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HYDRA had been decimated, but somehow they still had funding for these ridiculous little science projects. Brock Rumlow was standing in front of a machine that would, in theory, send him back in time to Brooklyn circa 1925. He eyed the hunk of metal and wire distrustfully, not quite sure he had that much faith in what passed for HYDRA’s science division nowadays.
However, he had little say in the matter. He was an agent of HYDRA and he went where they sent him. If they wanted to sacrifice him to some crack pot’s science fiction wet dream, then he would go. Didn’t mean he had to be happy about it. Everyone knew he was grumbly on his best days, but this was just ridiculous and not a good day at all. At least Rollins would be coming with him. If he had to die a terrible death in some hand-wavey magic contraption, at least he wouldn’t be going down alone.
Rollins wasn’t too happy about the assignment either, but at least he wasn’t pouting about it. He joined his commander in inspecting the machine and snorted when he found it lacking. Really, it just looked like a hunk of metal with a fancy keyboard on it.
Without a word, Rollins dug in his pocket and shoved an old photograph at Rumlow. They had been briefed on the mission the night before, but even now they were both thinking the same thing: who the hell thought this would be a good idea?
The plan was to go back in time, kidnap Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes, ages seven and eight respectively, and bring them back to the future to raise on the doctrine of HYDRA. Rumlow could name about eight hundred and ninety-six different things wrong with that plan, but eh. He wasn’t paid to make the plans, just follow through with them. His job title was definitely the Muscle, not the Brains.
Rumlow rolled his shoulders, cracked his neck, and glared down at the photo Rollins had handed him. It was old; black and white and fading badly. The subjects of the picture were still easily distinguished, though, and that’s all that really mattered. Two little boys stood side by side, their arms slung over each other’s shoulders, wide grins splitting their faces in half. The smaller boy was blond, dirt smudged on his cheek, and a front tooth missing. The older boy was dark haired, grinning crookedly at the camera, with a dark smudge on his left eye the only hint that he was healing from a nasty shiner.
Rumlow rolled his eyes and shoved the picture into a pocket of his tac vest. He just wanted this mission to be over, already. He didn’t like kids in the first place, but kids that would grow up to be Captain America and the Winter Soldier? They were probably just downright annoying. It was all so stupid. This whole plan was stupid. He just wanted to go home.
The commander glanced down at what the armory had outfitted them with and scowled some more; he and Rollins were going to stand out like sore thumbs. They would probably get arrested once the first person saw them, because they were definitely going to be unique with their bulletproof vests and big ass M4 Carbines. Hopefully it would be dark when they touched down, and they could sneak through the shadows.
The machine started whirring and clunking to life and Rumlow turned to glare at his partner. Rollins was giving him a shit eating grin, reaching out to link their arms together for the journey. Wouldn’t do to get sent through time just to end up in two totally different areas. And knowing their science division, that was completely possible. Rumlow took a deep breath and let it out slowly. It was just a simple bag-and-tag mission, right? Done it a million and one times before. Besides, how hard could it be to find two tiny eight year olds in 1925 Brooklyn, anyway? He settled his vest comfortably over his shoulders and scowled at the scientist fiddling with the settings. Time to get this over with.
“If I explode, I’m haunting your ass,” Rumlow warned, and the scientist half-turned to glance over his shoulder, grinning sheepishly. He pressed a button on the machine without looking and sent a sloppy salute to the two agents as a bright light engulfed them. Well, that had done harder things in the past.
The light left them blind for a few moments, but it was over quickly. And now, instead of the gross antiseptic smell of the lab, they were hit square in the face with the stench of sun-warmed trash. Rumlow glanced around the alley they had landed in and scowled some more. They were surrounded by brick walls and piles of garbage, but at least they hadn’t popped up in the middle of the street in broad daylight. That might have sent more than one person running for the hills. As Rumlow looked down at his wrist to fiddle with the timer on his watch, he heard a hiss from some mangy cat glaring at them from a fire escape. He glanced up at it with a scowl and turned to look at just where they had landed.
Of course it was some time around noon. They had just under three hours until the machine sucked them back to their correct time period, with or without the brats they had been sent for. All they had to do was grab the kids and the machine would do the rest of the work.
“All right, move out I guess,” Rumlow grumbled, taking small, silent steps over to the mouth of the alley. He peeked around the corner and saw quite a few kids running around the street, enjoy the midday sun. It was either summer or school was out for the day. There was a pick-up game of stick ball going on further down the street, two girls sat on a stoop playing with dolls, and another group of kids was running around playing tag. Rumlow was stuck on what to do next; it was the middle of the day, they had three hours to complete their mission, and there were kids everywhere. What were the chances that the two kids they needed to grab were just going to wander past?
Well, as luck would have it, they did precisely that. As Rumlow and Rollins were scanning the crowds of children, they heard a high pitched boy’s voice shout out excitedly. Now, that wasn’t anything to write home about, but what came out of the kid’s mouth sure as hell was.
“Come on, Steve! It’ll be fun, and I promise your Ma won’t find out. And my Mama won’t care one way or the other. As long as we’re back before dark, it’ll be okay!” A dark haired boy was trailing down the sidewalk after a shorter, moodier blond. Rumlow instantly recognized them from the photo that was still shoved in his tac vest and smirked in victory. Maybe this mission would be over sooner than he had thought.
It was surreal watching Captain America and the Winter Soldier as children, bickering and smiling and running around, but this was what he had been sent to do.
The boys were still bickering, even as they walked past the alley Rumlow and Rollins were lurking in. “You know they won’t let me join, Buck,” Steve Rogers shot back, a pout pulling his lips down as he shoved his fists into his trouser pockets and shuffled further down the street. Wow, the history books hadn’t been lying when they had said Rogers had been a sickly little runt before the serum. He was a good head shorter than Barnes but only about six months younger than him. He was thin and frail and sniffling into his sleeve even in the dead of summer. “You go on; I’ll just head home. Ma’s makin’ stew tonight and I promised I’d peel the potatoes for her.”
Barnes’ smile faltered for all of two seconds before he was grinning widely again, a bounce in his step as he bounded after his buddy. “Well, then I’ll come and help too. Show you how it’s done, right?” he joked, elbowing Rogers in the side playfully. Rogers rolled his eyes but grinned back at Barnes anyhow.
God, but they had always been stuck in each other’s pockets, it seemed. Rumlow thought he just might hurl at how devoted they seemed to be to each other. He took a careful step out from the alley and heard Rollins follow his lead. The tailed the boys at a decent distance until they went to turn a corner and caught an eyeful of the agents in all their militaristic glory. Barnes stopped dead in his tracks, mouth gaping open, and tugged Rogers to turn with him.
“Hey! Mister! You two in the Army, or somethin’? You’re dressed real funny-like.” Barnes was standing in front of Rogers, looking distrustful and suspicious with his thin arms crossed over his chest. Rumlow stopped right in front of them, not really sure what to say. He had always been good at bullshitting his way through life, though, and he supposed this was really no different.
Just as he started to open his mouth, though, Rollins beat him to it. Good thing, too, because Rumlow had been concocting a truly stupid story for the kids. “Yeah, mite. We’re in the Army,” Jack rumbled sarcastically, crossing his own arms over his chest to mimic Barnes. He gave the kids an unimpressed look and then turned to glare at Rumlow, as if he needed to add something more. It took a moment, but Rumlow was smirking right back, turning to face the kids with a predatory look on his face. Why waste time when the marks were right in front of them, right?
“You Steve Rogers and James Barnes?” he bit out viciously, laughing when the boys jumped at the venom in his voice.
Now Barnes looked even more suspicious, taking a careful step back and herding Rogers further away from the two agents. “And if we are?” he shot back just as viciously.
“We needa speak with your parents. Got a bit lost, though. Where you live, anyway?” Rumlow knew exactly where the two lived, but they didn’t need to know that.
Barnes looked conflicted for a long moment before he reached back and grabbed Rogers’ hand up in his own, feet shuffling awkwardly. “I don’ think…,” he started, but was cut off when Rollins lost his patience and lunged forward, socking Barnes right in the eye. He tried to scramble for Barnes’ arm but the kid was slippery as all hell. Instead he got another punch in, this time knocking Rogers in the mouth. The kid looked shocked for all of five seconds, hands wrapped over his mouth and eyes wide, before he dragged his hands away and spit out a tooth. There was a gap in his smile now, one of the front ones.
“Listen here, you little shits. You’re coming with us.”
Barnes’ eyes were huge as he leaned backwards, back pressed to Rogers’ front. Rogers looked about two seconds from going full on honey badger, but Barnes beat him to it, lashing out by stomping on Rollins’ foot hard and then whirling around to kick Brock in the privates.
“Cripes, Stevie, we gotta go!” Without a second thought, Barnes turned and hooked a fist in Rogers’ shirt, dragging the little blond down the street behind him. They tore off together and Rumlow cursed under his breath as they tried to follow after, somewhat hobbled by the brat’s underhanded jabs.
“Good going, Rollins. We almost had ‘em. They were right there.”
“Oh, shut your gob, Rumlow, and get runnin’.”
Barnes was shouting, somehow already half a block ahead of them, and gathering quite a bit of attention. “Becca, get Mama!” he shouted. A little girl about a year or two younger than Barnes lifted her curly haired head, saw the men chasing after her brother and his friend, and darted inside the apartment building without a second glance. She left the door wide open for them on her way inside.
Rollins and Rumlow barged inside a few moments later, listening to the banging of feet on stairs as the two boys climbed their way deeper into the building. The agents knew the apartment number the boys were heading for, but weren’t quite sure what the hell the boys thought Barnes’ mother could do against them. Rumlow supposed they were just two dumb, snot-nosed kids though; still at that age where they thought their parents could do anything.
The door to the first apartment on the third floor was barred in their faces. Rollins pulled a handgun from his belt while Rumlow reached for the door handle; shoving it open quickly, Rollins darted inside with Rumlow right on his heels. Two women were standing at the counter, wide eyed and shocked. Rogers was hiding behind the blonde woman’s skirt, face pressed to her thigh as he glared at the agents. Barnes was similarly hidden behind the dark haired woman’s legs, with the difference of tugging his younger sister tight against his side. He was glaring at them, staring down the barrel of Rollins’ gun without fear.
“What is going on here? Why are you chasing the boys?” the blonde woman asked, threading a hand through Rogers’ hair.
“We don’t wanna hurt nobody. Just need to grab the boys and we’ll be out of your hair. And then nobody has to get hurt. Understand?” Rollins said, lowering his gun ever so slightly to placate the women. Rumlow was grinning happily, liking their odds here. Two STRIKE agents against two housewives? Or, no, wait. A housewife and… a nurse? Right? Wasn’t Rogers’ mom a nurse? Eh, it didn’t really make a difference. The two women were still way out of their league.
Rumlow was so caught up in crowing about their victory that he missed Sarah Rogers reaching for the cast iron skillet resting on the stove. He did see her slam it through the air, catching Rollins in the face. He fell like a sack of bricks, moaning lowly. Sarah didn’t waste a moment, braining Rollins one more time just to be sure. Rumlow watched in stupefied shock until she turned her attention from Rollins to him. Her eyes were blazing and her face was grim and angry.
And, wow, he had seen that look before. Usually it was on Rogers’ face right before he did something really stupid, like jumping out of planes without parachutes or taking on entire organizations with two friends and a shield.
Rumlow twisted out of the way, trying to avoid Mama Rogers’ weapon of choice, but he wasn’t quick enough to miss the rebounding swing. The skillet caught him under the chin, slamming his head back and leaving him off-balance. She swung it one more time, looking like a batter waiting for the pitch, and then he was crumpling to the floor next to Rollins.
A baby was screeching somewhere off in the distance, and it was really fucking annoying. He blinked heavy lids against the bright light filtering in through the window and glared at the boy staring at him from the kitchen counter. He swung his legs back and forth and cocked his head to the side with an amused grin when Rumlow started struggling in his bonds.
“I wouldn’t bother,” Barnes drawled, smirking victoriously. “Mama tied those herself. Ain’t nobody able to get outta her knots; no way, no how.” There was open curiosity on the kid’s face now that Rumlow and Rollins weren’t threats, and Rumlow felt his simmering anger start to boil over. Rollins was still an unresponsive waste of space on his other side, tied up in his own chair a few feet from Rumlow. Sarah Rogers must have hit him harder than she had Rumlow.
“James, you stop goading that man right now. Here; hold your sister for me, would you?” Barnes’ mother plopped a squirming bundle in the kid’s lap and he lit up immediately, cradling the baby close in his arms. Two more little girls and Rogers wandered in next, giving Rumlow and Rollins wary looks but settling themselves up on the counter next to Barnes anyhow. They were lined up like they were waiting for a show to start, and all they were missing was the popcorn and candy.
The sight of the two women glaring down at him from in front of their children drew his attention away from the kids and onto them. Now that he wasn’t being actively attacked, he had much more time to sit and study these women more closely. One was tall and solidly built, with a short haircut, her hair a wavy brown that framed her face. She was pretty enough, and he recognized her as Barnes’ mother, Winifred. He had looked at the picture of her at Barnes’ funeral in ’44, clutching a folded up flag to her chest and crying her heart out, the night before during the mission briefing. The woman standing next to her was shorter, lither, with long blonde hair tied back in a chignon. She looked exhausted and exasperated, leaning against the counter beside the cast iron skillet that had been her weapon of choice earlier. Obviously, she was Rogers’ mother; the resemblance was uncanny.
Rumlow tried to tug at his binds once more without being too obvious about it. It was no use though; maybe Barnes had been right, and his mom really did know her way around a knot. They had tied him up to a rickety chair, but he figured that the only way out would probably be to break the chair.
“Well, you ladies certainly know how to show a guy a good time. Kinky, I see.” He flashed the women a dirty grin and was slightly shocked to see them barely react, other than to glare at him and then back at the children pointedly. He nearly laughed at that; they were the ones who had tied him up in their kitchen, and they were giving him looks about using bad language in front of kids? Sarah Rogers raised a thin blonde eyebrow at him but otherwise looked completely uninterested. Winifred Barnes just crossed her arms over her chest, mirroring her son’s position from earlier down on the street, and glared.
Wow, he had seen that glare enough to know who was related to who, here. Holy shit.
“Who are you, and what do you want with our boys? You and your pal over there definitely aren’t from around here, so what do you think you’re doing here?” It seemed that Sarah Rogers was to be the muscle in this equation, while Winifred was the interrogator. Huh, he would have pegged it as the other way around, considering who their sons were.
“Sorry, ladies. But I ain’t telling you nothin’. Them’s the orders.” He grinned lazily at them and instantly regretted it when Sarah reared back and, forgoing the skillet, used her fist to slam into his face. His head flung to the side and he grunted in surprise. As he was blinking away the stars behind his eyelids, he heard Rogers whisper proudly, “That’s my Ma.” There was some giggling, and then Barnes was saying loudly, “Yeah, it was a real pretty right hook, Missus Rogers. Gotta teach Stevie that, he just kinda flops around and hopes he hits somethin’.” There was even more giggling and that seemed to finally rouse Rollins, who rolled his neck, took in the scene around them, and turned to glare at Rumlow.
“Really, boss? We got taken down by their moms?”
Rumlow glared right back at him. “You know, you were taking point. I blame this on you. You had a fucking gun, what the hell is wrong with you?”
“Didn’t see you do much better, boss.”
“Shut the fuck up, Rollins.”
Rumlow turned back to the women and was slightly shocked to see the amused grins on their faces. Winifred was twirling Rollins’ gun on her finger lazily, watching their reactions in delight, her eyes sparkling darkly. She broke out laughing when she saw them blanche at her silent implication.
“Now, we won’t ask again boys. What did you want with our children? Whatever it was, it’s definitely not happening. But I’d like to know what they did that led you to think it was a good idea to follow them home and threaten to take them away. At gunpoint, I might add.”
“Like I said, lady, we got orders.” Rumlow tried his bonds again and nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard the front door jiggling open. He twisted around to see who had entered and recognized George Barnes, James Barnes’ father, looking surprised but not quite as shocked as he should have been given the situation. At least, in Rumlow’s eyes he was a little too nonchalant about it all.
He just sighed and set his hat on the table, shrugging out of his jacket and setting it on the hook by the door. “Winnie, what’s going on now? What did James do? And why do we have two,” he looked Rollins and Rumlow over closely, “oddly dressed fellows tied up in our kitchen?”
He stepped further into the kitchen and pressed a kiss to Winifred’s cheek before nodding to Sarah, smiling pleasantly, like this was an everyday occurrence.
“The boys came tearing back home, with these two on their tails, saying they tried to snatch them. One of them punched James in the face before they got away. When they followed the boys up the stairs, Sarah got them with the skillet. We tied ‘em up, but they won’t say who they are or what they want with the boys.”
George Barnes turned a more critical eye on the agents and started rolling up the sleeves to his work shirt. Rumlow took a good look at the man and could see snippets of the Winter Soldier in him. If he wasn’t looking closely, George Barnes could have been mistaken for a broader, larger version of their Asset.
“Did you happen to call the authorities? Or were you just going to handle them yourselves?”
“Well, why shouldn’t we? They were after our boys. Besides, they’re not going anywhere. We can call the authorities once we’re finished with them. Besides, you know how I hate to wait.” And that made it official, Winifred Barnes was fucking mental. What person in their right mind is the victim of a home invasion and thinks sitting down and having a chat afterwards is the way to go? She didn’t even call the cops?!
Sarah Rogers was grinning proudly in the background, arms crossed over her chest as she tilted her head back nonchalantly beside her son. Her eyes met Rumlow’s briefly, before her smile became more teeth than charm. It reminded him of the Black Widow, only slightly more frightening simply because this woman had a weapon on him and packed a mean punch.
Sarah and Winifred took a synchronized step forward, while George just leaned back against the counter beside his children, rolling his eyes indulgently, reaching out to tickle one of the girls beneath her chin.
“You know, we could always…,” Sarah started, reaching back for the skillet again, but she was cut off by a quick beeping from the watch around Rumlow’s wrist and the resultant flash of bright light that enveloped both Rollins and Rumlow. Again, it left them feeling nauseous and dizzy, but now they were just sprawled out on the floor instead of tied to chairs. Rumlow groaned and rolled over onto his back, kicking Rollins in the face in the process.
“Fuck. Well, that didn’t go as planned.” Rumlow grunted in agreement; the big bosses were gonna be fucking pissed.
There was a huge explosion a few corridors away and then a loud, grating, metal on metal sound coming from the doorway. Rumlow lifted his head to look and just had to laugh at their luck.
Of course the fucking Avengers had chosen today to destroy their base.
Barnes was the one grating the door open for the others with his metal arm. Rogers was the first one through, brandishing his shield in front of him just in case. Romanoff and Stark trailed in after him carefully, and Rumlow just let his head thunk against the ground, an exhausted laugh spilling from his lips.
Rogers hovered over Rumlow’s sprawled out body, giving him a look like he had officially lost his mind. “And what’s got you two so exhausted?”
Rumlow just laughed some more, kicking Rollins again as he was lifted to his feet and cuffed. “Just had some time travel shenanigans,” he revealed, trading an amused look with his second in command. “Your mother had a hell of a right hook, by the way. Downright frightening with a skillet, Rogers.”
Rollins took over when Barnes glared at him from behind Stark, who was slapping cuffs on him as well. “And Barnes, shit. Don’t get me started on your mother. Fucking spitfire. Twirled my gun at me like a goddamn baton. And let me tell you, if HYDRA had seen your old man, they would have skipped right over you. Built like a fucking tank, he was.”
Rogers and Barnes traded a look, raised eyebrows and frowns mirroring each other, before they shrugged and Rogers clapped both men on their shoulders as they were shuffled out of the room.
“Well, yeah. I mean, where the hell did you guys think we got it from?”