Captain America Salvation

**Salvation**

_Prologue: Apartment 7E_

_**Disclaimer**: I do not own, nor claim to own anything you recognize from the Marvel movies/comics._

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_7E_.

The Winter Soldier stares hard at the golden digits marking the nondescript door and scowls. There is nothing on the cream coloured wood – no marks, symbols and signs save for the apartment number – that can give him an indication of what lies beyond the door.

He doesn't know what he is doing there. He doesn't know what the place is meant to be and the significance of it in relation to him. He doesn't understand why this particular address had been reverberating in his mind since his fight with the man on the Helicarrier.

All he knows is that something about the location – _Cromwell Park, 1887 5th Street Northwest, Washington DC_ – holds whispered promises of salvation and refuge. In his moment of weakness, desperation and turmoil, he was inclined to listen to the voice in his head repeating the location over and over again like a broken record.

Cromwell Park is an ordinary residential block boasting thirteen floors and a rooftop garden with plants hanging over its cut stone ledge. It doesn't look to be anything special but the Soldier knows otherwise. HYDRA had always had a knack in setting up bases in places that are glaringly obvious or inconspicuously insignificant, which will explain how the organization is able to slip into the ranks of SHIELD without anyone working on the inside noticing. For years, HYDRA planted its seeds deep in one of, if not the, biggest intelligence agency in the world, borrowing their advanced technology and mass wealth for their own intentions of a better world – a world without freedom.

Alexander Pierce would have succeeded in bringing their ultimate goal of a ruled world to light if the man on the Helicarrier – Captain America, no, Steve – hadn't intercepted the Insight helicarriers.

The mere thought of the Star-Spangled Man sends another burst of fleeting images and forgotten words flashing through the soldier's already weary mind/

_"Bucky, you've known me your whole life."… "Your name is James Buchanan Barnes."… "I'm not gonna fight you. You're my friend."… "Then finish it. 'Cause I'm with you 'til the end of the line."_

The wisps of colours and garbled words are becoming more and more frequent, ringing louder and clearer with each occurrence. They are a constant reminder of what has been taken away from him, of the lies that are fed to him by HYDRA and of all that he has lost but desperately wishes to seek.

These short-lived remembrances are real, he knows, and they are there. Yet, they are not tangible enough for him to grab onto, for him to believe that he could have been somebody, anybody, before he became the ghost assassin whose duty is to serve HYDRA unquestionably and unconditionally.

But now, with the annihilation of the helicarriers and the exposure of HYDRA's existence to the rest of the world, he has lost his purpose and reality he had thought to be true.

There aren't any missions or assassinations to be carried out. He isn't going to be conditioned nor wiped anymore. There will no longer be any handlers ordering him around, no cryo sleep and no tweaking of his cybernetic arm.

All the Soldier has left to do is to remember.

The Soldier _has_ to remember or he thinks he may go crazy from the strain of the scattered accounts of his past life that are haunting him day and night, through slumber and wakefulness. He has to remember, because that is the only thing keeping him going through the haze of fearful begging and pained screams taunting his consciousness.

But having nowhere to go after the fall of HYDRA and knowing no one who can help him, the only thing he can do is to trust the voice in his head and find his way to the location that is now drilled deep into his mind.

Although he doesn't know what, he is sure that Apartment 7E of Cromwell Park in Washington, DC, holds the key to unlocking something, anything.

So, armed with a set of lock picks he pilfered from an unsuspecting locksmith earlier that day, he sets to work on gaining entrance into the apartment, making sure to take careful consideration of his flesh arm that now throbs with the slightest movements he makes. Assuming that most hospitals in DC are swarmed with people injured following the destructions of the Triskelion and helicarriers, the Soldier has yet to seek medical help for his injuries. The idea of being apprehended and caught isn't at all appealing to him and he is sure that many HYDRA agents are still out at large and looking for blood in retaliation to their downfall.

With precise movements, the Soldier twists and turns the tools while his ears strains for the smallest sounds coming from his surroundings. He is rewarded quickly when a small click echoes in the still air, and so, without hesitation, the Soldier wraps his bionic hand around the cool metal knob and turns it.

The lock gives way fairly easily, but before he can move to push the door open, an opposing force from the other side jostles him, causing the knob to slip from his grasp as the piece of wood swings back and a warm light spills onto the dim hallway.

A child, no older than five years of age, the Soldier assumes although he may be wrong because it has been many years since he interacted with one, gaps up at him with wide, brown eyes peeking out from behind messy chocolate curls. The two continues to stare at each other, until an exasperated voice that sounds distinctly female breaks the silence.

"_Noah_!"

A woman appears then as she grabs the child by his shoulders and turns him around. A stern frown is carved into the smooth skin of her forehead, signaling her frustration with the boy. She possesses the same coffee coloured eyes, but there is something in the way they are shaped and framed by thick lashes that strikes the Soldier with a sense of familiar but forgotten warmth.

"How many times do I have to tell you never to open the door without me?" She scolds.

The boy is hardly listening to her reprimands though, as he continues to stare up at the Soldier from over his shoulders. Having realized that she is not holding his attention, the woman straightens up, curiosity colouring her features while she studies him. Her head cants slightly to the side, having not recognized him when her focus falls onto the hand that is still hanging between them.

She stares at the way the Soldier's hand is curled and then trails her eyes over to the set of lock picks held firmly in his other. Realization sparks in her eyes.

Then, she gasps.

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**A/N: **_I had to. I had to get this out because it was killing my muse for Hope for the Hopeless. I was so hyped and excited to continue writing for that when this idea, this stupid spark lit up in my head and all I could think about was writing it down because it was like I said, killing my boner for HftH._

_So many ideas and words and images and I'm stuck with how to pen them down. I'm such a terrible, terrible writer and there is a spot in literary hell reserved for me._

_I do so hope you guys like this though. The next chapter for HftH is about 80% (?) done and if all goes well, I'll be able to get it up by this weekend. But who's kidding, I'm a terrible procrastinator._

_As usual, reviews/comments are appreciated. x, thekindlyones_


End file.

Captain America, Hurt-Comfort, Romance