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An Old-Kind of Love iv. He Who Gave Fire to Man

Summary: You’ll never complain about work conditions again. Not when they’ve never been worse. Now under Hydra’s iron thumb after the ambush at Azzano, there has never been more pressure for you to recreate the super soldier serum. Unlike the SSR, however, Hydra cares not about the methods or test subjects you use. But you do, and unlike them, you won’t let innocent men suffer because of your mistakes.

A/N: Yay, I'm happy to be back on this one! :D I couldn't figure out how to end this for the life of me until like it hit me at 4am while trying to sleep. TW: death & murder.

This is part 4 of an ongoing series! Check out the previous parts at Lilleby's Library under An Old-Kind of Love.

PS: for the taglist I'll be doing a general one alongside story-specific ones. If you wanna be added feel free to ask, simply specify whether in general or for certain oneshots :3 It'll help me organize stuff which I'm generally horrible with x)

Taglist: @lordofthenerds97, @justab-eautifulmess, @dirtyweenerking, @itsthemaree, @iamlee1, @sweettooth-simps, @maladaptivexxdaydreaming

The instant that truck stops, you’re taken away from the soldiers—from him.

Panic courses through you instantly and has you kicking and screaming to stay. Not only does it not stop them, but it also earns you a swift hit with the butt of a gun across the face. Pain blooms a shocking second later and with the distraction of your sore and reddened jaw, you can’t fight back much more as they take you into a small private cell.

A few minutes of solitude is all they give you before another comes in. Someone who by the way they carry themselves you can tell isn’t just some regular lackey. But when he introduces himself, you weren't exactly expecting it to be Johan Schmidt himself. Fear crawls under your skin at the way he smiles at you as if thinking that acting hospitable would incur favor with you.

“Dr. Stark. It’s a pleasure to finally meet Dr. Erskine’s notorious assistant.”

Johan Schmidt. It’s not a pleasure whatsoever to meet Dr. Erskine’s biggest failure.

You rein in the retort that wants to leave your lips by pursuing them shut. Being catty won’t get you anywhere other than to an early grave. Schmidt, noticing this, waves his hand dismissively.

“Hold your tongue or don’t, it matters not. All you shall do is listen.” His accent is thick as he goes on to explain what he came there to tell you. “I was informed you have the complete formula for the serum. Quite an achievement for a rather mediocre little girl.”

“Go to hell.”

You regret that the instant it comes out your mouth. Turning away from his gaze, you hear him scoff as takes slow methodical steps around the chair you sit upon. That cold gaze catches yours and it's then that you notice something odd about his face. The way his eyes sit in their sockets...there’s something not right about them.

It’s like they’re unaligned.

Schmidt notices your scrutiny and steps back to turn away, giving his back to you as he cups his chin and strokes it.

“You told the captain that brought down Azzano that you’ve completed the formula, now is that right, doctor?”

There isn’t a point in continuing the charade any longer, but you don’t know what he’ll do if he finds out you lied either. There’s really no telling how he would react in either scenario, so you leave him without an answer. He smirks at your telltale silence.

“I shall take that as admittance to your lies.”

“Think what you want. I’m not telling you anything.”

You must’ve been too quick to defend yourself from his accusations because his smirk only broadens. “I presumed you had lied when I was told what you said. However, even despite your shortcomings, you are not without value.”

Bringing his other hand out that had been behind his back all this time, you feel your heart stop at the sight of your little blue journal that he holds so precariously in his grasp.

“You’re not the first to attempt to recreate the doctor’s formula, Dr. Stark, but I will say that you are the first who’s worked to perfect it alongside the good doctor before his untimely departure.”

The cruel remark has you biting down on your lip to keep from snapping back as anger courses through you. He’s taunting you to try and forgo the ambiguity you’ve strung up. That much you can tell from the way he’s flaunting your journal and from what he’s saying. But what’s much more telling is the fact that he’s asking you all these redundant questions. It assures you of one thing: that damn code you invented worked.

He knows what’s in there, but he doesn’t know how to read it.

I still have the upper hand.

With a cocky grin Howard would be proud of, you say, “Who knew that’s all it took to figure it out?”

“Pride is quite the hubris, doctor, something very much unbecoming of one such as you who has yet to ‘figure it out.’” All the bravado you had just seconds ago leaves you just as quickly. A chill runs down your spine as he looks down on you with that terrifying smirk. “Though I suppose some of it is not undeserved. I will admit that your progress is very impressive. From the looks of it, you have caught up with those who are far better equipped for the job than you were with your ill-adept circumstances under the SSR, and at an astounding pace as well. You possess a brilliant mind, Dr. Stark. Dr. Erskine would have not chosen you to aid him in his endeavors otherwise, which leads me to believe that this—” You flinch at the way he drops the small journal onto your lap, “—isn’t all your research has amounted to.”

You don’t answer simply because you don’t want to give anything else away.

He isn’t wrong. Despite all you have put in that journal, you learned from Erskine that not everything should be left printed for someone else to find. In that journal, you’d written the backbone of it, what you knew could be easily figured out by any half-decent scientist. What is left to reside in your head, however, are things that you picked up while working with the doctor perfecting the serum.

The tiny details that you can recall that helped make it, and by proxy Steve, what it is.

“Which is why I come with a proposal.” His words confuse you. Proposal? Schmidt doesn’t waste his breath going in-depth and instead goes straight for what he came for. “Recreate the serum for me. Here, you will have full access to Hydra’s resources and shall need nothing that involves the process. Do this and you shall win freedom.”

“You’re lying.” You’re hissing through gritted teeth, knowing full well this is nothing more than a false promise. “You’d first kill me before letting me go if I give you that serum.”

“Oh. Pardon the misunderstanding,” he says with a morbid chuckle. The fact that he's enjoying this doesn't sit well with you in the least. “Do it and you shall win the captured soldiers their freedom.”

Your blood runs cold at what he proposes.

“...what?”

“That is my bargain, Dr. Stark. For every super soldier you give me, you shall set one of your comrades free.”

“You’re lying.”

It had to be a lie. Another ruse.

“What need would I have for human soldiers with the kind you could provide me?”

Don’t believe him. Don’t believe him. Don’t—

“You’d release them all and allow them to return to Allied forces without impediment?” your question is carefully worded in an attempt to see what you can get away with.

“You have my word.”

“Your word means nothing to me,” you spit back.

He finds your crude honesty amusing. Schmidt bends to meet your gaze straight on with that hellish smirk you’re learning to hate.

“Then trust your own actions, doctor.”

The door opens at his command. A Hydra soldier walks in with one of the soldiers from Azzano. They quickly drop him to his knees and stand over him with their rifle at the ready in their deft hands. Schmidt opens the journal on your lap bringing your attention back to it and points to one of the many sentences that are written with nonsensical numbers and gibberish.

“Of what substance do you need 4.3 micrograms of?”

You read the sentence he’s pointing at in your head. Cobalt. Your eyes wander to the soldier whose heavy breathing has your attention rapt on him. Cobalt. He meets your gaze, his eyes wide despite not showing an ounce of fear elsewhere. Cobalt.

“Nitrogen.”

Pop.

It’s rather difficult to believe that you didn’t scream. Or maybe you did.

Maybe the reason you didn’t hear your petrified shriek was because of how overbearing the sound of the bullet piercing the soldier’s head was when it resonated in the tiny room you’re in.

His body slumps to the ground as dark blood pours from his head. Your chest heaves from the sudden way your breathing speeds up; it's hurting from the tightness. Your eyes tear up but you don’t have time to even process much of what just happened before the body is kicked out of the way and the door opens to let in yet another taken soldier. He takes the same place as the previous one, kneeling in the fresh pool of blood left by his comrade. Noticing this himself, panic sets into his droopy eyes and the sight tightens your chest further.

It's getting harder to breathe.

“Let us try again.” He taps the journal but you can't look away from the soldier before you. “Of what substance do you need 4.3 micrograms of?”

The soldier notices what happened here just moments ago as the blood seeps into his knees. Cobalt. The panic’s set in his droopy eyes now. Cobalt. Your chest tightens at the sight of his eyes shaking with dread. Cobalt.

You can't breathe.

“Cobalt.”

At first, there’s silence. Your mind begins to expect the gunshot, your ears ringing and hurting already from just imagining it. But when you flinch from the sound that goes off, you realize it wasn’t a gunshot. It was the rifle’s safety being put back on.

Schmidt gestures away at his foot soldier as he says, “Take him to the designated location and release the man.”

“Yes, sir.”

Your own panic surges as they forcefully take the man away and you turn to Schmidt. “Where will they take them?”

“A clearing far from this facility. Taken there without the knowledge of how to arrive at this place, of course. However, it will be near enough to an Allied camp to which he can make his way towards. Congratulations, doctor.” Schmidt claps at you and each one has you flinching as you can’t take your eyes away from the puddle of blood. What's more, the metallic smell is starting to permeate your nose to the point that you can practically taste it on your tongue. “You have won the liberation of one of your comrades.”

“Why…” you whisper as you swallow back your fear. The horrid taste won’t go away. “Why did you kill him?”

“Counterbalance, of course. They shall be liberated for all the progress you make, while every failure will result in another bullet to their heads.”

Shock still has you in its clutches as Schmit heads to the door and opens it to leave. At his order, two soldiers enter and haul you outside of the room to take you down one hallway while he takes the opposite. His voice booms loudly as he calls out to you his parting words.

“As I said, doctor, trust your actions. They are what will be deciding the lives of these good men you claim to be your allies.”

With a question still lingering in your head, desperation has you turning back as much as you can without fighting back to ask it.

“Y-You couldn’t have known!” you shout. “That journal was in code!”

“Child’s play to decode, doctor.” Your heart drops to your stomach at his words. “You might be a brilliant scientist, but alas you have much yet to learn about war and its tactics. One would have thought dear Dr. Erkine taught you as much. I suggest you learn quickly and adapt, Dr. Stark, or you will end up just like he did.”

His words leave you speechless and stupefied, making you easy to carry away as the soldiers take you to a different room. They leave you inside, they even release the ties around your hands, and close the heavy metal door behind you. Still having the mind to try, you rush to the door as they shut it and try to pry it open. The sheer weight of it doesn’t let you do that though and what little hope you had of getting out is shut down when you hear the number of bolts being set in place on the other side to lock you in.

Weak from what just happened, you fall to your knees, barely keeping yourself upright by holding onto the door’s handle. Behind you, you find a laboratory with pristine installations and decked out with state-of-the-art equipment. All the things you could’ve only dreamed of having back at the camp are here within reach. The sight of them only upsets you more when all you have vividly in your mind is the sight of that man being killed. Of having seen such life being snuffed so easily and without remorse.

Unable to keep it at bay any longer, you release the handle and bend forward as you empty your stomach. You can smell it still. You can taste it. The poignant smell of blood and the bitter metallic taste linger and you can’t help but finally let out a pained scream at the top of your lungs. That scream echoes until your throat runs dry and your voice turns hoarse.

All their lives for the serum.

That’s his bargain.

As tears fall from your eyes and the bitterness from your vomit lingers with that of the blood, you can’t pretend to refuse it any longer.

If what he says is true, then you can save them all from that same fate. You can save them.

You’d be giving the most dangerous man in the world exactly what he wants. Is that really worth it?

...

Yes.

You’re not letting anybody else die.

So soon enough, you set aside the repulsive sight of the dead and get to work. Because every bit of progress matters. Their lives matter.

From that day onward, it’s someone new that they bring to accompany you for the day while you work. A random soldier, whether from Azzano or other captured camps, gives you company during the 24 hours they give you to make progress on the serum and give them their liberation.

Unable to work in such dreadful silence, you take to talking to them. You learn names, you learn about their families, you learn so much about what they still have to live for, and it all drives you forward.

The first couple of days or so are easy enough; reworking through what you already had in your journal is enough to liberate the men they bring you.

You still didn’t know where they took them, but the little hope that maybe, just maybe, they were being taken away from the facility to be set free from imprisonment kept you hard at work. But whatever hope you had left quickly diminished as on that 15th day you hit a brick wall. The contents of your journal stopped there. The field laid bare with no more tracks to travel on.

And it’s already reaching the end of your 24 hours.

Frantic, you work tirelessly in an attempt to save this man, Eric. He has a wife, Barbara, and a beautiful daughter named Josie whom he left behind months after her birth. And they were waiting for him to return home.

But as the hours run away from you and have you working in such haste, you fail to notice the soldier that comes into the laboratory. You don’t notice any of it until the resounding gunshot scares you away from the microscope and you turn with dread to find him—a husband, a father—dead at the feet of your door.

Overhead, Schmidt’s voice booms through a loudspeaker even louder than the gunshot that still rattles through your brain.

“Work smarter, doctor. Not faster.”

The first couple of days that this same scenario repeats itself, you can't help but cry. Then you realize that there isn’t any time for you to mourn the men you let die.

By the 23rd day and 8th consecutive execution though, your sanity’s beginning to run thin. There are times you blackout without noticing after days of not sleeping and precious time is wasted. The lack of sleep isn’t helping your progress, but wasting time to rest isn’t helpful either. You can barely eat anything when everything just leaves a disgusting metallic aftertaste in your mouth. So you refrain from either of those and dive into your work instead.

But no matter how much you pour into it, nothing seems like enough anymore. Not only that but Schmidt’s getting impatient. He brings in more men during the twenty-four hours he gives you and that only puts more pressure on you. It soon becomes too much. Your mind shuts down as you're forced to watch seven men senselessly slaughtered at the foot of your door yet again.

“Stop this...” Falling onto the floor, stained with dark maroon spots that they refuse to clean, you can’t help but sob at the feet of those you failed to save. “No more, please. I beg of you.”

“Now, doctor. Enough with the tears. A new tool is here to assist you.”

That’s what he calls them. To him, people are just means to an end. Much like your sanity.

And then you hear him call your name.

Almost instantly your tears stop at the familiar voice and your head snaps upward to meet steel-blue eyes that gaze down at you from where they hold him at gunpoint.

Sergeant Barnes.

“Your twenty-four hours begin now, doctor.”

You should be rushing to your worktable. The fact that you knew him before all this, even if only his name, should drive you to work harder. It should and yet you can't help but feel a numbness overcome you. A numbness that shakes you to your core until it breaks you down at what you can't help but admit to yourself.

He's as good as dead. This man—a good, honorable man that had helped you out on more than one occasion—is going to die because of you. Because of your ineptitude.

You don't know when he got to you but the gentleness of his touch on your quivering shoulders makes you all the weaker. Rough hands reach up then to cradle your cheeks as the tears run down them and you sob as he lifts your face to meet your eyes. You can’t comprehend how there can be an ounce of concern in that gentle gaze of his.

Would he still be able to show such sympathy if he knew what you had caused? What lives your incompetence had cost?

Will you cost him his?

The frail hope that shattered long ago reforged itself briefly at the thought. You needed to save him—you needed to. Pushing his hands away from you, you stumble to your feet and stagger to the desk where your papers lay as scattered as your thoughts as to how to proceed. Retracing your steps from the beginning was a nonstarter, not with the time limit you have, but perhaps choosing the right starting point would suffice as progress.

It has to.

“What are you doing?”

“Working.”

“You’re working? For them?” There’s no mistaking the venom that seeps into his tone. “Why?”

He asks and you answer. Simple as that. You relay back the important things while setting aside the gruesome details that you don’t wish to recall yourself. James seems to get the idea of what’s happening and it’s then that the concern returns to his eyes. It turns your stomach seeing that.

Stop it.

“You need to rest.”

“I don’t have time. I need to find a way to make progress.”

“You need to rest,” he reiterates and takes a hold of your wrist to stop you from doing anything. “You look exhausted.”

You are, but there's no time for that. Not if you want him to avoid the fate the others suffered. Your mind scrambled as it is, however, doesn’t let you see clearly through anything that you have before you. Emotions barrage you as the thought of him being killed like the others returns. Even imagining it has the tears already brimming in your eyes.

The sudden warmth of the hand that touches your back forces you to face him and you find James sharing a sympathetic and thin-lined smile while pulling you away from the desk with his other hand.

“How can you be so calm?” Your voice is no more than a whisper. You barely have enough strength to stand anymore, let alone speak louder than that. He hears you and musters a small yet kinder smile as he pulls you aside, further and further away from what could save him. “If I don’t get this done, you’ll—”

“I’ll be fine.”

How in hell’s name he can say that with such confidence is beyond you, but something about the way he says it does calm you down. It lets you take a breath.

He guides you away to the little cot tucked away in the remote corner of the laboratory furthest away from the door. You’re like a child, helpless and mindless, as he urges you to lay down. You do. The first night you came to be there, you thought that it was the most uncomfortable thing ever. Laying your head down now almost has you passing out instantly, but you force yourself to remain awake. It’s something easy to do with the way the guilt suffocates you so.

“Close your eyes," James urges softly.

“I can’t,” you say with a reluctant yawn. “I’ll pass out entirely if I just let myself fall asleep.”

“I’ll stay awake and watch over you,” he responds. “I’ll give you a few hours. You’ll be much better off then.”

For some reason, you can’t put your finger on why his optimism and lack of sense of urgency have you so concerned. It's almost like he's given up. Could it be that? Does he believe in you so little?

Now that you think about it though, he doesn’t have a reason to believe in you. You’re barely a step up from strangers. There’s no reason for him to trust someone like you with such a crucial task.

Which means he’s already made peace with dying.

You don’t know what incurs your determination then—your pride or the need to prove him wrong—but it has you reaching your hand out to his. The tips of your fingers brush against his and you feel him flinch, surprised by the sudden touch, but he doesn’t pull away.

“I won’t let anything happen to you,” you whisper, your eyelids growing heavier and heavier by the second you lay there. “I...won’t…”

You pass out before you know it. Tragically, you don't last more than a couple of hours asleep, but even that little bit of rest seems to be enough to quell some of the sleep deprivation you’d amounted up till then.

It’s dark in the laboratory by the time you wake up. It makes sense, you reckon. You’re the one who has to manually turn on the lights at night. So the fact that all that’s illuminating the place are the pale beams of moonlight pouring through barred windowless panes isn't as unnerving. In a way, the gentle light is a comfort to your tired eyesight.

You find James where he said he’d be, sitting at the foot of your small cot waiting for you to wake up. Instead of nodding away himself, his steel-blue glare is rapt on the guards by your door. They never leave nor have they ever laid a finger on you, but if they try, he’s not letting them near you either. Your fingers curl and brush against his, his hand seemingly never having moved from where he had it when you fell asleep. The subtle touch brings his attention back to you.

“Sleep some more,” he mutters. “It’s still nighttime.”

“It’s alright.” Your whisper is hoarse as you sit up on the cot. “I don’t think I’ll get more sleep than this. Thank you though.”

“Don’t mention it.” Taking a deep breath, you bring your legs over the edge of the cot and ready yourself to work after that rest. Noticing this, James turns to you perplexed. “Are you really going to go back to work?”

“Yes.”

“Just rest up while you can. It'll be better for you.”

“Not a chance,” you reply. “I’m not letting you die here.”

“Better that than help them.”

“Not at your expense or that of others, it isn’t.” You may not understand his sense of duty as a soldier but you understand yours as just another regular human being. Every single person mattered and if you have the chance to help them survive, then you’re taking it. No matter how slim the chances may be. “You can stay here or you can help me, it's up to you. But I’m not letting anybody else die on my watch.”

You head to your station and begin to attempt deciphering what to do next. To your surprise, James is up and asking what he can be of assistance with a few minutes later. With a smile, you put him to work however you can. This isn’t going to be easy but you’re not going to give up just yet.

While working, you ask James about himself if only to occupy the silence in the room with something other than the sound of shuffling papers. He tells you little things about himself after a bit of prodding. He tells you about his family. About his sister, Rebecca. About his best friend, Steve Rogers. About what his childhood was like. About what it meant for him to be part of the army. About how proud he is—how afraid he is. The more he talks about it all, the more you realize that he truly is just a man like any other.

And yet so unlike them too.

James asks about you in return. There’s not much to talk about though. Aside from your brother, there’s nothing interesting about you. You had regular parents and a regular upbringing for the most part. Setting aside the your-folks-would-rather-have-you-marrying-off-than-do-this fiasco. And of course, can’t forget about the whole college mishap from before. As for how you got into the SSR…

“That’s not something I’d like to talk about here.”

Unlike you, he knows to leave well enough alone.

A good thing too. Thinking about Dr. Erskine right now is the one thing you don't want to do. Being imprisoned by the same maniacal person he’d warned you about seemed surreal at first, but now you can comprehend why having made the serum for him, even in its imperfect form, was such a huge regret for him.

...

Wait a minute.

Imperfect…?

‘All the pieces in the world mean nothing if I don’t have the correct frame to put them in.’

“No way...”

“What is it?”

“It’s been here. All along it’s been here, right under my nose.”

Enthused at what you possibly found, a grin splits your face. You rush towards boxes of research from some Hydra scientist on the serum, all of them scattering of ideas that make no sense. At least they wouldn’t if you hadn’t already done research of your own. A simple skim through has you keen on what new information you’re discovering and what lines your mind is already drawing.

“The framework I’ve been looking for.”

James can’t follow a single word you’re saying, but he’s all in on what you seemingly have figured out. And with the little hours you have left, there’s no time to waste.

The task is tedious and certainly time-consuming. All because of the fact that everything has to be so meticulously laid out before even attempting a single production once you put every piece of information you have in place. However, if you can at least make it…

I can still get James out of here.

Howard was right when he called you narrow-minded all those months ago. Because of your desire to recreate this serum with your own research, you failed to notice all the valuable information from studies already done that was right in front of you. The SSR hadn’t been the only ones attempting to recreate it; there were already plenty of tests done on Dr. Erskine’s prototype serum that was in Johan Schmidt’s blood by a certain Arnim Zola here in Hydra.

Combining that research with your own to recreate the formula from bits and pieces is perhaps the one true stroke of genius you'll admit to ever having in your life. Because if this worked, it'd be the first real breakthrough you’ve had since starting this whole endeavor back at Camp Lehigh.

The framework you couldn’t find in Steve’s blood was here all along. All you need to do now is put all the pieces together and fill in what missing gaps there are.

“There.”

It isn’t written down. They’re all just papers scattered on the floor mixed up in an array that could only be described as a disaster. But you understand it. Every little detail, every last number to the most significant figure, you figured out.

You can recreate the super soldier serum with this.

The faint rays of dawn peeking through the bars of the laboratory spill onto the paper-laden floor and have your heart skipping a beat. Your twenty-four hours are running out. Hurrying him along, you instruct James every step of the way to help you expedite the production process. By the time everything is set and ready, you’re drenched in a cold sweat at how close you’re cutting this.

With a push of a lever, the machine whirls to life, and the meticulous process begins to produce what you hope would at least be a vial of the serum. Bringing him back a few steps to wait, you join your hands in prayer and hope against hope that this worked.

For his sake.

The minutes it takes to produce are the longest and most torturous you’ve ever experienced but when you see that vial fill to the brim with that familiar bright blue liquid, you’re breath hitches and your heart stops for the briefest of moments. You step up to it and carefully take the vial out of the machine. The tiny injectable vial sits gingerly in your hands, its actual weight uncomparable against the weight of its existence.

“I did it.” Your words are barely a whisper as your heart begins to beat again and it thrums wildly against your ears. Unable to believe it still, you cradle the vial in your hands, your eyes stinging with unshed tears as you turn to James with a satisfied smile. “I did it...”

A smirk spread across his face, unmeasurable relief marking his features at what this meant for him. His larger hand grasps yours as you cup the vial between them.

“Never doubted you for a second.” His grasp tightens around your hands and your smile widens. “I knew you’d do.”

“As did I.”

The joyous mood changes at the drop of a hat when Schmidt’s voice echoes through the laboratory. Though it’s through the loudspeakers again, it’s not any less intimidating. Especially not when five soldiers then enter the laboratory and corner you at gunpoint. James pushes you behind him to keep you from harm but you’re too preoccupied with something else rushing through your mind to care.

“This wasn’t our deal!” you shout out into the void of the lab, knowing he’d be able to hear you. “I’ve made more than enough progress before the twenty-four hours! Release him!”

“Indeed you have, dear doctor. In fact, you have surpassed all expectations I had for you. Not only did you manage to decipher what so many before you couldn’t, but you have also managed to recreate it. I applaud your work, doctor, and will say that I finally see what Dr. Erskine saw in you. You truly are a genius of your craft.”

“You don’t need him,” you hiss back. “You’ve got what you wanted; you’ve got me. You've got the serum. Set him and the rest of the Allied soldiers free.”

“Of course, Dr. Stark. I am a man of my word, after all.”

Pop.

Your eyes grow wide with horror as James falls to the ground bleeding from a bullet wound to the chest. Dread sets in immediately and you rush to his side to put pressure on the wound. James grunts under your weight but can’t do much else as he’s gasping for every single pained breath. Hands shaking, the warmth of his blood slipping through your fingers unnerves you.

Suddenly, the delicate clinking you hear fall beside him on the floor takes your attention away for the briefest of moments as the vibrant blue iridescent vial comes into view. Scraps of memories flash through your mind as your brain works a mile a second to find a way to save him at the sight of the serum.

Unhinged musculoskeletal growth. A tenfold increase in apoptosis means an even greater increase in cell proliferation to compensate.

What you’re ming is rapidly concocting is madness, but if it can save him…

All I need is a diversion.

Your eyes come up and a quick scan of the room brings your attention to the worktable beside you where countless substances still sit open and poorly arranged. Seeing you’re chance, you don’t think.

You act.

Kicking back as hard as you humanly can muster, you aim for the leg of the worktable and manage to hit on the right spot for it to topple over and spill every substance on it on the floor between you and the soldiers. The chemical reactions of so many substances happen instantly. Hot noxious gases rise to hit the soldiers before they hit you and the thick vapor they create is enough of a curtain to do what you plan to do.

Your hand fumbles for the vial at your feet and holds it tight as you rapidly prepare the needle. Raising the vile high enough to pierce through, you meet his dull gaze for a moment and smile down at him. How you managed such a reassuring gesture, you will never know.

Much less where the strength to comfort him with a whispered promises came from.

“It’s going to be okay.”

The needle punctures through his ribs, and you instantly press down to deliver the serum right into his heart. The vibrant blue liquid empties faster than you can think and by the time you’re pulled back by the soldiers, an empty vial falls from your grasp as your breath hitches, waiting for James to react.

A second is all it takes before he’s screaming bloody murder at the top of his lungs from the pain that suddenly comes over him.

Dread washes over you as you rapidly wrack your brain as to what could be happening. Immediately, your mind brings up the memory of Steve’s trial in Brooklyn. The rapid cell growth—that’s where the pain is coming from. But something’s not right.

Uncontrolled cell growth.

What managed the cell growth with Steve’s was Howard’s—

“Vita rays.”

Struggling against the guards, you manage to knee the on holding onto you and get him to release you before you run to James’ side as he continues to writhe in pain. You hear the cocking of their guns but don’t care about them in the least. What matters to you the most at the moment isn’t your own well-being or even your life. It’s administering the vita rays he needs to get the serum through its final stages. The radiation emitter you’d been using for the creation of the serum would have to do. It had to.

You take the paddles and, after ripping open his uniform, place them against his bare chest, cranking the vita radiation to 100% and setting it off. When it goes off, you don’t know what is causing him to scream anymore. All you can hope for is that it’s not the radiation killing him.

It’s hard to say how long you lean over him, pressing the paddles of the vita emitter directly on him, but when you hear the whirring of electricity above you as the bulbs overhead become brighter and brighter, you fear this might not work. You fear the grid powering the factory won’t be enough for this. Yet, just as that fear grips you in a chokehold, the light dims before returning to normal.

Your ears ring. Not because James is screaming, but because he’s stopped.

His breathing is ragged and his complexion pales from the blood loss, but aside from that, nothing else appears wrong. Quickly as you can, you set aside the paddles and inspect the wound on his chest, catching yourself when you notice it’s not bleeding anymore. In fact, the wound is completely gone. The rapid cell growth that his body just underwent in the last couple of minutes healed it.

Relief comes over you like a tidal wave but you have little time to indulge in it when one of the soldiers pulls you aside. You fight against him but that doesn’t last long when the screeching echo of a gunshot blows your eardrums once more and brings your attention to Johan Schmidt who stands at the door of the laboratory with a stout man by his side.

The man saunters over to James at Schmidt’s order and you pull away from the soldier in response. Almost instantly, the pistol in Johan’s hand is aimed at you. Your blood suddenly runs cold as you stare down the iron barrel.

“Not a move, doctor,” he warns. “Your theatrics have aggravated me far enough.” His threat given, Schmidt turns to the man that has been checking on James. You watch intently as he calls out to him, to Dr. Arnim Zola, for a status report on what happened.

“The man is stable,” Dr. Zola proclaims as he finishes checking his pulse through his wrist. “The side effects of the serum Stark created...they were mitigated by the vita rays administered.” Astonishment comes over those beady eyes that hide behind round glasses as he turns up to Schmidt. “She’s administered the serum successfully.”

You should be relieved. Your crazy idea worked. You saved James.

But a rather nasty side of your mind thinks deep down that maybe he would’ve been better off dead after you hear Schmidt speak again.

“Splendid news, Dr. Zola. You have a new test subject.” A chill runs down your spine and your face pales at what Schmidt just says. “After all, with Dr. Stark’s research now useless thanks to her antics, we must make good use of the soldier she has provided us.”

Zola agrees and orders soldiers to take an unconscious James away. You struggle against them but you’re put down by a hit to the back with a rifle. Groaning on the floor, you try rising only to have the barrel of a gun placed against the back of your head. Frozen with panic, all you can do is lay there helpless as Schmidt speaks.

“You surely think that you’ve destroyed the formula with what you did today, but Dr. Zola will recover more than enough of what you researched here to recreate the serum. It is only a matter of time.” The barrel is cold against the nape of your neck and your shallow breaths only bring you closer to it. You hold your breath even as the cold remains. “You wasted much of our precious time with this little stunt of yours, Dr. Stark, but fear not, you are useful to us still. After all, Dr. Zola will need a subject to administer his first recreation once it is completed.”

What?

He retreats the barrel from your skin yet the cold doesn’t leave you. It remains even as the soldiers take you out of the laboratory in the heat of midday on Schmidt’s order andtake you to Zola’s.

Drained of strength, you don’t have it in you to fight back anymore. Not even when you get to Zola’s and he instructs them to strap you to a chair. His touch disgusts you to your core as he caresses your head. Bile rises to your throat and you taste it on your tongue but it does nothing to overwhelm the taste of metal that is forever stuck to your mouth.

“Worry not, Dr. Stark. The serum I intend to give you will be nothing short of perfection. Of that, I can assure you.”

“Dr. Zola,” you don’t know who’s speaking. Maybe a soldier, maybe another scientist. You don’t have the strength to care anymore. “What will you have us do with this one?”

“Yes, yes, lay the sergeant down.” Eyes blinking at the word, you lift your head to watch them as they place James on the examination table and strap him to it. Zola inspects him once more and nods to himself before turning to the soldiers standing by. “Send for workers. The vita rays administered don’t seem to have been enough to stabilize him fully. We must build an emmiter strong enough to continue the stabilization.”

Accepting his orders, they leave and it’s then that Zola turns to you with a smile.

“A brilliant idea to use the vita emitter to stabilize him, doctor. However, the serum you injected Sergeant Barnes with appears volatile still. Perhaps you miscalculated the amount it would need. A rather novice mistake, I must say.”

You jump at the jab but all that does is strain your limbs against your restraints. Zola laughs at your futile attempt and shakes his head.

“Don’t take it as an insult. For that to be your serum’s one flaw is quite astonishing. You did a splendid job. Do not worry, I will take note so as to not make such a mistake.”

With that said, Zola leaves you both in the small room as the sound of a faraway door down the hallway closes, letting an echo resound with finality throughout the room. Exhausted beyond measure, your head hangs as everything suddenly comes crashes into you and your mind finally has the time to process it.

You were wrong to accept Dr. Erskine’s proposal. You should’ve just left well enough alone. You should’ve been content yourself with working at Stark Industries and just listened to your parents and wed off. At least if you had, none of this would’ve happened.

Dr. Erskine might still be alive had you done so. Good soldiers would still be alive if you had. And if not for you, a good man wouldn’t be strapped down to a bed unable to escape whatever hell awaited him.

“I’m sorry…” you sob, unable to stop the remorse any longer. “I’m so...so sorry.”

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