WHEN: After they busted Sin out of SHIELD
SUMMARY: Brock brings Sin home, bloodied and bruised. To clean her off he tries to get her into a shower, but the Red Skull’s daughter has trouble coping.
After all the shit they’ve pulled, sneaking out of the country is borderline impossible. SHIELD and every other goddamn government agency in the country are watching the borders, even Canada and Mexico are playing along. An American Neo Nazi and the heir to Hydra are, apparently, worth it.
Brock would rather rip his teeth out than run to hide in another country, but SHIELD’s finally started using it’s resources and the noose was getting a little uncomfortable. If it’s making even Brock uncomfortable? It’s time to go.
His hair’s black, cut shorter than it was when it was that dark, dirty blonde, and he’s allowed himself to drop some weight so that he’s slimmer, not so bulky. Hazel contacts mask the ice blue of his eyes as he makes his way onto the street. Sin’s following after him, wrapped tight in an over-sized coat and a blonde wig over her red hair. She refused to dye it and he’s got bigger fights to worry about than whether she dyes her fucking hair or not.
The taxi driver is Hydra, gives him a low greeting when they fold themselves into the backseat. Brock says nothing, just watches the mirrors as they drive. He doesn’t move when the black SUV settles in behind them three cars back. He slumps into the seat and stretches a big arm about Sin’s shoulders, as if he doesn’t have a care in the world the whole drive.
A semi-truck pulls out too early and plows into the black SUV seconds after their taxi crosses it’s path. The thin grin on his face is the only change in his expression until they reach the airfield. Private, recluse. (They change cars six times through the whole drive.)
It’s teeming with Hydra agents, most of which will either die or flee the country within the next few weeks. The ones that they need to stay in place will, biding their time until the coast is clear. They’ve waited all this time, they can wait a few years more if need be.
The tension doesn’t melt from his shoulders until the plane’s in the air for an hour, speeding away from US and SHIELD jurisdiction. Sin’s asleep and he’s changing the bandage over the arrow wound in his abdomen when Batroc comes back. Something about his face makes Brock want to knock the teeth back down his throat.
"I thought I was transporting two fugitives, not three."
Brock casts a glance over his shoulder to Sin’s sleeping figure, one of her slim hands curled protectively about her distended abdomen. The smug expression on the Algerian’s face makes a sinister smile settle onto Brock’s face that offsets the dead glint in his eyes. The Bowie knife he wears strapped to his waist is at the pirate’s throat in the next second, leaving Batroc nowhere to go now that Brock has him pressed to the wall.
Brock folded his arms across his chest, blue eyes watching in silence as his techs busied themselves with attaching various nodes and wires to the woman. A toothpick rolled between his white teeth, all that was left of the sandwich he’d been eating while his team had busied himself with catching Echo and dragging her back. From what he could tell, it wasn’t that hard of a job to accomplish. Both sides were in one piece, nothing for him to fret over. “Either of her bitchboys see ya?” he rumbled, voice like gravel, as he pushed off the table. A “no sir” was given by someone and Brock nodded. “Someone watchin’ ‘em?” Yes sir. Another nod. “Make sure those restraints on her are nice’n tight. Hate for somethin’ to come loose.” As he talked, people moved about, following his orders while he returned to polishing the blade of a Bowie knife. “She should be waking up soon, sir.”
Echo ’s head hurt. Rolling her neck with a small groan, the woman tried to look around, focus on something… but it was the voice that made her come to, the comments about restraints. She tested. He wasn’t fucking kidding, and that definitely wasn’t Ward or Bucky. Slowly tugging against them, she quickly went into a frenzy, letting out a shrill yell, but nothing. Her body went nowhere, and that? That was rock bottom. This was the single moment she dreaded once she became fully aware of what was going on. Head against the table, she forced herself not to shake, but her voice came out small. “M’not givin’ you anymore than I already have, Brock, so just kill me. I didn’t kill your bitch, so you owe me that much.”
Brock didn’t bother to look up from his knife when she started moving, even when she struggled violently enough that the table shivered. He just waited for her to settle down, to relax and accept it the same way she had done when he had brought her and Grant Ward to that warehouse. He only looked up when she spoke, a cold smile spreading across his face as she moved to stand over her. “Nobody ever gave me shit, girl. Everythin’ I got? It’s mine ‘cause I took it. That ain’t changin’ now.” He turned the knife over in his fingers, watching it flash in the light before sinking into back into the sheath on his belt. Easy reach for him. He carefully adjusted a wire attached to the node on her temple, making sure it was aligned right but out of the way as his voice dropped into a low sound, lips forming a sneer. “I don’t owe you shit, sweetie.”
Echo Chin lifted. Honor somehow still in tact. She managed to destroy SHIELD’s director, obliterate his office and rip apart lives in her wake, but it was going to stop now. He touched her head and she jerked her arm to get him to stop, but the plan went south. She couldn’t remember what it was the last time she was in this situation, but she knew it was the warehouse. Everything started there, right? “I’m not workin’ against SHIELD for you,” she stated, low and controlled, eyes locking with his. She wanted to ask where Bucky was, if, god forbid, he was here along with Ward this time around. Was he still alive? Did he not get there in time? “You think… that whatever you did to Bucky, whatever your shitty little bitch who got /caught/ by us, would work on me? Y’all can’t replicate that. You keep puttin’ me under, I will keep fightin’ it and you will lose.”
Brock let out a bark of laughter, the sound loud and abrasive if it had never been heard. It made the techs jump, unnerved by his presence, but his team barely reacted, if they even did at all. His mouth was still curled in that cold, cruel smile as he wrapped a large hand around her jaw, forcing her to look up at him, to look directly at him when he spoke. “How’re ya gonna fight, bitch, if ya can’t even remember to fight?” His lips curled back, sneering once more. “Ain’t gonna remember a single one of ‘em, not what they did for ya… not what they meant to ya.” The mercenary let out an amused huff of air, blue eyes crinkling up at the corners. “So, tell me, girly, just how things are lookin’ right now.”
Echo almost stopped breathing from the weight of his words pressing heavily into her chest. A sense of dread filled her lungs, awakening every single nerve ending in her body. What they did, what they meant… Brock Rumlow wasn’t just planning on killing her, no— it’d be a lot easier to keep around a traitor if they were straight out of her mind. She’d lose everything, and her first pain-stricken thought went to Bucky. Kennedy. She’d never know, never believe that she were normal. If there was an immediate threat, she’d be put down instantly. “You need what’s inside my head,” she argued, shaking her head. “You need me to remember otherwise I’m no good to you. S’why you picked me, right? All of this would be a waste of your goddamn time because I don’t roll over and die so easily.”
Brock could see the weight of his words sink straight down into her core as he spoke them. It brought a new layer of amusement, one filled with a sort of twisted delight, to a face that rarely expressed that emotion. With Fury in limbo? The other pieces were in play already, using Echo to off other wild cards was just added bonus for him. “I don’t need what’s inside your head, princess. I’ve got that taken care of already, understand?” With a cock of his head, the terrorist let his shoulders rise in a loose shrug. “I picked ya ‘cause watchin’ everythin’ burn down ‘round ya, down by those hands’a yours? It would have been worth it. Wasn’t so hard to find someone with rank’n who had best buddies that ain’t on such good standin’ with SHIELD either. Claims been laid to the others anyhow. ‘N you? Ain’t as important as ya like to think ya are. Got how many people tryna to save you? Barnes’n Grant Ward? What ‘bout Cross? She ain’t come runnin’ after your sorry ass, yet… course, you didn’t go runnin’ after her, now did ya?”
Echo Though she didn’t want to die (a realization that honestly she though she’d be over having after the first time she nearly passed away from a stupid bluff) it was better, in her brain, that Kennedy wouldn’t know. She’d call Bucky crazy, probably already was after multiple times, but she refused to let her eyes water at the idea that she’d never get a chance to show her she beat it, that she could control it, even if it was short lived. That she wouldn’t hurt her, not in her right mind. But now she’d be safe. Now she wouldn’t go looking for her, and maybe she’d convince Bucky and Ward to do the same. Fat chance, but she could only hope. Deciding not to answer his questions, she gathered what little spit she could muster in her mouth and shot it towards his face, rising as much as she could from the table with her own sneer. “Don’t need people to come save me. It. Won’t. Work.”
Brock The muscles in his arm twitched, threatening to send the back of his hand cracking across her face. It would take him less than five minutes to shatter the bones of her face, to leave it a mush and dump her somewhere in a back alley where SHIELD would find her. But he restrained himself, a disgusted smile working onto his face as he lifted a gloved hand to wipe away the spit. “Barnes or Cross? Husband or best friend?” he asked, face all business now. His hand lingered over his Bowie knife, tempted to draw it, but choosing instead to select a scalpel that looked incredibly delicate in his hands. With the other hand, he undid the restraint about her wrist to violently twist it about so that her palm was face up. He left the restraint about her bicep tight in place. “Which one, Galaeus?”
Echo made no noise or sudden movement as he took her arm, eyes going back to the ceiling. This would be where the pain would start, but she thought about every damn significant part of her life. Davis being born. Davis dying. Losing Michael and Lin. Finding Kennedy. Meeting Ward. Marrying Bucky. In a loop, over and over, she made sure that she could recall every goddamn detail. She wouldn’t choose, so she kept her jaw set, hoping with some miracle that she’d be able to break through like last time — but she had no idea how last time even happened.
Brock ’s expression never changed as he stared down at her. Blank, cold, distant; they all worked to describe it. The ones like her? The ones that tried to take everything in silence? Those ones were the ones that he liked the most. He liked their spirit, liked to watch it break and die even more. The important factor was finding the right pressure point, to find where to press the hardest. “Get in touch with Gein,” he called over his shoulder, thumb tracing the veins up her forearm. “See if he’s still followin’ Barnes. Barnes goes back to his hole, tell Gein to take it out. Might as well take out three’n two extras while we got the chance.” Cocking his head to the side while giving the order, he pressed the tip of the scalpel into her sink until beads of cherry red blood blossomed to the surface.
Echo Bucky wouldn’t go back there, would he? Knowing he was in danger… then again, he went on to blab about her goddamn break in the HYDRA brainwash right there on the internet. As much as she loved Bucky, he could be an idiot, a complete and utter idiot. He’s bluffing, he’s bluffing, he’s bluffing. Cringing briefly as the blade penetrated her skin, her abs tightened, but she would not make a sound, not for the world. “I’ve been leavin’ clues for them to find about you. Bet I didn’t report any of that, did I? I mean Synthia… phew, God damn, they are gonna find all of you…” she answered finally.
Brock ”What are they goin’ to find, girl?” His eyebrows lifted, the only change in his expression. “They goin’ to find a burn phone or three that erases itself when they go to decode it? A location that ain’t been touched in days or weeks? Think we gave you anythin’ to use against us?” His wrist turned, sliding the scalpel blade down to draw more blood. “We been ‘round longer’n you been alive, longer’n SHIELD has existed. Lived in the shadows, bidin’ our time to come on out to play. They’ll find a few runts, the ones that cain’t hack it, to question ‘n torture. The rest of us? We’ll be gone, movin’ on to the next play. One step ahead of all of your people…” Slowly, he twisted the knife about his work, carving into her skin until her arm was slick. “Somebody heat that knife up for me yet?”
Echo winced, lip twitching at the blade dragged farther, though she breathed, kept breathing, to level out the pain. Davis. Michael. Kennedy. Ward. Bucky. Feeling the blood trickle down her arm forced her to turn her head, to ignore it, though the knife comment was enough to send her brain in a frenzy. The same five names. The same reason behind them: remember. “Next play my ass. The more you play with your food, Rumlow, the harder it’ll be to stay one step ahead this time.”
Brock ”Ain’t gonna be all that hard. What are your people doin’? Runnin’ ‘bout like headless chickens? Fuckin’ in hotels? That’s where Rogers is, ain’t he? With Cross? Ain’t lookin’ for me, ain’t lookin’ for you…” He trailed off and began whistling as he wiped the scalpel’s blade off. Returning it to the nearby table, the terrorist glanced over his shoulder as someone approached with the knife, carefully holding it out to Brock so that he could take the hilt. Eyeing it for a moment, Brock lowered it to the cuts over Echo’s arm to press it firmly against her skin.
Echo ”What are your people doin’? Sin able to walk yet?” she asked casually, watching the techs every once in a while staring over at them before scurrying back to their work. It wasn’t until the blade burned against her blood that her back lurched from the table, holding back the scream bubbling so hard in her throat that she feared her esophagus would up and erupt from the intensity. It was the smallest of sounds that actually did come out the remnants of the scream while her eyes watered, but she still breathed deeply. “She kicked my ass when I first me— met her. And she had— these eyes and I wanted to best her, but she held her own against the mat and I told her who I was.” Unable to keep a tear from briefly leaking from her eyes, Echo choked on a laugh. “My best friend practically got beheaded in Yanbu and she was twenty-two fuckin’ years old.”
Brock held the blade against her, listened to the sizzling sound it created as the heated metal connected with the blood. The smell as it burned into her flesh, simultaneously cauterizing and sealing the cuts her had carved in, didn’t bother Brock. There were worse smells in the world. The only thing that garnered his attention was her body arching in pain, the reddening of her face as she held back a scream, the way the cords stood out in her neck from the effort of not screaming. His lips twitched, hinting at a smirk, but that was all. “That the same person?” he asked casually, dropping the knife onto the table along with the scalpel. “It’s a messed up world that we live in. People dyin’ so young, bein’ tortured… it’s a shame. She’s twenty-one ‘n she almost lost vision in her eye, y’know?”
Echo was given a moment to breath when he let go of her arm, removing the blade from her skin. She wanted to yell out, but he was right: no one would come for her. Bucky would search, so would Ward… But in a place like this, did she really want to be found? Their lives mattered more to her. “Sin almost lost vision? A fuckin’ shame. I was talkin’ about how Kennedy Cross was twenty-one and could handle the shit your girl went through with a breeze. Did you know she wanted to make a deal? She flirts with so many people on the damn internet… that m’not surprised your ass didn’t matter, not until she needs you to clean up her messes. Almost brought HYDRA down on its head last year.”
Brock smiled, showing his teeth, as he strapped her wrist back down. His weight sank back onto the chair behind, heels pressing into the floor to push him backwards and around to her other side. He picked a glove that had been left nearby to slip one hand inside as he stared down at Echo. “Kennedy Cross… well, she deserved what she got, didn’t she? Betrayin’ you, betrayin’ the Cap’n… she got what was comin’ to her for thinkin’ she could just quit somethin’ like that.” The fingers of his ungloved hand reached across to tilt her head to the side, facing her gaze away from him, so that he could get a glimpse of the butterfly tattoo on the back of her neck. “She’s young, she’ll learn. Your best friend ain’t much better. Ever hear her scream’n plead for someone to stop? She did that for your mentor, cried with blood oozin’ from her mouth… you told him where she was, didn’t ya?”
Echo ”You’ll get what’s comin’ to you,” she decided to answer, growling when he moved her head, sickened by the notion of his fingers on her skin. Whipping her head towards him, she looked over his face, licking her lip as the sweat began to settle in light trickles on her forehead from focusing so hard on keeping in control of her pain intake. “You didn’t come to New York when Sin was obviously fuckin’ up her daddy’s legacy. Brock, we can argue this all goddamn day, but what it comes down to is that your little reign of terror in New York is comin’ to a close. Out of my mind or not, I will see to it that I personally destroy the one thing you care about most.”
Brock Would it be worth to squeeze her throat, to crush her trachea beneath his hand and watch her eyes bulge until she asphyxiated? Maybe. He would enjoy it, at least. Listening to her run her mouth was almost as irritating as listening to Sin bitch. Almost. Curling his upper lip, Brock dug his thumb into her nerve cluster on her shoulder, head cocking to one side to watch her expression as he did so. “If that’s the game you wanna play, girlie? Just remember where you are right now’n where they are. You ain’t gonna be able to save ‘em if I have them make that one call. You wanna press your luck? Wanna see just how many bullets it takes to kill a super soldier or two?”
Echo finally yelped at his touch, hands frantically searching for a way to slip out of the restraints. It was hard to breathe, but she laughed right through it, brain reminding her that she once had a man in her life so wicked that he’d give Brock Rumlow a run for his money. “You’re stalling because you know I’m right.” Grinning, she had to let out one more cry of pain as it became too much to speak.
Brock relinquished his grip on the nerve cluster finally, face returned to it’s neutral, blank state. And then he was pushing to his feet, towering over her once more and drawing the Bowie knife from it’s sheath. He flipped it about in his hand, the blade facing up towards the ceiling and the ball of the hilt pointed towards her body. In one swift movement, he brought it down, intent on driving it into the thin span of her collar bone with as much pressure behind it as Brock felt was necessary. If the bone broke? She’d have to operate with a broken collar bone. “Start trackin’ ‘em, man hunt. Kill anyone that gets in the way. Get that phone ready for me ‘n have her prepped. I want to be done here by midnight.” Immediately, the techs began scurrying about and voice murmured in the background as Brock leaned down to Echo’s level, one broad hand pressing down over her trachea and squeezing. “Cross or Barnes? One last chance to get your input, darlin’.”
Echo saw a near white light as he took the butt of the knife into her bone, and hell if she knew if it was broken. Dazed, she repeated the mantra in her head, eyes leaking freely now with every breath driven like a memory in the back of her mind. She'd have to remember all of this somehow. She'd have to remember who she was, avoid hurting anyone at all costs. And if they had to put her down? Echo never got to say goodbye to Bucky, to her father, to anyone, and her lower lip trembled with regret for not using that small window wisely. Left hand forming into a fist, she brush her thumb against the inside of her ring finger, watching Brock with nothing but hatred. "You," was all she could get out.
Brock The hatred in her eyes made Brock feel as close to giddy as was possible for someone like him. But her response only made him lift his shoulders in a "if that's the way it has to be shrug". The big man straightened to scan the room, to watch everyone scurry around to get what he wanted accomplished before he snapped that they were moving too slow. "Me? Well, somebody's gotta do the killin' in this relationship, sweet cheeks. Was gonna let ya have the pick of the litter, but if that's the way ya want it... well, who's gonna disagree with the lil' princess?" Cheeky grin in place, Brock gave the bone he had just slammed his knife into a sharp, heavy pat. And then he was on his way out the door, snarling at the techs to move faster.
Echo drew in a slow breath after the pat, mouth trembling with a cry -- but she wouldn't, not until he left her there on the table for the techs to take care of. "Echo Galaeus, weapons associate, born May 12th, daughter... daughter of Rick and Josett, married to--" The sharp noise over her head made her body shake, face contorting in pain. If they didn't find her, she'd never see him again, not as herself. There would be no memories, but damn if she wasn't trying hard. "--married to James Buchanan Barnes, can't--" Heavy breathing, she gripped the restraints, feeling the blood from her arm coat her fingers. "Bucky Barnes. Kennedy Cross. Grant Ward. Bucky Barnes. Kennedy Cross. Grant Ward. Bucky--" And a flash of pain shot through her body, forcing it to arch as a blood-curdling scream filling the empty spaces of the room.
Brock was settled into his chair across the compound, blue eyes watching the security feed by the time Echo was screaming. He studied the screens in silence, watching as his techs went about resetting and reprogramming the woman. It was necessary. "Keep the back up safe," he muttered as he picked up his sandwich. "Keep an eye on all the lil' freaks, see if they start pokin' their heads out. I want a headcount'n a rough estimate of what we're gonna be up against." Once the only other person left the room, Brock keyed up the volume for the feed showing Echo, and used the hand not holding his sandwich to load rounds of carbonadium bullets into gun clips.
Who the hell is Snoopy? And why the hell doesn’t that scare you? If Cap could do it with one team in the 40s and no other supers? You’re fucked now, bro.
