Old Ghosts

Chapter 8

He remembered this. It wouldn't be the first Hydra base he'd infiltrated. But today was different. This felt familiar, older. Back during the War, Captain America and the Howling Commandos had stormed strongholds all across Europe. It seemed like the whole world knew the stories, the victories. But they didn't know the rest. They didn't know what it was like to be first across the line, to never know what was around the next corner, to face an enemy that built weapons out of old magic and weird science – things you wouldn't believe until you came face-to-face with them in some dark tunnel. They didn't know what it was like to realize you were it, that there would be no second chances. It had never felt like bravery. Sometimes you just had to throw yourself in and damn everything else.

But that wasn't what nagged at him, not entirely. As he pressed himself against the wall and fired around the corner, he could hear Wilson behind him, covering their rear. The Commandos were dead and buried – most of them, anyway. He'd worked alone for nearly as long as he could remember. He'd gotten good at it. But there were advantages to having someone to watch your back. Advantages, and a comforting sort of deja vu.

He was letting himself get distracted. They'd made their way into the tunnels beneath the mountain, following Rogers. That was familiar, too. Steve was always getting himself into trouble, starting fights that no one in their right mind would want to finish. No one but him. Following some skinny little kid with a death wish. Maybe he'd always been crazy.

C'mon, Buck. Just a little further.

Ducking back behind cover, he slid down against the wall and put his face in his hands. That voice had a way of cutting through the pounding in his head, one ghost louder than all the rest. And they were loud. Any rest, any break in the violence brought them surging back. They surrounded him now, the whispers pressing in - demanding, accusing, laughing at his attempts to block them out. They were weighing him down, pulling him under, reminding him that he hadn't slept. The gunfire in the hallway ahead was a distant roar. The old cold had settled in his bones, constant and aching. His arm was so damn heavy. Forcing his eyes open, he stared down at the gun in his hand.

"Hey, Barnes! You with me?" Wilson crouched in the hallway across from him, ducking into a doorway as another hail of bullets ripped between them. "We're getting pinned down here!"

He'd prepared for this. He was ready. One last push. But he hadn't planned on company. Wilson was holding his own, even without his wings, but this was Hydra. Their fight on the surface had put the base on alert. Who knew how many of them might be camped out in the junction ahead.

This wasn't Wilson's fight. They might both be chasing after Rogers, but he doubted the guy knew what that really meant. He didn't need to die for this.

"Barnes! Dammit!"

Reaching into his belt, he pulled out the grenade he'd taken from the guard on the surface and turned it over in his hands.

Wilson's eyes went wide. "Aw, shit."

Pulling the pin, he launched it into the intersection ahead and pressed himself back against the wall. Opposite him, Wilson did the same.

The impact shuddered through him, the explosion echoing through the compound. If Hydra hadn't known where they were before, they did now. There wasn't much time.

Slowly, he moved forward, sweeping the hall with Wilson just behind him. How many guards there had been, he couldn't say. But for now, at least, the junction was clear.

Wilson surveyed the mess. "Damn. You don't hold back, do you?"

"I've been doing this longer than you have."