaming under the edge of Natasha’s shirt, halts. What will the Soldier do? Nearly immediately, the answer occurs to him.
“Car crash,” Natasha mutters, their minds running similar tracks. What have we done? James thinks, finding himself horrified at the idea of what the Soldier might do to cover up the crime.
“He’ll shoot their wheels – they’ll crash into us at high speed.”
“Perfect cover up, until they find the bullets in the autopsy,” she replies, but James crushes her shirt in hand, pale and milky-skinned.
He barely manages to mutter, “The arm,” before they hear it: the sound of an engine in the distance. It is zooming through the forest, engine growling. Natasha reaches for the door, opening it and retreating in and instant. James barely understands what she’s doing, until she climbs up on top of the roof and shouts.
“SOLDAT! SOLDAT! NYET! NYET-”
His fury bursts from his skin, but James understands. He has to. It’s one of the only options she has – a stalling technique, a risk that has to be taken. They’ve made a mistake, interfering like this. They should have just gotten Wanda to stop their car early with her powers, killed Stark and his wife themselves rather than blame it on a Hydra assassin.
James gets out of the car.
On the road, he waves his arms wildly, seeing headlights in the distance. Natasha on the roof of their car sits down casually, swaying like she’s drunk and James adopts a certain swagger to his steps as the Stark’s slow to a stop in front of him. Stumbling over to the driver’s window, James leans over, watching the window roll down.
“Kid,” Howard barks, “What are you doing out here?”
“What are you?” James barks back with a slur, blinking slowly. He glances back at Natasha and the car in faux-confusion. “Uh…we forgot to bring a designation driver. Desig- designated driving. Driver. Person.”
“Howard, they’re drunk teenagers.” Maria Stark leans over, catching his eye. “Son, what’s your name? Where do you live?”
“In town,” James says, seeing the recognition finally springing in Howard’s eyes, his hardened expression slackening. “Annie, me, we’re not kids. We have a kid. He’s really young. Got a break for the first time in years. Years, miss. Babysitter. But we forgot about driving and drinking and- and all that. I don’t want to get in a car crash-”
“What’s your name?” Howard cuts in, squinting at him in the dark.
“Bob. Bobbie, to Annie,” James says promptly. “Robert, to my mammy. What about you? Who are you?”
On the car-top, he can see Natasha using a hand-sign for danger, before she slips off the car-roof and walks across the road. James, keeping both Howard and Maria’s attention as he is, makes sure they don’t even bother to look.
“Howard Stark, of Stark Industries. This is my wife, Maria,” mutters Howard. He looks James up and down, shaking himself. “You look like someone I used to know. A carbon copy.”
“Nice,” James smiles a little, then puts his hand to his mouth, realising that something won’t make sense to the Stark’s in a minute if he can’t cover it up. “Oops.”
“Oops?”
James pouts, before faux-whispering. “I lied. We weren’t drinking – but don’t tell the police! I really don’t want to get into a car crash, if we try to drive. No bad breath. Have you ever had ‘shrooms before?”
Howard winces, putting his hand up. “Bob, shush.” He rubs the bridge of his nose and in his mind, James hears Wanda whispering we’re here, keep him busy. “Alright,” Howard says after a minute, looking to Maria briefly. “Here’s what’s going to happen. Our car’s running out of gas, so my wife will drive you and your girlfriend home in your car, while I wait here for the tow-service, as horrible as that sounds…”
“Nah, that sounds great,” James says cheerily, leaning over so he can rest his arms on the open window. “We’ve got the babysitter all night with Sammy, so we can wait for your tow-service, if you like. Hey! You could even phone our motel! Do you have a phone?”
“Yes,” Howard sighs, looking more than a little amused, now. “Are you missing your son?”
“…yeah,” James sighs dramatically, squidging his fingers about in his best impression of Shuri on a science bender. “He’s so little! We left him with our friend, who’s called Sammy as well. Sammy Squared. Do you think that’s funny?”
“A little,” says the man, only a little grudgingly. He pats one of James’ hands on the window. “Why don’t you go back to your car and wait in the back, young man – we’ll wait in here, till the tow-truck arrives.”
“Sweet,” James says, standing up straight as he sees Clint and Wanda darting back into the woods on the other side of the car, Wanda’s red magic barely visible in the dark, when they’re deep enough that baseline humans wouldn’t see.