Steven G. Rogers (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
thekidfrombrooklyn) wrote2015-07-21 06:37 pm
thekidfrombrooklyn) wrote2015-07-21 06:37 pm
Entry tags:
It's quiet...too quiet.
Sam got some intel about a possible safehouse-slash-weapons depo that might be of interest to Bucky, so he and Steve head out to upstate Pennsylvania to check it out.
Steve doesn't have much hope for finding Bucky there--they're always at least two steps behind him, it seems, cleaning up what he leaves behind-- but sometimes standing in rooms he knows where Bucky has been is all the comfort he can find. Sometimes he feels like painting "BUCKY COME HOME" on the walls, just to see what would happen.
But Bucky won't be back to places he's already destroyed. Steve knows that.
Anyway.
The warehouse is on the edge of a small rural town that the economic crisis has hit hard. Most of the store fronts are boarded up. Some of the fields are bare, some are overgrown, and some hold the machinery of fracking. The warehouse itself looks rusty and abandoned, and Steve would pass it by if there weren't the hope of some sort of clue.
(Or the chance to bash some heads.)
It takes only a tap from the shield to break the padlock on the small door to the side of the building. No reason to break into the main security doors and draw attention to themselves. Steve eases the door open and steps inside, and nods to Sam.
Steve doesn't have much hope for finding Bucky there--they're always at least two steps behind him, it seems, cleaning up what he leaves behind-- but sometimes standing in rooms he knows where Bucky has been is all the comfort he can find. Sometimes he feels like painting "BUCKY COME HOME" on the walls, just to see what would happen.
But Bucky won't be back to places he's already destroyed. Steve knows that.
Anyway.
The warehouse is on the edge of a small rural town that the economic crisis has hit hard. Most of the store fronts are boarded up. Some of the fields are bare, some are overgrown, and some hold the machinery of fracking. The warehouse itself looks rusty and abandoned, and Steve would pass it by if there weren't the hope of some sort of clue.
(Or the chance to bash some heads.)
It takes only a tap from the shield to break the padlock on the small door to the side of the building. No reason to break into the main security doors and draw attention to themselves. Steve eases the door open and steps inside, and nods to Sam.
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He pauses, tilts his head to one side, lowers his voice even further.
"Or they're still here."
At the end of the vast warehouse doors to the built-in offices fly open. Out pour HYDRA agents, flamethrowers blazing.
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"I think we found the bad guys, Cap." He says over the comm as he sends a few smoke bombs into the clusters of HYDRA agents while they remain clustered. He can tell they are out numbered so any advantage would be good right?
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He throws the shield at the nearest thug -- it knocks the flamethrower from his hands, and his cry from probably fratcured if not broken fingers echoes through the warehouse. Steve ducks behind the crates as the rest of the thugs turn the flamethrowers his way, filling the air with the scent of burning wood.
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From his vantage he can also see more and more agents spilling in. This was definitely a trap and they are seriously out numbered.
"Cap, there sure do seem to be a lot of them. Maybe we should call at another time?" It's also right about then that mini grenades start exploding around him.
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"Hold on, Cap. I'm trying to get to you. I'm afraid our entry is compromised."
Distracted, he missed one grenade that is arcing towards him.
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He dodges left into a barrel roll just as the grenade explodes. Shrapnel pings off the wings and he feels a slight tear in his leg. Then he's punched by the concussive force, which knocks him out of the sky and into one of the offices in the back of the warehouse. Sam manages to fold the wings in and curl into a ball just as he hits the door and slams through.
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