Even Heroes Have the Right to Bleed
Summary: Steve is homesick for his time and sets out to clear his mind, but when he comes across a man named Schmidt, blood is spilled and he goes missing. Knowing something is wrong, Tony is left to find him.
A/N: This fic is for Dairi who sent me an extremely awesome prompt and asked if I would write it. I just hope I do it justice. It will be three or four chapters roughly and I'm hoping to get it completely finished and up as quickly as possible. This is only my second fic in this universe, so please forgive me for any stumbles...
Implied Tony/Steve but can also be read as a friendship fic.
Disclaimer: The characters don't belong to me, I'm just playing around with them.
Chapter 1
He was just a kid from Brooklyn. Only, this wasn't Brooklyn anymore; not his anyway. This was a world that was run by technology. He couldn't take a single step without seeing someone pulling out one of those cell phone things and making a call. What happened to the cans on a string? And where were all the kids playing catch in the street?
Steve took a deep breath and let it go on a sigh. Leaning forward on his motorcycle, he took in the street once more. There used to be a theatre just across the road, and there, where an alley had once been, that was where Bucky had saved his bacon on more than one occasion – not that Steve had ever needed saving.
But, none of that was there anymore. Steve barely recognised the place. All he had left of Brooklyn, of home, were the memories, and even they were beginning to fade a little.
He started the bike up once more and pulled away from the side of the road, taking a left at the end. The day was warm, the breeze cooling, his leather jacket worn in enough now to be comfortable and offer some protection against any chill. But his mind was focused on none of that. He just wanted to find something, anything, familiar – something that didn't make him feel so out of place.
"It's a big world out there, Cap," Tony had mocked a few weeks back. "You might get lost."
"I think I can handle it," Steve had returned whilst toying with Tony's latest invention – a small device with a screen the size of a finger end. Apparently, all he had to do was hold any of his fingertips to it for thirty seconds and it would set off an alarm back at Stark Tower.
When Tony was sure it was working properly, he said each member of the team would have one because none of them knew when they might run into trouble. Until then, Steve was the guinea pig.
"I guess it runs in the family," he muttered to himself as he parked up and pulled himself from his bike, "turning me into a test subject."
He brushed the thoughts away. Right now, he just wanted to relax some place that he knew – which, in that moment, was a spot next to the New York Harbour just across from Liberty Island. He looked out at the island and Lady Liberty looked back at him. A face he recognised, an ideal he remembered. Not everything had changed, somethings still remained the same.
"That's him!" a young voice called and Steve turned his head enough to see a young boy tugging at his mother's sleeve. "Mom! That's him! It's Captain America!"
"It's rude to point, honey. Now leave the nice man alone – he doesn't want to be bothered by you," the mother reprimanded, pushing down his arm as she offered up an apologetic smile to Steve.
He offered a small smile in return and inclined his head. "Ma'am."
The boy was not deterred though, and broke free from his mother's grip to run towards Steve. "Is it true?" he asked, eyes wide and grin wider. "Did you really kill a hundred Nazis by yourself?"
Lowering himself to one knee so he was at the boy's level, he thought the question over before meeting the boy's eyes. "For every man that died by my hand, there was a grieving widow and kid, just like you and your mom. If there had been any other way, I would have taken it in a heartbeat."
"But they were the bad guys!"
"Son, when it comes to war, there are no good or bad guys. There's just a bunch of people doing what they think is right and a bunch more just trying to survive. It's the bullies you've got to look out for."
For a moment, the boy's face fell into a frown, as if he didn't fully understand the weight of Steve's words, but the grin was back in no time and he nodded enthusiastically.
"Yes, Sir!" he answered, standing to attention and holding his hand to his head in salute.
Steve brought his own hand up, mimicking the boy's action and pulling it away as the boy ran off back to his mother.
"They are so impressionable at that age." The words came from behind, a thick German accent coating them, strong and guttural. "Wouldn't you agree, Mr Rogers?"
Steve stood slowly and turned to face the man, his hand already sliding into his pocket to grip Tony's device, just in case. "I'm sorry, have we met?"
"Ah, nein," the man replied with a slight shake of his head, a tight smile settling on his features, revealing just enough teeth to be considered dangerous. He held out a hand. "I am Thomas Schmidt. I believe you met a distant relative of mine."
"Schmidt's a common name," Steve answered, squaring his shoulders and looking the man up and down. He didn't take the man's hand; instead he kept his own buried in his pocket where his fingers wrapped around the device and he started counting up to thirty.
One.
Schmidt looked down at his hand briefly before shrugging and moving it back to his side. "You know, Mr Rogers, where I come from, it is not considered polite to refuse to shake a man's hand when it is offered to you. Perhaps manners is not something they teach you in America."
Eight.
"You'll forgive me if I'm a little wary of your intentions."
"Ahh, you think I'm a – how would you say? – Nazi bully?"
Sixteen.
"The way I see it, Mr Schmidt, one man doesn't sneak up on another unless he has something to hide."
Twenty-two.
"And you would be right. The question is, of course, what am I hiding?" Schmidt's grin grew into something predatory and he slipped his hand into his pocket.
Twenty-seven.
When he pulled his hand back out enough for Steve to see what he was gripping, Steve recognised what looked like an old German Luger. There was very little doubt in his mind that it was in no less working order than Tony's repulsors or Clint's bow and arrows. Immediately, Steve pulled his own hands free and held them out in front of him in an attempt to cajole the man.
"Easy there, Fella," he forced out, inwardly cursing as he thought about the now abandoned device. Had it been thirty seconds? "You don't want to hurt anyone."
"Again, you are right. Hurting people is messy. I would much rather they do as I say so I'm not made to be the bad guy – or, the bully as you say." One hand still gripping the gun, his other gestured in the air, emphasising each word with a motion of some sort, each 'you' by pointing to Steve.
"Mr Schmidt," Steve started.
Schmidt cut him off. "Thomas, please."
Steve cleared his throat a little, looking the man up and down before continuing. "Mr Schmidt," he reinforced, receiving a thinly masked scowl in return, "whatever it is you're after, I can guarantee that you won't find it here."
"You see, that is where you a wrong. I have already found exactly what I am looking for."
Brow burrowing, a light frown tugged at Steve's lips. "And what's that?"
"You, Mr Rogers. Or rather, I should say, we want what makes you..." Schmidt paused, taking in a brief breath, his eyes wandering up and down Steve, "you."
Steve understood perfectly. "You want the formula to the serum."
"You catch on quick. They never told me how smart you are."
"The thing is, Mister," Steve continued, "I don't like bullies. So if you think I would just willingly give myself to you-"
"Nein! You think I am this stupid?" The air turned suddenly colder, or maybe it was just the man who had turned icy, his eyes taking on a deadly shine. "If you do not come with us, Captain America, I will begin by shooting the child and his mother."
The words chilled Steve, his mind already going over a dozen ways the scene could play out – most of them ending badly. "And if I go with you, you leave them alone?"
"If you don't, they will die."
"That's not what I asked."
That grin returned to Schmidt's face and Steve was reminded of a shark. "Let's go, Mr Rogers," he answered, putting his hand on Steve's arm.
Steve brushed it away and took a step back. "Not until I have your word you'll leave them alone."
"Why do you care? I find this fascinating. They are nothing to you and yet you refuse to come with me unless I let them live?" Schmidt pulled the gun completely free from his pocket. "Well, let me try explaining this another way – for every second of my time you waste, I will shoot one person."
Heart speeding up in his chest, Steve fought the urge to wrestle the gun from the man. Such an action could cause a bystander to get hit if it were to accidentally go off. There was no choice really, not one Steve could see anyway. And if Tony's device had worked, then the others would find him... or at least that's how it was supposed to work.
"Okay, fine," he forced out, shoulders slumping and gaze falling a little in defeat, "I'll do it. I'll go with you."
"Good, you have made the right choice," Schmidt answered. "Of course, if you had just said that in the first place, then you wouldn't have wasted my time. But now, I'm forced to be the bad guy so that next time, you won't take so long."
It took Steve a moment longer than it should have to understand the meaning beneath the words. By then, Schmidt was already raising his arm and aiming the gun somewhere behind Steve to where he imagined the kid and his mother must be.
The reaction was automatic for Steve, no thinking required. Putting himself between a gun and another human life, it was second nature; even if the trigger was being pulled and the bullet would hit him before his mind had a chance to catch up. Somewhere, in his murky thoughts, he knew he expected pain to spread out from his shoulder. Instead, it burned at his abdomen. Schmidt had been aiming for the kid.
He was barely aware of his knees colliding with cement or of falling forward onto his hands, but he was aware of Schmidt's breath against his ear as the man whispered to him.
"You are a brave man, Mr Rogers, and extremely lucky that you are not one to die so easily. It is just a shame that your act of valiance has wasted more of my time."
Tony leaned over the workbench, browguard pulled down over his face and blowtorch steady in his hand. The familiar beats and chords of AC/DC blasted in the background, the music blocking out the outside world and making it easier for Tony to concentrate on his suit modifications. Except, as much as he tried to block out all other noises and no matter how loud his music was, there was a dull beeping underneath it all that managed to irritate Tony enough for him to knock the blowtorch off and pause in his work.
"Mute!" he called out and the music stopped. The beeping was still there, like the dripping of a tap that wasn't turned completely off – constant and downright annoying.
He pushed his browguard up in irritation. "JARVIS, what is that god-awful beeping and why is it disrupting my work?"
"I believe it is Mr. Rogers' safety alarm, Sir," JARVIS answered promptly.
Tony frowned at that and pulled the browguard completely free of his head, allowing it to fall to the workbench, along with the blowtorch, as he made his way across the room toward a console at the far wall. It was still a work in progress, but it appeared to be in working order, right from the flashing red dot on the display screen next to Steve's name to that annoying beeping from the speaker.
"JARVIS," he started, his tone cautious, his eyes never leaving that red dot, "when did Steve leave the building?"
"I believe Mr Rogers left some while ago for some fresh air."
"Time, JARVIS, I want a time..."
"Seventeen twenty-five, Sir."
"And how long ago did the alarm go off?" Tony pulled his phone from his pocket, searching the contact list for Steve. He was already dialling the number before JARVIS had a chance to answer his question.
"Approximately two to three minutes ago."
No answer on the cell, just the constant ringing. He cursed and hung up. "And why didn't you tell me?" he asked, anger coating his words.
"I tried, Sir, but I believe your exact words were 'I don't want to be disturbed unless the building is on fire'."
"Did I say that?" He cocked his head to the side, thinking back for a moment.
"Yes, Sir."
With a shake of his head, Tony tried calling Steve once more, just as the red dot vanished from the screen. "Remind me to add a common sense meter to your systems, JARVIS," he answered, half distracted by the ringing of the cell and half by the vanishing dot.
Still no answer.
"What are you playing at, Cap?" he asked the thin air, receiving no reply for the trouble.
It didn't take him long to climb the stairs from his workshop, taking two and three at a time, to reach the living area. Somewhere along the line, Stark Tower had become a home to the Avengers – a place they could all return to. The downside was that sometimes it got a little crowded. But when they had all just come back from a mission, it came in handy to have somewhere to relax and unwind.
Their last mission as a group had been over a month ago and Tony still hadn't managed to get rid of Natasha or Clint. At least Banner provided some intellectual entertainment which was always good for confusing Steve around the dinner table, and providing mental stimulation and stuff.
"Hey, has anyone seen Steve?" he called, looking to each member of the team in turn.
Banner sat at the kitchen worktop, his glasses on and papers strewn about in front of him. Ever since he had returned to civilisation, he had spent as much of his time as possible catching up on what he had missed – or at least all the new science theories and breakthroughs and almost breakthroughs that had been going on. Natasha and Clint, they sat around a table near the television playing cards – Clint with his back to the window, no doubt forced to sit there by Natasha. Tony wouldn't blame her in the slightest, not after Clint had fleeced him of a good hundred bucks until Tony had noticed the man had been seeing the reflections of his cards in the window.
Natasha lay her cards face down on the table, careful not to reveal a single one to Clint. She looked over her shoulder to Tony, a slight crease in her brow as she bobbed her head. "What's up?"
Tony shook his head and looked down at the phone in his hands once more. "He's not answering his cell."
"You sure he didn't leave it in his room again?" Banner questioned, looking up from his papers. He laid his glasses on the worktop and rubbed briefly at his eyes.
"More than likely," Tony answered. He had to admit, the good Captain did have a habit of leaving his cell phone just about anywhere and everywhere. But it wasn't the cell business that was bugging him. "But that doesn't explain the alarm going off."
Banner sat up straighter, so did Natasha – Clint was already so tense from his game of cards that if he sat up any straighter he would be standing.
"The alarm?" Natasha's frown deepened and she turned in her seat to face Tony fully. "Are you sure?"
"He could have just accidentally brushed it again like the last time," Clint added.
Tony shook his head. "I've made some changes since then – increased the contact time needed, even added a little something extra special for the Cap." One of those 'if lost, please return to' stickers had found its way onto the back of the device.
Natasha raised an eyebrow at that, lip quirking in the corner for a moment. "Oh, really?"
"You have an extremely dirty mind, Agent Romanoff." He moved over to a display unit in the kitchen as he spoke, pulling up the information on Steve's alarm. He was about to explain how not only had the alarm gone off, but had also stopped – he hadn't gotten around to building in a reset button yet, so there was no way it could have just stopped without being tampered with somehow – however, JARVIS stopped him in his tracks, interrupting him before he could even open his mouth.
"Sir, I believe there is a news broadcast that may be of interest to you."
"JARVIS, now is not the time for another made up scandal about Stark Industries..."
"Sir," JARVIS continued, undeterred, and the television flickered on, "it's about a shooting near the harbour."
Tony paused in what he was doing and turned his attention to the television. The others had redirected their attention to the screen also. A young blond reporter stood explaining the events as police worked in the background.
"Police have yet to release a statement as to what has happened, but witnesses claim shots were fired."
"JARVIS, pause it right there..." Tony forced out. By the look on Clint's face, he had seen it too. JARVIS obeyed and the picture on screen paused, the reporter's voice disappearing to be replaced by another order from Tony. "There, at the bottom right – blow that up for me."
JARVIS did as he was told and Tony swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat. "That bike look familiar to anyone?"
Author's end notes: Thank you for reading! More soon...