Avengers Imagines

Surviving From The Fittest (Pt. 2/2)

[This two-part oneshot is largely centered upon Hydra!Steve. On that account, it irrefutably will show him in a very different light and not in the semblance of the righteous warrior we have all come to know and love. The description is not necessarily graphic but very possibly could be disagreeable for some of you. Henceforth, you have been warned. Proceed with your own discretion.]

{(H/T) = Home Town|use if resident of the USA
(H/C)= Home Country| use if residing outside the USA}

Steve slammed his hand down on the window and the frame bent under the force. You were still a stray threat which he could not afford to spare. He had given everything for the Hydra cause; it would be a shame if he let a simpleton from (H/T)/(H/C) bring about his undoing.

Pressing your ear against the door, you strained to listen for a sound. Faint footfalls echoed in the distance. Your breath of relief was short-lived and your eyes immediately began to scan the room for weapons. Finding active arms in the abandoned facility was a long shot, you were going to have to settle for anything make-shift that would suffice for defense; or offense, if it came to that.

The thudding footsteps neared and your panic escalated. Tearing apart every trunk, drawer and cupboard, you desperately searched for a weapon. In your fear fueled frenzy, your attention centered upon a few fire extinguishers stowed away in a rusty trunk. Judging by their weight, all of them were empty, except one. "Seriously (Y/N)? This is the only door in the building that is locked. You aren't all that great at being inconspicuous, you know." Steve's voice boomed from right outside the threshold, "Come on, doll. Open up."

The last part was spoken softly on purpose. It made him sound like the old Steve, your Steve. Having nothing else to do, you poked Steve's arm yet another time. That is how you would occupy about 47% of your free time. "Not that your small finger could cause me any inconvenience in any way whatsoever, but why do you do this?" Steve had asked with vaguely challenging and at the same time warm and comforting eyes.

Wrapping your arm around his bicep and resting your head on his shoulder, you had poked his arm yet again. "I like you. You're squishy." Jolting back into reality, your had to steel your resolve all over again. The man attempting to break down the door was not Steve, not anymore. The idea that he never truly had been raised its ugly hood somewhere in the back of your mind and churned your heart.

Fighting back tears, you redid your stance. There was very little time. In one deafening boom, the door swung open and in walked Steven Grant Rogers, menace dancing in his eyes. "Nowhere left to run." He threatened in a singsong voice as he took his numbered steps towards you. You let him get close, real close. Once he was hardly an arm's length away, a resounding click registered in the silence. Steve had to switch to defense to protect himself from the oncoming onslaught even before he could make sense of what was happening.

Ears, nose, month - basically every orifice above the head was your primary aim. After a few seconds, when the force of the foam felt feebling, you swung the empty container and brought it down on Steve's head, hard. Taking advantage of his few moments of disorientation, you climbed out of the window, down the fire escape and through a window you hoped to be the supply closet.

Luck struck. The room indeed was a supply closet, or had been. 'There must be something in here that is useful.' You set to work. Steve worked his quickest to follow suit. His endeavor, however, was rendered futile because the window he had seen you enter through was now barred by what he assumed to be a heavy metal cabinet shifted into position. The only available option was to climb down to the open window two storeys below and then take the stairs up.

Yet again, the door was shut. Although, this time around, Steve wasn't planning to waste time in beckoning you out. This was it, this is how it would all end and he would be immortalized in Hydra history. With full force, he slammed into the door, managed to get across and as soon as he stepped one foot on the floor, launched forward and...slipped?

Steve landed hard on his back surrounded by some sort of liquid. 'Petrol?' "Whatever charade you're trying to pull, it won't save you, (Y/N)!" He announced as he stood back up, wiping the flammable liquid off on his clothes. You smirked. "I'm not the one who needs saving."

Next to the door behind Steve was a very old yet very active circuit board. Ripping out its wires, you put them together with feather-light pressure and they sparked. In the fleeting moment, Steve knew. Savoring the apprehension in his eyes, you brought the wires closer to the floor and created another spark. The entire trail of petrol lit up, quickly taking the old furniture and the hardwood floor with it.

"Poetic, isn't it?" Your voice was backed by the hundreds whose blood was on Captain America's hands, most importantly, your friends. Steve was just now realizing the grave mistake of wiping his fuel-coated hands on his clothes which made him much more susceptible to the flames than he otherwise would have been.

"Hey, (Y/N), come on. You can't leave me here. I'm your friend, I'm Steve. Your Steve." The unfelt pleading began as soon as you turned your back, "It stings. The heat already stings. You can't leave me here. Come back, please."

Hearing your friend's helpless voice, someplace deep in your heart clenched and your feet trembled in their tracks. Regardless of the stray tear that wandered down your cheek, you were carried forward by the souls of the wrong. Penance was long overdue.

There was no saying that this was the end. Maybe he would mange to escape; maybe the super-soldier serum would render the fire inconsequential. That would almost certainly mean that Steve would be back for you with double the incentive. And you would be lying in wait, ever the lioness.