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Brock Rumlow was traveling down streets passing through a lower-income area in Washington, D.C., enjoying the scenery of sunset. People were getting off a bus at a bus stop, dragging their belongings or kids away from the still-warm street. For the first time in a month, he saw the light before the red sky was consumed by the darkness of the night. He was always too busy. He was always at risk, didn’t know when would be his last minute.
He had clocked off early, gone to buy some dinner, and now was heading home, groceries in hands, an unlit cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth. Still having his combat boots and cop-like black uniform on, the S.T.R.I.K.E. team leader, also a HYDRA agent, was on the edge of whistling happily. While he was crossing the familiar street, he was thinking about tomorrow. Although he was devoted and never felt tired of work, it was splendid to have Friday plus the weekend off. He would keep himself in bed all day long, inert and in peace.
Brock walked slowly, following the narrow lane without any sidewalks to an old apartment complex. A typical gray concrete building made a solid line along an equally gray concrete path. The front door was decorated with the last year’s Xmas lights and colorful ornaments. There were a small playground for kids and an over-crowded parking lot jam-packed with dust-covered cars that looked like dying logs. Brock usually parked his vehicles at a parking lot downtown. He went home on foot.
His apartment wasn’t in the best neighborhood. Streetlamps weren’t turned on at dusk. And neighbors didn’t look out for each other. But the area wasn’t discouraging to live. It was safe enough that kids could play outside by themselves. Sometimes, people shouted. Sometimes, a baby disturbed everybody in the apartment at three in the morning. Sometimes, the manager’s four dogs kept barking at a ghost until somebody made a threat to kill them. It wasn’t paradise, like anywhere else on earth. But Brock liked it. It was better than the childhood nightmare his family called home. Brock had moved here since he joined S.H.I.E.L.D. Although playing the bad guy for HYDRA made money, he never had any thoughts of moving out. He didn’t mind listening to people shouting, babies crying, or kids laughing. He himself never talked much, never had anyone to talk to.
A group of three children, two boys and a girl, were playing on the playground with one of the manager’s dogs. None of them could be older than eight years old. Brock was more well-known to these kids than to their parents although he hardly talked to them. Coming home was rare. He didn’t know their names, but he knew that the kids talked about him. Because Broke looked like a cop, he was very strong built and wore black, all of the kids in this apartment complex believed he worked for the SWAT team.
When Brock reached the front door, the biggest boy saw him carrying a brown paper bag. The boy shouted, “trick or treat!”
The others turned their little heads. Small bodies, including the dog, bounced toward him. “Trick or treat! Trick or treat!”
Cracked up, Brock couldn’t help letting a lopsided smile escape. “Slow down, kids. Halloween is tomorrow.”
“But you bought cookies, right?” The little girl eyeballed his grocery bag expectantly.
“I don’t want to disappoint you but... no.” He grinned, opening the back to show them the whole nine yards. Beer, canned chili, and peanuts.
“Old man.” They echoed and scowled at him.
“You’ll buy beer and peanuts too when you grow up.”
“We won’t!”
The big guy laughed and headed to the door.
The old apartment had an elevator, but waiting for the elevator took forever, so Brock always used the stairs. He climbed to the third floor and stalked the corridor to his room. As soon as he touched the doorknob, he knew somebody had entered the room before him. The door was unlocked. The agent quickly put the grocery bag down and drew out his gun, cigarette dropped on the floor.
After a long hesitation, he opened the door and charged inside.
The living room was occupied by a dim light coming from the glowing window shades. There wasn’t even a sound of breathing, but as soon as Brock laid an eye on his sofa bed, he could see instantly who had invaded his home. The invader didn’t make an effort to hide. He just sat there and waited for Brock to lower his gun and roll his eyes.
Winter Soldier had invited himself in. As always, he looked a little bit pissed off.
His masked face covered with blood.
“You hurt?” Brock asked even though he knew that his question was beyond witless.
The invader shook his head. Of course, that blood must be someone else’s. Winter Soldier had been sent to find and kill an anti-war activist two days ago.
The man sitting tamely in front of him was a trained killer, nurtured to be impregnable and ruthless. Winter Soldier never failed a mission, especially an assassination, and he hardly got any scratches.
Now, all that was left to worry about was the fate of his sofa.
The host sighed and bent down to pick up his groceries. He tossed the gun into the paper bag, entered the room, and kicked the door shut.
“Get your bloody ass off my sofa,” Brock grumbled. “Go take a shower. I’ll make dinner.”
Brock threw his guest’s blood-stained clothes into the washer as he heard the shower turn on in the bathroom.
Winter Soldier had visited Brock’s apartment for the first time two months ago. On a dog day that everyone just wanted to go home and crash, Brock was the last member of the S.T.R.I.K.E. team remaining at the base. He took his jacket off but the unbearable heat lingered even after the sky became completely dark. He walked to an empty parking lot, mounted his Harley-Davidson, started the engine, and took off for an unpleasantly too-warm ride.
At first, he planned to go to a bar to have a drink and definitely get laid, but his stomach protested loudly. Food had to come first. He changed his direction to Chinatown for dumpling hunting. He met Winter Soldier at the Chinatown. The guy was sitting on a fire escape of a barber shop, observing colorful snack stalls lining the lively neighborhood. The killer looked out of place. His face was as blank as an empty bottle.
Brock and Winter Soldier had worked together, but the chance ceased after Brock was placed in S.H.I.E.L.D. Brock didn’t know how this guy could escape HYDRA’s security guards to get out of the laboratory. Brock ignored him, but when their eyes locked, like a stray cat that wanted something to eat, Winter Soldier didn’t look anywhere else.
Winter Soldier remembered him.
Brock called Pierce right away. His boss told him that the soldier had just finished a mission. Pierce would love to have him report the mission on the next day, but on that night, Brock should take the killer home. He had no other choices but to accept the challenge to take care of the powerful assassin by himself for a night.
It was an order, not a will.
Brock bought dim sum from a Cantonese restaurant, and, with Winter Soldier, rode home. Pierce should have warned him that bringing Winter Soldier home wasn’t going to be a piece of cake. Brock had to use the smaller and darker streets because he couldn’t risk being seen with this guy. And thanks to the mask, all of the drivers Brock rode past thought they were going to get robbed.
They reached home eventually.
The night turned sour after dinner. They sat side by side on the sofa in the living room. Brock was bored to death. To keep Winter Soldier brainwashed and prevent him from regaining his memory, Brock had to put everything away, lock, stock, and barrel. Brock couldn’t watch any shows, nor that he could use a computer. He had to throw old newspapers out of his room and hide every book he owned. Listening to music wasn’t an option either.
The root of his boredom sat squarely on the sofa. Winter Soldier had taken the mask off. He frowned at the television, sticking out his lower lip as if pouting.
This man was a living legend. The feared killer. The monster that didn’t die. That was true for everybody else but Brock had seen the whole legend with his own eyes.
Winter Soldier was nothing but a very sad guy.
HYDRA treated Winter Soldier like a lab rat. If the soldier refused to comply, Pierce would hit him as if he was a naughty dog and have his memory erased over and over.
“What do you do in your free time?” Brock launched a conversation although he knew well that it would go nowhere. But he was bored. And he was horny as hell. He should have gone straight to the bar instead of Chinatown. If he hadn’t stopped there, he wouldn’t have met this guy and wouldn’t have been ordered to do this oh-so-dull task.
Winter Soldier turned to look at Brock but didn’t answer. The killer’s eyes showed more anger as though he wanted to scold Brock for asking the stupid question. Winter Soldier was a slave. He was frozen like a piece of meat for decades. The scientists kept an eye on him twenty-four-seven. Brock bet this guy couldn’t even have a chance for a quick jerk off.
That isn’t right. Every guy has the right to jerk off.
Brock marched to his bedroom. He raided his stash and pulled out an old edition of Playboy magazine. He walked back to the living room and popped the magazine into Winter Soldier’s hand.
He didn’t know why he offered. Maybe he felt sorry for the guy. Maybe he just wanted to toy with the heartless killer. He shouldn’t have handed Winter Soldier a book of any kind. But it was just a Playboy magazine. Boobs, asses and pussies. To hell with the rules and policies.
Brock threw himself back on the sofa and asked, “you know how to do it, don’t you?”
The stubbly face looking at him was that of a toddler not knowing what to do with its poop.
“I. Mean. This.” Brock curled his hand loosely into a ball, moving the fist up and down, but the gesture didn’t click into place. Winter Soldier read the magazine’s cover and knit his eyebrows.
“Come on, Grandpa.” Brock licked his lips. “You get only one shot before they put you back in the fridge. Go to the bedroom and do it.”
The guest didn’t move. He looked at Brock. Irritated. Confused.
Brock had seen every so often Winter Soldier being led out of the laboratory drooling and tripping, losing all of the purposes to live. The soldier was tortured and forced to forget himself, to forget everything he believed and valued, to forget that he was no less a man than anyone else.
And, the worst, to forget how to masturbate.
Exhaling heavily, Brock picked the magazine up and placed it on the coffee table. Winter Soldier reached out for it like a baby, even though the soldier had no clue what the magazine was for. Brock snatched Winter Soldier’s right wrist with his right hand. The other hand pulled the assassin’s right leg up and set it on his left knee, forcing the other man to spread his legs wide apart.
Being forced to spread legs made men feel vulnerable and naked. Winter Soldier might feel uncomfortable, so he tried to close his legs and to get free. Brock kept him still.
They exchanged stares. Those blue eyes were threatening but lost. Completely lost. The assassin doll didn’t know what was going to happen.
Winter Soldier stopped acting tough when Brock touched him.
It took two lessons to inspire Winter Soldier to seek pleasure solo.
Under the sound of the shower running, as the owner of the room was standing in front of the bathroom door, carrying a towel and a change of clothes, he heard the sound of slapping and rubbing, heavy breathing mixing with begging whimpers. Brock leaned to the door, keenly listening to every sound made inside that room while fantasizing the vivid details of the whole session. His student was doing well, so well it heated his body.
It was normal for humans to get stirred up by just thinking about sex. Getting horny while listening to the other man’s masturbation, it didn’t at all mean that Brock had to be sexually attracted to him. As he was working his career up to S.T.R.I.K.E. team leader, Brock took several courses of military education and training. Working in a squad of men, sleeping in a barrack with bunk beds, the sound of men masturbating at night was hard to ignore.
At lights-out, a sound of bed squeaking erupted. Every man in the barrack knew what was going on. There were times that Brock caught the sound of lube getting squeezed out of the bottle. Some guy couldn’t settle his business with only the natural fluid. As the activity was going on and on, the listeners couldn’t help but recall their own sensations in the past, oh that fragrance of sex, or thinking about what the jerking off fellow was fantasizing. But mostly, it was the sound of panting or the slick skin-rubbing-on-skin that got everyone turned on. Some started to begin their own, taking the pulsing manhood in the hands and rubbing the sensitive nipples to the heavy blanket. Surely, everybody wanted to be discreet. But who could?
Physical contacts alone weren’t and would never be enough to fulfill the task. The culmination of sex required the lewdest picture of a sex partner in mind.
Not having the real partner nor a girl he fancied, for many times, Brock, getting bored of the Playboy’s models, pictured just a pussy or a wet mouth of a faceless girl getting him off, concentrating on the thought of thrusting his private part into that hole. Every time he reached the climax, he wanted to pull someone close. He wanted to embrace a warm body while panting exhaustively, enjoying the orgasm, just to remind himself that he was sharing it with someone. Someone real. The faceless imaginary girl couldn’t take care of that little desire. Every time after he jerked off and came in the barrack, or in his own bedroom, he scanned the empty bed and felt like an idiot.
The stroking and quickening breathing in the bathroom ended with angry grunts. Brock reached down and shifted his hardness in the sweatpants. He put the clothes on the washer and walked away.
Winter Soldier came out of the bathroom, naked and dripping all over the floor. Brock had just finished preparing dinner. The host pointed at the T-shirt and the sweatpants that he had left on the washer so the guest could get dressed.
Brock beckoned the assassin to seat himself at the dining table. Brock sat on the opposite side, lit his cigarette, and sipped from a can of beer. He watched Winter Soldier chow down the fried eggs and chili he’d made, trying to not let the other guy notice that he was truly interested. Watching secretly was hard to accomplish, especially when they were sitting face to face. Winter Soldier didn’t seem to mind being watched. Judging from how fast he ate, the food was more important.
Brock noted to himself to ask HYDRA’s scientists what this guy usually ate, how he took a leak or took a shit, how he went to bed. In the freezer where they put him to sleep, had Winter Soldier ever dreamed? Why did he accept HYDRA’s torture? Why not kill everybody and take off? What was Winter Soldier thinking when he jerked off?
“Why did you come here?” Brock looked at his uninvited guest, letting the cigarette smoke fill the room. “You are aware of how angry your Daddy would be if he finds out that you run away, right?”
Winter Soldier’s expression didn’t change. Like an ex-con being reminded of the rules and the living conditions in the wall of the prison, he knew the drill.
“Your action set me at risk too,” Brock said.
This time, the other man pulled a bitter face, as if he wanted to say, ‘if you don’t want me here, just say so.’
“Why did you come here?” Brock pushed for the answer.
Winter Soldier didn’t say anything.
“I know you come here to jerk off. I heard you.”
He observed the pleasing view. His words painted the flush across the assassin’s cheeks. And then, to Brock’s surprise, Winter Soldier spoke.
“I don’t want troubles.” The soldier gulped down a bite. “I come here because you treat me like a human.”
Brock snorted.
Before Brock was embedded in S.H.I.E.L.D., Brock had worked at the base with Pierce. He’d watched Pierce hit Winter Soldier. He’d watched the scientists use the electroshock on the soldier. Brock had driven Winter Soldier to kill someone and brought him back to HYDRA which had never considered him anything else other than a walking deadly weapon. Brock Rumlow treating Winter Soldier like a human being? Who the hell would think so?
But the killer’s answer was adorable. Very adorable.
Brock stubbed the cigarette butt into the ashtray and reached over.
Despite saying that Brock was good to him, Winter Soldier flinched and drew back.
“I’m not going to hit you. I will not.” Brock said. “I don’t like what Pierce does, what those assholes do to you.”
“Then why?” Winter Soldier inhaled sharply. “Why didn’t you stop him?”
Why?
“Why indeed?”
Brock could answer but that was another story. Brock got to his feet and seized the other man’s elbow, dragging him to the bedroom.
Brock dropped Winter Soldier in the bed and crawled in beside him. One by one, Brock took Winter Soldier’s clothes off, until there was left only a naked body leaning back on the mattress. Winter Soldier smelled like Brock’s soap. Despite being called Winter Soldier, his body was warm. His face looked like that of a confused innocent boy, as if Brock was molesting a child. But this little boy wasn’t that clueless. The blue eyes, soon shining with lust, traveled down to his own waist, suggesting, wishing to be caressed.
Brock cast his eyes on the other guy’s pouting lips, but didn’t pursue them. He ran his fingers along Winter Soldier’s narrow hip, wrapped his rough hand around Winter Soldier’s shaft and started stroking slowly, perfectly matching the rhythm of the soft moans at the tip of Winter Soldier’s tongue. Brock seduced Winter Soldier to move his hip, to thrust harder into Brock’s cum-slick fist.
No one would forget the sensation of orgasm. No one had to learn to get one. It was always there inside every man and woman, waiting to blossom. As the arousal deepened, the feeling would crawl under the skin everywhere, tickling every nerve. Winter Soldier panted heavily to let Brock know that he was close, close to the edge of release. The edge of longing for the closeness and belonging. Winter Soldier would thrust as deep as possible. God created humans this way.
The strong arms abruptly pulled Brock down and squeezed him tightly. Hot heavy breath was blowing Brock’s neck. Their broad chests pressed against each other. They wrapped themselves together trying to get closer, if they could get even closer. Winter Soldier arched his body, pushing his hip up against Brock’s hand, and fucked it. The soldier moaned repeatedly and finally gritted his teeth before letting out a hoarse grunt.
Time stopped and started again slowly.
Winter Soldier clung on Brock’s shoulders as if he didn’t know how to let go. The energy was drained out. The soldier couldn’t do anything except trying to catch his breath.
Brock lowered Winter Soldier on the messed up bed sheet. He ran his eyes over his partner. The naked heaving chest glowing with droplets of sweat was a marvel to watch. Spent and splendid. This time, Brock let his desire have a shot and had a taste of sweat.
Brock pulled down his pants. He got behind Winter Soldier, spooning him. He ran his still slippy hand between his partner’s legs, closed them and had his way with them quickly. The house guest cried with arousal but they didn’t do anything further.
The exhaustion lured them to sleep.
The next day turned up as a rule.
Trader Joe was crowded and noisy. The supermarket was haunted by parents pushing shopping carts filled with ridiculously expensive pumpkins, jars of skull sugar, and boxes of cookies. Tons of kid in weird costumes were towed away from the toy aisle by their mothers. The moms promised to buy some Pilgrim Joe’s Pumpkin Ice Cream.
Brock had expected the mob possessed by Halloween-rush. Trader Joe was popular on Halloween’s week because of his original Halloween treats and the pumpkin season’s goods. Other than the pumpkin ice cream, there were pumpkin cream cheese, pumpkin ale, pumpkin spice coffee, and pumpkin muffin mix that, with brownie mix, could be made into a pumpkin brownie!
Each year when All Hallow’s Eve was around the corner, there would be available the Halloween Joe Joe’s Cookies. Every shopping cart had at least one box of those sweet chocolate cookies which were made into four different jack-o-lantern faces. Children’s favorite was the Haunted Gingerbread House Kit. Fun, edible and sweet. Just what men were seeking in a woman. Hell, Brock would buy a box if he didn’t think that he was too old for it and he hadn’t celebrated on any holidays for years. Still, the sight of Halloween-rush families was entertaining. And the HYDRA agent didn’t mind grabbing for himself a six-pack of pumpkin beer.
The Halloween corner had costumes for all ages and sizes. There were psycho ward prisoner gears, some skeletons, boring Dracula coats, and witch costumes sold with brown brooms. They all looked like dirt, old and overpriced. On the top shelf were a rather everyday leather jacket, a pair of jeans, and a poster of two guys called Dean and Sam Winchester. They might be some kind of scary monsters. Masks were stored on the lower shelves. Most of them were typical including various clowns, Jason, V for Vendetta Anonymous, and Scream. Trader Joe, to his credit, also sold Annabelle doll masks and Michael Myers’s. Brock picked up a clown mask and clicked his tongue. The mask was smiling, but everybody knew that smiling clowns were creepy enough to cause a nightmare, not to mention that this one mask looked a lot like John Wayne Gacy.
Brock almost forgot that he brought someone along.
Winter Soldier was walking slowly beside the shopping cart. Quietly as usual, the soldier watched people and avoided insane running kids. He looked good in civilian clothes. His bloody combat gear was still in the washer. Brock had put his hooded jacket, an old pair of jeans, and a baseball cap on Winter Soldier. Brock was glad that the pants fitted although Winter Soldier was slightly taller than him.
Brock had dragged Winter Soldier out of the room to eat. But things were in high gear downtown. Restaurants served nothing except pumpkins or a giant dumpling that looked like an eyeball in creepy-crawly chicken soup, so Brock decided that he’d cook. Like it or not, they ended up visiting Trader Joe for groceries.
He shouldn’t have brought Winter Soldier and risked anybody seeing them together. Even though Winter Soldier’s face was covered by the hat and the hood, this grocery shopping wasn’t safe.
Pierce and the security team might be already searching for this guy. Brock was breaking all the rules, but the security guards were at false too, weren’t they? For neglecting Winter Soldier in the first place. When Pierce got his weapon back, oh dear, many heads would roll.
Brock should have called his boss yesterday. He should have sent the soldier back to the lab.
To be locked up and punished for trying to get away.
Brock rubbed his face.
After breakfast, maybe.
The store was playing a Halloween song. The melody sounded too familiar, but Brock couldn’t say which song it was similar to. It was the song every kid could sing. Sadly, Brock wasn’t a kid anymore, so it was only on the tip of his tongue. He was tempted to ask Winter Soldier about that silly old song but dropped the idea. Well, Brock wouldn’t expect Winter Soldier to sing along, but he bet the assassin didn’t even listen to it.
Can you make a happy face?
Happy face? Happy face?
Can you make a happy face? Jack-o’-lantern.
No. He can’t.
Winter Soldier stared blankly at the meat displays.
“Chicken or pork?” Brock asked. The unexpected question tightened the assassin’s eyebrows.
“Beef or fish?” Brock tried again.
Still, no answers.
“Come on, Grandpa. I’m asking you what you want to have for breakfast. It isn’t the million-dollar question.”
Winter Soldier’s arms hung stiffly. He looked intensely at the pork section, his eyes narrowed, but still couldn’t decide.
“Beef or fish or pork or chicken or turkey or… shrimps?” Brock pointed at all of them. “If you can’t settle for one, you can have two. Pork and beef? Chicken and beef? Pork and fish? Tur—”
“You’re confusing me!” Winter Soldier snapped.
“I’m afraid.” Brock was grinning now. It was so out of character for him to be cheerful. Normally, he would be pretending and the smile he put on would be nothing but a sham. Being a sleeper agent, his skin was rarely really his. “You have to hurry, Old Man. I’m starved.”
Brock let Winter Soldier run through the whole section and examine the meat a lot longer. Winter Soldier frowned at every package as if they were his sworn enemies.
Can you make an angry face?
Angry face? Angry face?
Can you make an angry face? Jack-o’-lantern.
Definitely.
“How about fried pork chop? Did you bring your false teeth?”
See?
Winter Soldier made an angry face.
“Don’t be grumpy. I’ll buy Trader Joe’s Ghoulie Gummy for you.” Brock nudged his companion’s shoulder and reached for a package of pork.
“Eggs.”
Brock stopped whatever he was doing. He turned to look at Winter Soldier, raising his eyebrows. “You want eggs?”
“Yes.” Winter soldier said as quietly as though he was whispering. “I think… Fried eggs. Like you made last night. But if you want to have pork...”
“Nah.”
Brock put the pork back and moved the shopping cart from the meat section.
They went to find eggs.
Normally, Brock wouldn’t stock food. The food such as meat, milk, and eggs could expire before he would have a chance to be home and cook, so he always opted for the convenient canned food. But today… he’d buy eggs.
Fuck the carton. He’d buy a thirty-egg tray.
Can you make a scared face?
Scared face? Scared face?
Can you make a scared face? Jack-o’-lantern.
Can you make a sad face?
Sad face? Sad face?
Can you make a sad face? Jack-o’-lantern.
The supermarket played this song on an endless loop. It was Trader Joe’s false the damned song stuck in Brock’s head, but still, he couldn’t figure which kid’s song this Halloween song sounded like.
Winter Soldier followed closely behind him like a little duckling, carrying a bag of groceries, looking more nonchalant.
When they was at Trader Joe, Brock had initiated a conversation with HYDRA’s walking weapon, talking to him, teasing him, making him choose his own food. Brock couldn’t say that he’d succeeded in keeping Winter Soldier engaged in the talking but the result was good enough. Winter Soldier appeared to be more relaxed with Brock and the city that was chockablock with little ghosts.
Brock, instead, began to get grouchy. He felt weird. He grumbled when some kids bumped into him. He didn’t try again or try harder to socialize with the man who was trailing behind.
What’s the point of being friendly anyway?
They weren’t friends.
They would never be.
Brock was feeling anxious. Pierce could call anytime soon. He should tell Pierce before the boss found out what he was doing. Pierce might have located them already. For HYDRA, it was easy as fuck to track down a guy. They might as well have a microchip implanted on Winter Soldier like a pet dog. Why hadn’t the owner sent a team to escortDoggie homealready?
Why? Why aren’t they coming?
Winter Soldier came here just last night. HYDRA not yet regarding his short absence as a running away was Brock’s best bet.
He still had time to let Winter Soldier go.
No.
They arrived at Brock’s apartment in less than fifteen minutes. Two of the children he had met yesterday were preparing to go trick-or-treating. The girl was wearing a purple witch costume. She was holding a black cat doll and an orange plastic basket. The boy was wearing a wizard costume of the same color. Brock reckoned that these clothes were homemade by their mother. When the kids saw him, they did as they had done yesterday, jumping up and down and screaming ‘trick or treat!’
“Did you buy cookies this time?” The girl asked.
“You have to! It’s the rule!” Her little brother breathlessly added.
Winter Soldier stood still while two energy balls bouncing toward him. Brock hurriedly snatched the grocery bag from Winter Soldier’s hands before the kids could pull it down and break the eggs. “I’m afraid I didn’t know that there was a rule about buying treats on Halloween day.”
“What did you buy, then?”
“Eggs.” He let them have a look. “And beer.”
“Why did you buy eggs? Easter is still four months away!” The boy yelled at him. His nose wrinkled with displeasure. “Everyone must buy candies on Halloween day to give away. This should be a law.”
“It already is!” The girl backed her brother up.
Brock cocked his head. “Am I breaking the law?”
“Yes! Yes! You are the villain,” They echoed. “We will call someone to trick-beat you.”
The HYDRA agent made a bitter face. He wasn’t really in the mood to associate or argue with anybody, but wasn’t deranged enough to upset the kids.
“Danny!” They called out. “Come here fast!”
The other kid, the biggest boy, rushed out of the door. He was wearing Captain America costume. The clothes, made of cotton, were worn with a winged mask that had too big wings and a colorful flag-patterned plastic shield. It looked like the ugly spandex costume Steve Rogers had worn during USO shows in WWII. Cap’s S.H.I.E.L.D. issued combat gear was dark blue, didn’t have the red stripes anymore, and it was bullet-proof.
“What happened?” Little Cap asked. He stood straightly and seemed to be very proud of his superhero overall.
“These guys are breaking the law for not giving us candies,” explained the Witch. Her eyes glowed with mischief. “Jake and I can curse them, but if the law is involved, you, as Captain America, should teach them a lesson.”
Kids these days.
Brock rolled eyes. He was getting impatient. But Winter Soldier didn’t think so. The assassin, who had once been Captain America’s best friend, stared at the kid.
Interested.
Amused.
Brock took Winter Soldier’s elbow. “Sorry, kids. I don’t have time to play with you guys.” He started to lead Winter Soldier inside.
“But you have to give us a treat or you have to be tricked!” Danny shouted behind them.
Spank me. Brock ignored them.
His companion turned around and bent down.
“Steve won’t trick anybody. He’s a hero.” Winter Soldier spoke to the kid.
Chills and anger ran up Brock’s spine.
Winter Soldier spoke to the kid. He just called Captain America ‘Steve’.
Brock pulled Winter Soldier up abruptly, opened the building’s door and climbed up the stairs. When they reached Brock’s apartment door, the owner turned the key and forcefully pushed Winter Soldier inside.
Winter Soldier’s memory was back.
Not entirely. But it wasn’t vague. He remembered Steve Rogers, not as a skinny sidekick, but the great Captain America. That meant there was a sporting chance that Winter Soldier remembered who he was—Sergeant James Barnes—and what HYDRA had done to him. Brock told himself that he had to call Pierce, like, right now.
The grocery bag was slammed on the dining table. Brock heard the sound of eggs cracking but he couldn’t care less. He clenched Winter Soldier’s wrist, securely pulled him close. He grabbed a dining chair, turned it to face him then threw the house guest on the chair.
“Since when?” With a sweaty fist clenching the dining chair’s armrest, Brock drew out his cell phone. “Since when did you remember?”
“Remember what?” Winter Soldier asked him in round-eyed wonder.
Steve Rogers.
Brock didn’t say the name. He couldn’t risk stamping any more recollections on Winter Soldier’s brain. “I have to call the lab.” He pressed the smart phone’s monitor.
“No!” Winter Soldier caught Brock’s hand. He was making a scared face. “Don’t do it. Please.”
Weapons never begged. Humans did.
“Your daddy will set up curfew if you don’t go back.” This was more serious than it sounded.
“I don’t want to go back. They will erase my memory.”
God.
Brock threw his hands up. “But you can’t stay here!”
God. What did he say? Of course, Winter Soldier couldn’t stay here with him and the assassin shouldn’t—must not—go anywhere else. Winter Soldier had to be driven straight back to the memory suppressing machine, especially when the soldier knew that HYDRA had messed with his head.
Brock ordered himself to stop talking. Just send the guy on the way through the back door. James Barnes could seize that body any minute now, and if the sergeant succeeded, Winter Soldier would be no more. Barnes would steal the body and go, as fast as the wind blew.
“I don’t want them to wipe off my memory.” The warm hand squeezed Brock’s stiff hand harder. “Please, Rumlow.”
Winter Soldier remembered his last name.
It wasn’t the right time to feel that warm fuzzy feeling.
“I’ve learned many things in two months. I don’t want to start again. Every time I tried to remember, my head burned like hell. Please, Rumlow,” he repeated as if to say ‘I don’t want to forget about you.’
Brock felt like he had adopted a puppy. The dog’s owner wanted it back after Brock had taken care of it. He’d thought that he owned the pup but he was wrong. The dog would be taken away and it would forget everything.
“But I can’t let you go,” Brock told Winter Soldier, more like reminding himself. Even if Brock let the pup go, far far away from HYDRA, the pup still wouldn’t be his.
There would be a big mission soon. A plan Pierce had yet to announce. HYDRA needed this guy.
HYDRA. Yeah, keep saying.
Brock shook his hand out of Winter Soldier’s grasp. “I will call somebody to pick you up.”
But, first thing first. Brock put the cell phone on the table. Brock had to knock Winter Soldier out. The soldier could take Brock down if the agent wasn’t careful. Brock had to… punch him or hit him with something, tie him up.
But then, Brock remembered his promise.
I’m not going to hit you.
Instead of striking, Brock cupped the back of the head of the man sitting in front of him. He gently pressed it so Winter Soldier raised his face to look at him. “If you join us, voluntarily join us, Pierce won’t have to control you anymore. Can you do that?”
“Become a HYDRA agent?” Winter Soldier looked at him with wide eyes.
“Yes. S.H.I.E.L.D. is going to ruin soon. After it falls, you and I can work together. How about that?” Brock tried to convince Winter Soldier, but his voice was faltering, his hands were shaking. He waited for the answer. Pierce might disagree. But right now, Brock was hoping only that he’d hear Winter Soldier say yes. Please. Just say yes.
“No,” Winter Soldier—Sergeant Barnes—answered, his voice steady and firm, “no, I can’t do that.”
Brock let go and tried to swing back, but he was too late. Winter Soldier yanked Brock down and stabbed his throat, choking him. The metal fist hit Brock’s jaw, throwing him onto the kitchen floor. The punch didn’t knock him out right away, but it hurt shitless. Winter Soldier then lifted him up by his collar and delivered the final blow to his temple.
Right when the front door was kicked open.
“Freeze!”
A squad of HYDRA soldiers flew into the room, fully armed. They circled Winter Soldier, blocking the entrance and the window. “Don’t move.”
Brock was lying on the floor, panting heavily. Sergeant Barnes was standing on top of him. Despite being surrounded by the rifles, his eyes focused on Brock.
“Hold your hands up. Put them behind your head.”
Barnes complied with the order.
“The boss said you are to check yourself in for report immediately, sir,” a trooper told Brock.
Report about what?
That he had washed Winter Soldier’s combat suit and he was going to hang it up to dry?
That they’d been screwing?
Pierce could erase his memory too for all he cared.
His fucking jaw hurt.
When one of the troopers cuffed Barnes, the sergeant was making a sad face.
They both were.