Chapter Thirteen

Help

This was not how Sam Wilson saw his day going at all.

He woke up, as usual, at the break of dawn to his own nightmares of explosions and falling, breathing harder than usual. Shaking his head, he heaved out of bed and walked sleepily to the drawers in bedroom. Tying the laces to his shoes, he made his way to the reflections pools in front of the Lincoln Memorial. The long mirrored waters, surrounded by large white buildings and monuments, were usually desolate at this time of the morning. The only other person he saw out at this time was the American icon Steve Rogers whizzing by like a torpedo. Sam smiled a little at this thought and began his jog around the calm pools a little faster than his regular speed. Maybe one day, even he, a retired army soldier, could keep up with the engineered man. Sam shook his head at the silly thought and continued.

After a few laps, he pinched his sides and regretted the extra speed. Sweat poured profusely from every orifice, and somehow, this made Sam a little proud of himself. Sweat meant that he was pushing himself, a hard thing to do when suffering from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Catching his breath, he walked back home feeling better than this morning. The cool air of the house sent chills up his exposed arms but felt refreshing nonetheless. He was about to down a large gulp of orange juice straight from the jug, a habit he had grown used to as a bachelor, when a knock sounded on his porch door. Sam wearily put down the jug and stepped carefully to the back of the house. He wasn't expecting any visitors today and his soldier's instinct made him glance around for a weapon he could use, just in case.

The last thing he expected was the man he thought of this morning, and his red-headed partner. His brows furrowed at their disheveled appearance and he immediately was on guard. There faces were black from soot and smoke, and their clothes torn. Steve gave an apologetic look and told him that there was nowhere else they could go. The pretty woman also claimed that everyone they knew was trying to kill them and Sam ushered them in quietly, closing the blinds behind them. Sam instantly honed into the warrior in him. Captain America needed his help, and he'd be damned if he was going to let him down.

Sam had grown up, like every other child, to the stories of the great Captain America that sacrificed everything to make sure the world wasn't overrun with power-hungry psychopaths. As a kid, he remembered dressing up for Halloween as the red, white, and blue hero and parading it proudly around his childhood suburbia. Naturally, when Sam heard that the Captain America was back, pulled and unfrozen from a wreck in the ice, he went to the nearest base and enlisted in the army. Quickly, he rose in the ranks. The officers regaled it as raw talent and he was put into a Special Forces team where he met Riley. He thought all was great. He was serving his nation just like his idol and was kicking ass while doing it.

It had all gone well until Bagmalal. The RPG swarmed them and it was impossible to maneuver around it all. They had held out for twenty minutes amongst the explosions until one got Riley. Sam could still see the burning, lifeless body of his partner falling from the sky. He almost gave up then. Almost gave into the idea of death, but his body took over, moving him out of danger's way in self preservation. Within five minutes, help had arrived. Five minutes. That was all it took for him to survive and Riley to die. After the mission, he found it hard to continue his service. He was honorably discharged and given the life of a citizen.

Sam had just gotten used to the idea of being his own man when he was passed by none other than Steve Rogers, running from his own demons, it seemed. Sam could hardly believe the irony. He joins the army just in the hopes of fighting with Captain America, and now as a civilian he had a chance. So once the two exited his bedroom after cleaning up and started strategizing their next move, he took all of three seconds to decide to join them. Giving them the plan of the Falcon wing suit and a picture of him and his late partner, Sam had offered himself as a worthy companion in their time of need. Steve had given him a measured look telling him that he didn't need to put himself in danger for them. The haunted look behind the blue eyes telling Sam that there had been others like him before. Others that had answered the call and fallen.

Sam simply smiled and assured the Captain that he was willing to take the risk. Not only for his country, but for his role-model. Steve and Natasha, the fire-haired woman, quickly set out to Camp Meade and returned in a few short hours carrying the wingsuit with them. Sam was impressed and asked how on earth they had gotten past the very strict and fortified security. The tall, muscled Steve just shrugged his broad shoulders, pointedly looking at Natasha as she gave a sly smile. Sam smiled at the two and they continued on with their plan.

Step one was to get to Jasper Sitwell. From what Natasha and Steve were able to figure out, Sitwell was one of the people who had this algorithm that was associated with an organization called Hydra. Sam remembered little of Hydra from his childhood stories, but could definitely recall that they were defeated by the man he currently had in his company. After a long-winded, albeit summarized, explanation, Steve explained that Hydra had secretly grown again, but within S.H.I.E.L.D. causing all the drama now. Steve and Natasha had been trying to figure out what the algorithm did, and the person who was going to tell them was Sitwell.

Coercing him into the car was easy enough. The man valued his life over everything else in the world. A quick phone call and high-powered laser pointer were all that was needed to get the bald man to comply with his commands. Once in the car, Steve and Natasha had taken over. Sitwell remained quiet in his seat, disdainfully looking down his nose at the both of them. Seeing that they were getting nowhere, the group took a quick fieldtrip to the top of a nice tall skyscraper and Sitwell had tried his hardest to remain brave and haughty. That lasted until Black Widow put a boot in his chest and toppled him over the side of the building. Sam could hear the screaming of the terrified man above and quickly soared to catch him.

The look on Sitwell's wide-eyed face was priceless as his mouth open and closed, resembling a fish even more with his bald head. Placing him none too softly on the rooftop once again, he had instantly talked. Sam could feel the adrenalin coursing through his veins again and felt an ecstasy like no other. It was short lived as Sitwell began to ramble on. The algorithm was much more dangerous than they had anticipated. There were three helicarriers, which would never need to land, disembarking tomorrow with enough guns and firepower to kill millions. That algorithm was the key. It provided the targets that endangered Hydra's uprising and exterminated them. Steve and Natasha looked to each other wildly as they realized how much worse the situation was.

This brought Sam to his current position. Driving a black Chevy sedan with two of Washington D.C.'s most wanted and a head of a terrorist organization. The last few minutes had been silent, each person in the car mulling over his or her present situation. Sweat slicked Sam's hands to the wheel as he thought about all the information he had absorbed this day. He now had a large target on his back. It was easy to avoid people, but pin-point precise biometric bullets? There was no outrunning that.

"Hydra doesn't like leaks." Sitwell spoke up from the back nervously. He had been fidgeting for the past ten minutes, looking out the window sporadically in search of an assailant.

Sam was beyond annoyed with the man with wire-rimmed glasses. He gripped the wheel tighter so he wouldn't turn around and hit him.

"So why don't you try to stick a cork in it." He glared back at the Hydra agent through the rearview mirror. Sitwell shut his mouth but continued to dart his eyes apprehensively.

"They're launching in 16 hours." Natasha leaned forward towards the two men in the front. "Cutting it kind of close here."

Steve sighed deeply and looked out the window. "I know." He looked back in the mirror at Black Widow and continued. "We'll use Sitwell to bypass all the DNA scanners and access the helicarriers directly."

Sitwell livened to this remark. Looking directly at Steve he leaned forward in his chair, taking his gaze from the window for the first time.

"What?" His voice came out incredulous and his face shadowed in disbelief. "Are you crazy?" From the look in his eyes, he thought Captain America was just that. He shook his head in disbelief. "That is a terrible, terrible id-". The bald agent wasn't able to continue when a large thump vibrated from overhead. Everyone looked up simultaneously at the strange sound and suddenly the window crashed open and a hand grabbed Sitwell from his seat. The man went flying into opposite oncoming traffic and promptly run over by a moving truck.

In a flurry of motion, Natasha launched herself into the front seat, pulling Steve with her and kicking a foot into Sam's shoulder. A bullet narrowly whizzed by both Steve and Sam's head. Rogers, finally grasping the concept they were being attacked, reached for the gearstick and slammed it into park. The car came to a grinding halt, throwing whoever was on top of it, off. A form in all black came tumbling to the asphalt in a series of rolls and landed in a crouch. All three stilled stunned, staring at the man that had nearly killed them. His face was covered in a black mask and Sam could have sworn he heard Natasha gasp quietly.

Their pause was momentary when a large SUV rammed them from the back. Sam did his best to maneuver away from this assassin but the force of the SUV was too much for the suspension. The car drew nearer to the man and it looked like they were going to run him over. At the last second, he flipped onto the hood of the car, smashing the windows under his weight. Sam instinctively pressed on the brakes hoping to throw him off again, but it was no use. A metallic arm crashed through the front window and grasped the wheel, effectively yanking it out of the car. "Oh shit" Sam yelled as he sat back in the seat, looking haplessly to the other two.

Natasha, still in Steve's lap, aimed one of her pistols at the masked man, but he was gone. Looking back, a black blur jumped back to the ramming SUV. The car, free from the push of the larger car, swerved wildly between other cars, bouncing off them like a sixty mile-a-hour pinball machine. This is not what Sam expected from today.

Steve, acknowledging that this would not end well while staying in car, held firmly onto Nat and yelled at Sam to hold on. The dark man clung to the blonde and prayed for luck. Next thing he knew, they were surfing down the interstate on a car door in something that resembled a dog-pile. Sam covered his head, trying to deflect anything vital from the debris of the crashing, tumbling car, and finally rolled away onto the asphalt of the highway. His skin was seared from the abrasions the road gifted, but he didn't have time to think of that. He stood to see that both Natasha and Steve seemed to be fine and unscathed.

Sam almost wanted to smile in relief, but it was cut short by something that sounded like a firecracker before it exploded. An explosion of flames enveloped Steve and he flew of the interstate into the streets below. He didn't have time to see if Steve was alright before a barrage of bullet ricocheted off the cars. Four men had emerged from the SUV and with them came high-powered assault rifles. Natasha gave Sam a meaningful look and crouched behind one of the stopped cars. He nodded his head in response and made his way slowly back to the demolished sedan. Looking back periodically, he saw Black Widow had drawn the fire towards herself by firing from the two pistols in each hand. Another grenade rocketed through the air and the red-head left over the highway divider in time. Sam continued his hurried jog back to the black smoldering heap. He looked inside for anything that could help at this moment. Finding a knife, he turned back just in time to see Natasha fly off the other side of the highway.

"Shit. Shit. Shit." He chanted as a mantra. He glanced back at the assault team and realized that none of their attention was directed to him. Silently he thanked whatever luck was on his side and slowly made his way towards them. The leader with the metal arm peered over the edge with a rifle in hand. Sam saw him jump back and crouch for cover as a pistol sounded below. Sam snuck a glance over the side and saw Natasha firing a slew of bullets. The corner of his mouth twitched in amusement at her tenacity and continued the slow crawl towards the opposing group. With just a knife, he wouldn't have a chance against a few trained professionals and a metal-armed assassin. No, he would have to buy his time.

The leader again stood, this time missing his goggles. He fired a few rounds towards Natasha's cover as she fired back.

Running out of bullets, she dashed away in the cover of some cars. The leader had obviously disagreed with this turn of events and muttered something in a low voice before hopping of the side of the interstate on to a car. He leisurely leapt off the car and pursued the fire-haired agent. The others of the team looked below wearily before grappling down into safety. All but one.

Sam saw his chance to help. Coming around behind the straggler, he kicked the man in the back of the knees. The mercenary spun around surprised by the attack and earned a right hook to the face. Sam grasped the assault rifle with his right and slashed at the man with his left, effectively disarming him. With a well-placed kick, the attacker fell to the street below. Grabbing the gun in a firm hold, he peered onto the road below. Four stood aiming at Steve with what looked to be assault rifles and a turret of some sort. Steve was holding out from behind his shield but not for long. One of the men tried to flank and Sam aimed down his sight. Taking the shot, the man fell limply to the ground. Just in time too as Steve leapt onto the car with the turret and knocked out the wielder. The only assailant left was covered behind a car and concentrated on Sam. The dark man turned and yelled to Steve.

"Go! I've got this." Steve looked up uncertainly before nodding and chasing after the leader and Nat.

Sam kept the attention of the last man and carefully aimed down the sight, sending a final bullet. The man crumpled. Sam heaved a breath and dropped the gun to his side. His heart beat like a frightened bird in his chest but the adrenaline hadn't worn off yet. His muscles felt alive. Shaking the feeling back into his hands, he started for the demolished car. His wing suit was in there. He had forgotten it in the fray, but maybe he could help aerially. He made it about half way when a shot rang out from afar. The gun in his hand shuttered and forcefully left his hand. He jerked his head towards the source and barely saw the outline of a person standing on the mercenaries' car. Their thin body gracefully descended from the frame of the hulking SUV. They tossed aside the pistol, the hollow sound emerging from the empty magazine. As they drew closer, Sam saw the mask that covered their face, but did not fail to recognize the gait. It was a woman beneath the dark combat suit, he was sure. Her hair whipped violently to the side as the wind picked up. The raven locks almost blue in the sunlight.

Sam didn't know what to make of her. She was obviously part of the group that attacked them, yet she had solely disarmed him with her last bullet when she could have easily killed him. His eyebrows furrowed in concentration. Taking a defensive stance, he prepared for her attack. She held nothing in her hands and didn't seem inclined to reach for one of the many knives in her various holsters. Sam stared her down while looking around. Surely this was a trap. Right?

The woman stopped around ten feet away. Too far for him to strike, but close enough for him to see her collarbones jutting out from her chest. She was so thin, starved. He remembered seeing civilians in Afghanistan starved out of their homes, coming to the base in herds, hoping for sanctuary. He wiped the memory from his mind. The last thing he needed was to pity and underestimate an opponent. They stood for a few seconds, observing each other. The anxiety getting to him, he charged forward, swiping downward. She grasped his wrist easily and punched him in the stomach. Sam staggered back and held a hand to area. It actually hurt. How could something so frail looking put so much strength behind an attack?

He narrowed his eyes at her and tried again. She once again deflected the attack. Growing angry, he went to grab her around the middle. She tried to move to the right but he was able to grab her vest in time to pull her to the ground with his forward momentum. They tumbled over each other, trying to gain the upper hand. Her hands left unforgiving punches at his body and he was able to cut a thin slice into her arm. She paused to look at the cut and calmly took the knife forcibly from his grip. He struggled to get the upper hand, but she was like putty, moving herself lithely to remain on top. He landed a punch to her ribs but she barely flinched.

Apparently beginning to get bored, she wrapped her small hands around his throat. Sam pulled at her grip but found them hard as steel. Instead he went for her face. Tearing away the mask and goggles, he found an oval face. Wild black locks loomed around her pale face making the shadows of her gaunt face sinister. Blank, glassy orbs stared back unseeing. She looked like a woman possessed by the devil himself. The world around his vision began to darker as the air escaped his lungs. He struggled once more before reaching for what Natasha had given them before picking up Sitwell. She had said not to use it unless it was dire and he considered his position just that. The small round disk surged with blue electricity. He needed to disengage himself for a split second and attach this to her. With a last ditch effort, he plowed an elbow in to the inside crevice of her arm and her elbow unhinged just long enough to roll her off. He quickly pushed the small button on top of the disk and threw it at the girl. The magnet attached and quickly let the first surge of electricity flow. A loud crack-like lightning sounded and the girl heaved forward with wide eyes of shock. She let out a painful shriek and collapsed to her knees. The rivets of white electricity flowed through every muscle and she spasmed violently, as though in a seizure. The surge stopped and she looked at him. Her eyes were wide with pain and pleading. Something had changed. She looked different. Aware.

The pupils of her eyes had regressed back to the middle and a soft brown replacing the black. Her hand went to grasp the small disk and tug it off but it was deeply attached to the metal of her vest. Her chest heaved great gasps, face flushed with blood, and she muttered one last plea.

"Help."

He didn't know what to do. Was this a trick? A trap waiting to ensnare him? The soldier in him remained complacent, but the councilor in him wanted to help. This was not the same girl from twenty seconds before. She even looked different, more aware and conscious even in her painful spasm. She looked as though she was coming out of a nightmare and realizing this world was just as bad. Her body was no longer a stiff robotic frame but rounded and soft. This nurturing part won out and he started towards her.

That's when the second surge started. She wailed in anguish and fell forward convulsing. Sam couldn't touch her in this state or he would be shocked too. He could start to smell the burn of the electricity against her skin and instantly regretted using this against her.

He tried to justify his actions. She had been trying to choke the life out of him, but even that hadn't lined up in his mind. She hadn't shot him, she hadn't armed herself, and she only used non-lethal ways to subdue him. It's as if he would have passed out from her hold and remained unconscious until he woke. This would have kept him from the fight and out of dangers way. Why would his enemy want that? He peered at her stiff flailing body uneasily. This shock lasted much longer than the last. Her eyes had now rolled into the back of her head and only the white showed. The blood vessels were beginning to burst under the pressure and blood soon filled the bottom of her eyes. She truly looked possessed now and he found himself unable to take it. He paced back and forth unsure, rubbing a hand over his hair.

When the shock finally ended, she remained motionless. He quickly rolled her ragdoll body over and pressed the button again. Praying it released her from its hold. It did. He threw it as far as he could away and tried to shake the girl awake. Her head remained limp and he began to get scared. Carefully placing her back to the ground, he felt around her thin neck for a pulse. A signal she was still apart of this world. He waited patiently.

Ten seconds passed.

Then another.

Sam pulled back and stepped away from her body. Without thinking, he regressed back into his mind and remembered Steve and Natasha. They were his teammates, not this woman. They needed him. This woman needed no one anymore. He sped back to the car to retrieve his suit, but not before looking back to her, haunted by her. Knowing that he was the last person she would ever see.

Oh, he was pissed. Actually, seething was the correct word to use in this context. Not only had the day gone horribly wrong, but he had almost been shot. This was supposed to be a foolproof operation. They had accomplished the goal of exterminating Sitwell. The little man had cracked like an egg under the interrogation of his two targets, and was dealt with accordingly. Of course, not all were as easy to get rid of. Case in point? The little she-devil he was currently chasing.

In all seriousness, he was impressed by the woman. She had almost outsmarted him twice and was holding her own against a group of trained assassins. In fact, she reminded him of the one they left behind as back up. Mara. Before the change, the Hydra agent would have done almost the same exact thing against an enemy. Trying to use cunning wit and surprise as a tactic. Now, she sat back at the highway, waiting for her cue. Blank and vacant as a statue.

He glared at the thought. Yes, he was pissed, but there was some relief in the thought that she was far away from this battle. Safe. Her job was to provide the finishing blow. To swoop in at the last minute and defeat the two targets with practiced ease. The superiors thought this would be very dramatic and leave a lingering message of futileness. The two targets, apparently S.H.I.E.L.D.'s best, were to be annihilated by Hydra's two aces. A trade in power. She would only need to get involved at the end when victory was certain, and the Winter Soldier found a little comfort in this information.

A cop car raced by his left, sirens screaming into the air. He placed a well-aimed grenade right in its hood and watched it turn into a piece of burning rubble. The flames soothing a little bit of the heat under his skin. The sun bore heavily above his head and glared against his eyes. He paced forward with conviction, remembering just why he didn't have his goggles and concentrated on finding and killing the little spider that caused him so much trouble.

Civilians raced by terrified and confused. Many not even knowing that he was the creator of this chaos. Their faces frozen in horror and disbelief. He ignored them, not seeing the face he wanted to erase from history. Looking sideways and hearing for anything that resembled the little seductress, he slowed his movements. A clear, feminine voice rose above the panicked screams of the ignorant. Stopping completely, he pin-pointed the location behind a car a few feet away. Reminding himself that it wasn't a normal target he was hunting, he crouched and took a small ball from the pouch by his back. The small metal grenade rolled quietly to the origin of the voice and the Winter Soldier prepared himself for anything. After all, this woman had evaded grenade and gunfire already.

A ferocious blast erupted behind the car and no cry of surprise with it. Odd. He didn't have time to contemplate with strangeness before the was answer was straddling his neck. The petite woman was on his back, riding him like a bull in a ring. She tried to choke him with a wire but he caught it in time, throwing her off. She grunted in pain as she fell. He was getting real tired of this red-haired siren. Grabbing his assault rifle, he meant to end this scuffle. Mara would have her limelight elsewhere; he would finish this.

Raising the rifle, he caught a glimpse of a small metal particle coming his way and attaching to his arm. Suddenly, a shock coursed through the circuitry of his metal arm. The alloy prosthetic fell limply to his side as his target ran, heels clicking against the pavement. He threw down the gun angrily and grasped the small disk from his arm. Ripping it forcibly, he threw it to the side. The metal was damaged, he could see. Warily, he tested his distal digits and found them rebooting slowly. Some relief washed over him.

Again, he pursued the current bane of his existence. How could someone be so hard to kill? This time, it was not hard to find her. She race down the streets, screaming at the running people. Telling them to get into cover. He thought it ironic that she didn't follow her own advice and lined the shot. The butt of the gun ricocheted against his shoulder as the bullet left the barrel and found purchase in her torso. Time to end this. He jumped to the car directly in her sight and looked down the barrel to her frightened face. Good bye Black Widow.

Or so he had hoped. For the second time today, he was rushed. A large American shield high-tailing straight into face. He blocked it with his fist, a loud twang sounding from the vibration. Pushing it away, he came face-to-face with his second target. The tall blonde looked relatively unscathed, which begged the question, what happened to his men? Or better yet, where was Mara? He had told his men to watch out for the American icon and take him out. Armed with a turret, it should have been no problem. Even if they were not able to finish him, Mara would have stepped in as lead and followed protocol. She was tasked to exterminate him if the team failed. So, once again. Where was Mara?

Worry crept slowly through his limbs. Thinking of any alternative, he engaged in a battle of strength against the tall man. The target was fast and smart, battling instinctively. They exchanged blows but many were blocked on both sides. They were so evenly matched; it was as if they knew each other's moves and weaknesses. It didn't feel like fight but more of a spar. A dance between two partners. The Winter Soldier blocked and parried as much as the man he fought. Knife against shield. When it didn't seem as though there would ever be a winner, the blonde surprised him. The edge of the shield drove into his forehead and his target's large hand wrapped around his face, flinging him towards the ground. Within the tumbling, his mask fell to the wayside. The strap had broken from the battle and lay useless on the ground.

Glancing up to the enemy, he saw something he didn't expect. The blonde stood still like a statue, disbelief and confusion trading places intermittently on his face. His body was no longer in the defense but slack, as if in shock. The large hands that had been punching at his body now shook visibly from a distance and blue eyes creased in incredulity. The mercenary stared at the man, perturbed by the sudden change in atmosphere.

"Bucky?"

The American hero's voice sounded strained as though the word hurt him physically. The Winter Soldier stood stock still, the word that hung in the air sending a shock worse than the Widow's gadget. All other thoughts were lost to two syllables. Why did that name sound so familiar? Why did his head hurt? His heart was pounding in his head and pressure building. Different emotions clawed their way from his stomach to his throat and he suddenly felt the need to throw down his weapons and succumb to them. The assassin felt vulnerable and instantly tried to build the walls back up. Swallowing any weakness that may show he spoke. Saying words that were truer than perceived.

"Who the hell is Bucky?"

He raised his gun wanting to end this spell the blonde had put him under. Put a bullet in his brain, right between his furrowed brows, and run back to Hydra. He almost did too before he was kicked from behind. The other one that was with the targets. The dark man with wings. He had come to join the fight too.

What was going on? Where was everyone else? Who was Bucky? Where was Mara?

Overwhelmed with the disorder and confusion, he just wanted to run. As far away as possible, but the assassin in him beckoned and commanded him to finish it. Finish the mission. Raising the gun in a last ditch effort, he aimed to shoot. A second explosion pushed him to the ground as the car beside him engulfed in flames. That was the final straw. He couldn't take it anymore. The muddled screams running rampant in his mind clouded any other thoughts.

He ran.

A.N: It's a Halloween miracle! YAAAYYYY Anyways... I've written this chapter about seven times and this was the only version I was happy with. Yes, it's a bit of a cliff hanger and I hope not too boring with all the technicalities I had to go into. If it was confusing, don't worry, all will be revealed!

Anyways, there are 100 of you favoriting me right now and I have never been so overwhelmed in my life. Thank you Thank you Thank you.

I have also been re-edit/ re-writing the past chapter which is why this has been taking so long, so watch out for that.

Soooo, have a happy and safe halloween!