Summary: …in which the Red Skull is an under-appreciated double-agent who just can't manage to hate Steve Rogers.

Notes: Yes, the Red Skull is a good guy, but there will be none of this Hydra/Nazis-are-actually-good fuckery that Marvel comics has been publishing. Especially not now, in this political climate.

Uhh… I also accidently changed Schmidt's first name to Erik and I like it better that way so… *shrugs*

Please enjoy and leave comments! Remind me to make a Stan-Lee cameo!

PART OF A SERIES: see my profile for the continued AU

Warning: lots of implied torture, PTSD, body-modification, Nazis, mentions of the camps & genocide, swearing, canon-typical violence

Disclaimer: I don't own anything that Marvel came up with first and they can take my money any time they want.

Chapter One: Double Agent

"How do I know I can trust you?"

Erik sips his coffee and considers the scientist perched nervously in the opposite chair. Erik knows exactly what Erskine sees when he looks at him: it's the same image Erik has pruned and perfected for years for the benefit of his superiors. Erik Schmidt is a rising star in the Third Reich, an immaculately dressed SS Officer with a track record of competence and unshakable faith in the Fuhrer. Erik wouldn't trust himself either, if her were Erskine. It's not an uncommon method of testing loyalty, after all, for "Allied spies" to offer aid, escape or bribery.

Erik consciously cuts back the predatory glint in his cover's trademark expression. He sets down his coffee and leans closer to Erskine. Trust me, screams his body language. "I've been given the authority to make whatever gestures of good faith you require. America is very interested in your serum, Doctor."

"Everyone is," Erskine replies dryly.

"We're willing to give you full funding and complete autonomy over the project to keep it out of German hands. You choose everything from when testing happens to who gets tested on."

"As long as I let the Americans reap the results."

"Naturally," Erik nods. Erskine is not completely naive, which is good news. It makes Erik's job easier.

Erskine sighs. "Captain, I would have kept it out of German hands myself if it was possible. But Zola has his fingers in everybody research, especially 's probably copies under his damn pillow."

"That's no problem at all." In reply to Erskine's confusion, Erik simply raises his mug in a mock toast. "Haven't you heard the news? You're looking at the newly appointed second-in command of the Third-Reich's experimental science division. Zola's calling it Hydra, or some other mythic nonsense."

Erskine trusts him, Erik knows, or else he would not continue to accept Erik's invitations for coffee. The scientist is still nervous, however, and like all inventors very protective of his work. He needs a little push—a personal one, Erik suspects. Something to reassure him in the way political motives can't. So the next time they sit down for coffee, Eric brings a photograph.

It's creased and faded from being folded very small and hidden constantly. Erskine doesn't hesitate to pick it up and inspect it when Erik slides it across the table. His eyebrows crinkle together and paired with his round friendly face it makes him look rather like a puzzled teddy-bear. "Is this a bat-mitzvah?" he asks.

Erik closes his eyes; he can recall every detail of the photo without looking at it. "My sister's. By the time that was taken we were already having to hold them in secret. I joined the SS the year after. It was the only way I could think of to keep her and the rest o the family out of trouble."

Erskine glances between Eric and the family photo several times. "But you don't look—"

"—I don't look like a Jew because I was adopted," Erik interrupted mildly. "And I don't practice for obvious reasons."

"How have you kept them safe this long?" Erskine asks, with a touch of incredulity. It doesn't need to be said that by now there are very few Jews left in… well, neither of them are familiar with the horrible details. It's not their branch of the SS—Eichmann and his crowd are the ones busy implementing the final solution.

Erik's expression morphs from his usual sardonic mask to something more somber. He feels less need to rearrange his masks and censor himself with Erskine. "I haven't. They're dead."

Erskine nods slowly, as if he understands it was a foolish question. For a while he is quiet. Then he speaks, tone taking on a note of fatherliness that usually amuses Erik immensely but somehow doesn't right now. "So that's why you went to the Americans, then? You wanted revenge?"

Erik almost laughs. Instead he settles on a sour smile at the irony. "Doctor, if I wanted to avenge my family's deaths I would be working against the Americans, not for them." At Erskine's nonplussed expression, Erik explains: "I made deal after deal to keep them in safe-houses and smuggle them out of Axis territory. Finally, the Americans agreed to arrange citizenship for them once I became their double agent."

Erik picks up the photograph, running his thumb over the worn edges. "But they were on the wrong ship, turned away at Ellis Island with over a thousand other refugees who then had no choice but to return to occupied territory. I didn't even hear about it until a month afterward, a month too late to do anything." Erik begins gently refolding the photograph as he speaks. "They said it was a mistake, that my family was supposed to be pulled off the ship before it was sent back. But the thing is"—Erik tucks the folded print back in its hiding place and looks Erskine directly in the eyes—"whether or not my family was on that ship, somebody's was. It shouldn't have been sent back."

Erskine is considering Erik closely, and Erik is fairly sure he's made the point he wanted by bringing the photograph. Their conversation took a more sincere turn than he had meant to, but Erik is nothing if not pragmatic and if it convinces Erskine it's worth it. Still, it's the first time he's told anyone or showed them the photograph and he's startled by how easy it was to share with Erskine.

"After all that, you're still working for the Americans?" Erskine finally says, surprising Erik further with a suspiciously testing tone.

Erik doesn't have to think about his answer. "No, Doctor. I'm fighting against that"—he waves his hand at the large swaztika banner adorning his office wall—''There's a difference."

Erskine agrees to the American's proposal after that, and listens anxiously every time Erik updates him on the developing plan to get Erskine and his formula safely out of Germany. Erik can sympathize with his anxiety. Zola has been distracted lately by a new project—myths, Erik scoffs every time he thinks about it—but Zola's own superiors are getting more and more impatient with Erskine's stalling, They want results, a human test, and they have a number of fine young German soldiers lined up for him to pick from.

Erik has just finished briefing Erskine on the newly finished plan when Erskine suddenly derails the conversation with an unrelated question.

"How old are you, Schmidt?"

"Twenty-four."

"You look older."

"War will do that." Erik doesn't ask why Erskine wants to know; he simply attributes such questions to Erskine's misplaced fatherly instincts or to his inability as a scientist to leave any variable unknown. This time, however, Erskine seems to be getting at something.

"This plan, if it works—"

"It will work," Erik assures him. He and Colonel Phillips have ironed it out to the last detail now: Erskine will choose some poor Fritz from the German serum-hopefuls and Eric will head their escort to Zola's testing facility in Hydra's brand new secret base in Poland. Their escort will suffer a surprise ambush and th Allies will spirit Erskine away while Erik continues on to the base and eradicates Zola's copies of the research there. Eric has been working for a month under the guise of tightening security to ensure that those copies will be the last ones.

"I trust you," Erskine says a tad impatiently. "But when it's all over, your superiors here are not going to be too pleased with you."

Ah, so Erskine has caught on to that little chink in the plan, has he? Erik shrugs. "If that's a euphemism for being court-martialed and shot, then you're right." Shot if he's lucky, Erik thinks privately.

"You're awfully calm about this." Erskine's voice leaks with concern. It's reasonable enough considering that Erik has become by default the scientist's only friend in a web of enemies, but if Erskine intends to start trouble over it Erik is perfectly willing to shut him down, harshly if necessary.

For now he keeps his tone mild, slightly flippant. "Would getting worked up about it help me at all? Or help you?"

"But aren't you a valuable asset?" Erskine protests, obviously smart enough to know an emotional argument will do nothing but still emotional enough to hope a strategic one will work.

"Not as valuable as you." Erik has said as much to Col. Phillips when asked his opinion during their planning sessions. Carter has shot Erik a look of sympathy when it became evident that they were planning a suicide mission but hadn't protested either. Germany cannot get its hands on Erskine's completed formula. Erik has already decided to cope by not thinking about it. Erik can tell Erskine is still chewing on the problem but he allows Erik to lead the conversation back to less important matters as they finish their coffee. Really, actual real coffee has to be the best perk of being an officer, in either army. Down on the front lines they're drinking mud. Mud and blood and shrapnel.

The next day Erskine contacts Erik and sounds more determined than Erik has yet heard him. "Schmidt, I have a idea."