Fic: Worshiping at the Modern Altar Chapter 11, PG-13

[tresmaxwell.livejournal.com]

Universe: Movie
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Violence and Language
Beta: None
Summary: A monster is born of strife and blood and only with strife and blood is it's hunger sated and it's thirst quenched.
Pairings/Characters: Steve/Tony, plus loads of other characters... like everyone.
Word Count: About 5,700



Chapter Ten - LINK

Chapter Eleven: The Making of a Monster

A/N: Seriously, sorry this took so long. I've been dealing with some family drama and my story has been the last thing on my mind. Thank you for your patience.

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Tony sat on the jet's bench seat next to Steve, their thighs touching even though Tony couldn't feel it through his armor. His helmet was on the bench beside him. He could've made better time flying in the MARK VII, but there was no telling what they'd be up against in Moscow. Alone, he might not do any good. Or he'd get killed. Tony knew he was going to have to readjust the way he thought about handling an enemy threat.

Charging in headlong was typical for him, but Steve wasn't particularly fond of the tactic. There would be days when Tony didn't have another choice, that it would be either lose civilians or go in without the team and save them. He figured Steve would have his back on a decision like that. Being heroes meant that the lives of others came first and Steve believed that just as much as Tony did.

They watched the live video of Washington DC while they were speeding over the Arctic Circle. Natasha stood closest to the screen, her fingers tangled in the cargo nets near Clint's shoulder. Bruce couldn't seem to stop moving. Tony watched him more than he watched the television. If Banner went nuclear in the jet, there wouldn't be anywhere for him to go, or for them to go. Tony thought he had a lid on it, but it was nerve wracking. Even Thor palmed the handle of his hammer at Bruce's behavior, his bright blue eyes tracking the distraught doctor.

As difficult as it was to leave when their country was under attack, Fury assured them that he had enough agents to handle three Banner look-a-likes and a group of thugs with guns. The DC police were well trained for terrorist attacks and the area where they'd isolated Scorn's men was cleared of civilians almost as soon as they'd started shooting.

Barely ten minutes after they'd gotten the call SHIELD descended on Washington with attack helicopters and a slew of black-ops agents. The armed convicts had gone down like dominos, but they were still struggling to kill the super-soldier, Hulk crossbreeds. Even the heavy artillery was having a hard time breaking through their skin.

Tony noticed that some of the abominations were tougher than others. There were a few that were almost as bad as Banner's first lab mistake, while the rest were hard to put down, but not impossible. The smallest of the trio took a round to the eye and fell, twitching, to the road. It was a short-lived victory. The purplish monster with a trailing mane of black hair in the center of his back scrambled up the side of a building. It climbed the marble and glass as easily as it would a ladder, leaping diagonally off the top to catch one of the helicopters.

Steve's hands curled as they watched the aircraft spiral out of control, "We should be there."

"Trust me, the death toll will be even higher in Russia," Natasha answered without looking away from the screen.

Tony forced Steve's closest hand open and locked their fingers together. Even through the metal gauntlet, he could feel the pressure of Steve's grip. They stared at the feed silently. SHIELD's agents scattered out from under the helicopter just before it crashed into their position. The gas tank went up in a fireball and the burning fuel spread out into the defensive line. As the rotor hit the ground, fragments of blade broke off with each rapid rotation. The flying shrapnel imbedded in nearby cars and buildings and agents.

Tony ground his teeth together. One of them needed to go back and he made better time than Thor did. Grabbing his helmet, Tony went for the control panel to open the door, "Someone has to help them, they're getting destroyed."

"Wait," Natasha implored.

Tony put on his helmet and turned so he could see the others in his peripherals. Steve was on his feet, but he nodded at Tony. The helm's speaker took over, giving his voice a mechanical edge, "You've got enough firepower here to deal with Scorn. One of us should've stayed behind to begin with."

"I am in agreement with Tony. The director needs assistance," Thor said.

The leather-clad spy pressed, "No, look."

All eyes went back to the screen as one figure stepped out of SHIELD's defensive line. The media zoomed in on him enough to see he wasn't dressed like one of their agents, he was wearing jeans, cowboy boots, and a plaid shirt under a worn out leather jacket. Shorter than most, with dark hair and a cigar sticking out of the corner of his mouth, the man didn't seem like much beyond a bad attitude. Before Tony could speak the thought that the guy was about to get himself killed, the new arrival grew metallic claws between his knuckles and charged the abominations.

Tony's eyebrows went up behind his mask, "Did Fury bring in another Avenger?"

"Last I heard Logan had turned us down. I believe his actual words to Fury were, 'Fuck off, bub'," Clint said as they watched the man take apart one of the creatures. For not having any kind of protection aside from the jacket, the guy was bold. He came at the giants with ferocity that was almost animalistic, slashing bloody wounds into them with the claws.

"It was 'Go fuck yourself, bub'," Natasha corrected.

Tony chuckled. He already liked this guy. And he really wanted a closer look at the claws. The metal had a higher density than steel or lead, since it was making ribbons out of the abominations where their other weapons had failed. Tony wondered if there was a file in SHIELD's database that would explain them. Killing the exterior speaker, Tony said, "Jarvis, bring up the Avengers Initiative files."

The information he'd seen countless times scrolled across his HUD, certain chunks highlighting and changing size as his eyes flicked over them. When he found something about 'potential agents', he entered a treasure trove of interesting files. There were more people like them than Tony thought. Navigating quickly through them, he found the one on Logan, codename Wolverine, and started reading about adamantium.

"What are you doing in there?" Steve's voice asked.

"Nothing, just educating myself."

Suddenly, the screen inside his helmet went dark and it decompressed with a slight hiss. Steve lifted the helm off his head, "Hacking SHIELD's files again?"

Tony squinted at the brightness of the jet's interior, giving Steve a sheepish half smile, "Just taking a peek at the secrets of the secrets. He's got that metal grafted onto his bones, talk about dedication."

Banner's head came up as his interest piqued, "Everywhere? How did they manage that without killing him?"

"Your clearance level doesn't cover Logan's files," Clint told him unnecessarily.

"Yes, Barton, thus why we call it hacking," Tony chided and glanced over at Bruce. "I didn't get to that part before I got rudely interrupted."

The jab was light and the Captain took it in stride. Shaking his head, Steve handed the helmet to Tony and went over to turn off the television. The media was being systematically terminated by SHIELD now that the fight was over, so there was nothing left to watch. The last image before Steve hit the power button was of Logan cleaning his claws off with his shirt.

"This faction isn't going to be very happy to see you since you left for America. How do we know they'll even listen?" Steve asked Natasha.

"They might not."

Bruce pushed his glasses up and cleared his throat, his hands flicking through the air as he spoke, "So, we're going to save a bunch of people that hire assassins to bully others into working for them, when they probably don't want our help? How does that make sense?"

"Because the corruption is restricted to the top of the food chain. There are thousands of people working for the company, and very few of them know what's going on upstairs. Raisa won't care. What I did to her in their name was... unspeakable. It made her something else," Natasha explained softly.

For a moment, Tony could see a break in her walls. It was so subtle, so small that he'd have missed it when they first met. It was in the darkening of her eyes and the faint twitch at the corner of her mouth. As soon as he noticed it, the signs were gone and she had the perfectly smooth exterior of a trained spy. Tony didn't think she was going to give them any details. It still bothered her, and that alone told Tony how bad it was.

"A few of us should go in, and everyone else should take a post outside and search for Scorn," Tony suggested, looking to Steve for confirmation. "We might be able to evacuate the building before she gets there, assuming she's not already there."

Tony didn't mention that he planned on being one of the ones on the inside, mostly because it involved taking off his armor. He had a lot of political and economic weight to throw around, so he'd be the best choice to convince them the threat was serious. It wasn't ideal, but he could set MARK VII to deploy on his command, as long as it was in range. If he'd boosted the telecom interface the way he'd initially intended, he could've engaged that function when Scorn had stolen them. It was on his absurdly long to-do list.

"Natasha needs to be the one to go into the building, they know her. I think you should go with her, Tony," Steve said with a deep inhale as if the words were hard to get out.

Surprised, Tony's eyes rounded and his brow arched.

Steve continued, "You're recognizable in any corner of the world, so maybe that will help."

"Kind of wish I wore a tie," Tony joked with a smile.

Putting his helmet back on, Tony spoke the codes to put the suit into standby. A symphony of moving parts separated around him, each one sliding into place at his back. As he stepped away, Tony checked the wristbands he designed to communicate with the suit. The connection was strong. The suit folded down onto the boots and finally settled into the oblong rocket shape for fixed wing flight.

Seeing Steve's concern, Tony looked down at the compact suit, "Don't worry, it'll come get me if I get in trouble. I can't meet the head of some Russian spy operation in weaponized body armor. It sends a bad message."

As it was, he was meeting the head of an incredibly questionable military faction in a long-sleeved Metallica shirt and jeans, which he wasn't particularly happy about either. When CEO's had to look down to talk to him, he made a more impressive impression in a suit. Tony figured he'd manage. It was all about presence anyway.

"Speaking of, you're all really obvious. I don't think you can pass off the red and blue spandex as tourist fare," Tony mentioned to Steve before his gaze wandered to Thor and his long cape and metal-plated arms, "Don't even get me started on you. If they aren't in position yet, we're going to scare them off. We look like a circus road show."

"It's not spandex," Steve grumbled.

Tony ignored the comment, "At least Banner has regular clothes until he throws a tantrum. Seriously guys, if we plan on being covert on this, we're going to fail miserably. Scorn will spot us from the other side of Red Square."

Bruce glanced down at his button-up and slacks, cracking a tiny smile as he pushed his hands in his pockets. The motion brought Tony's attention to his blazer. He considered taking it to dress up his own clothes, since Bruce was going to make it into shreds in an hour or two anyway, but the state of it changed his mind. The doctor didn't get out for new clothes too often and the jacket was threadbare in places. Tony thought he'd make a better impact in the Metallica shirt.

"We can't go in as civilians-"

Natasha talked over Steve, "No, he's right. Scorn will pull back if she sees we're there, and then there's no telling when the attack with come. We need to catch her off guard."

Clint, who Tony was convinced was prepared for everything, pulled a bag out from under his seat. Unzipping it, he unpacked some street clothes. He held out a long piece of slinky, red fabric towards Natasha that she took automatically.

She leaned in with a scowl and pawed through the SHIELD duffle, "I don't have anything else? I told you to get my shorts."

"I couldn't find your shorts."

"They're in the drawer where I always keep them."

"No, they weren't. I looked."

"Did you actually look, or did you do the guy thing where you push stuff around a little and give up?"

Tony slid away from the argument before things got worse. He didn't think they'd get into a physical fight, but they were both assassins. Pressing his hip against Steve, Tony was still partially listening to their spat when he asked, "You don't carry around pleated khakis on missions?" Tony had convinced Steve to get rid of the dated wardrobe he'd gotten when he first woke up, but he couldn't help but tease him from time to time.

"Didn't know we'd need civilian clothes," Steve said, either missing or bypassing the comment on the khakis.

"My armor can be pared to a casual state."

Tony gave Thor a 'like hell' look and said, "You mean the slightly less armor-like armor? The stuff that's just as obvious? You can get away with that in Asgard, but it's not going to fly here."

Thor scratched his head, "I will not be flying if we are meant to act as humans, I am aware that Midgardians do not fly unless they are aided by machines."

Glancing at Steve didn't chase away Tony's rush of amusement, the soldier was just as puzzled as Thor. When the blonde said, "I don't get it either," Tony's chortle escaped as a snort.

"We should just leave the Double-Mint twins on the plane," Tony suggested to Bruce, who shrugged.

"Steve and I cannot be twins as we are not related by blood. Speak sensibly."

Steve cut through the nonsense with one gloved hand, his voice loud and commanding, "Enough. Time to focus. Thor and I need to be able to move around without getting noticed. Suggestions?" Before Tony could throw out any options, Steve's face turned a brilliant shade of crimson and he turned to the wall.

Curious, Tony looked back to find Natasha changing out of her skin-tight costume. She had to shimmy her hips to get the material past her waist. Tony blinked at the fact that she wasn't wearing underwear and turned around too, smirking. Thor wasn't really staring, but the nudity didn't seem to bother him any, and Banner looked up at the ceiling as if there was something interesting to study.

"Oh, come on, boys. They're just boobs," Natasha grumbled, making Clint laugh.

Steve stammered, "Warning would be appreciated next time, ma'am," and made Clint laugh harder.

Tony snapped his fingers, "Here's an idea. Natasha walks through Moscow naked, and no one will ever notice the star spangled man with a plan or the god of thunder cruising around looking for bad guys."

"Not going to happen, Stark," the red head said plainly.

Unable to switch off his scientific mind in the same way Tony couldn't switch of his mechanical one, Bruce mentioned, "You should get that mole looked at."

"Shut it, Banner."

Feeling a bit bad for his overly embarrassed fiancé, Tony walked across the hold and stroked one of Steve's broad shoulders, "Don't worry, she's putting the breasts away."

The red reached Steve's ears. "You're not helping," he mumbled.

Once Natasha was clothed in the short dress, things in the jet calmed considerably. While Clint changed, Tony went to the cockpit to ask the pilot if there was any spare gear on board. He pointed Tony to a supply cabinet that had several pairs of black cargo pants and black t-shirts that were meant to be worn under a bulletproof vest. Tony went through them to find Steve's size and picked out a similar size for Thor, hoping it was close enough. He tossed the clothes at the appropriate Avengers.

Steve held up the industrial-looking pants, his disbelief as plain as his distaste for the clothing, "This won't be obvious?"

"In Russia? No," Natasha said, her gaze going to Thor as the demi-god got out of his armor. Tony was expecting some kind of response from Clint, but the archer didn't say a word. Natasha continued, "You put on those combat boots from the next cabinet and you'll fit in just fine. Well, Thor will anyway."

Thor grinned like a pleased child and slipped the shirt over his nest of blonde hair.

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"Keep your eyes open," Steve's voice said softly in his ear, reassuringly calm.

Tony walked arm in arm with Natasha down the streets of Moscow. When he answered, he turned his face towards her as if she was the one he was talking to, "This isn't my first rodeo, babe."

"Just stay safe."

"I will," Tony assured him.

Natasha laughed and leaned into him for show, alarming Tony with how well she mimicked normal emotions. The Natasha he was familiar with only cracked a smile if she thought someone else would find it amusing in context, so to have her act so average was beyond strange. Tony rolled with it the best he could, trying to ignore how cold it was in Russia during the spring.

At least he had a long-sleeve shirt, Natasha's dress was strapless and so short that Tony preferred she not bend over in it. The bite of near freezing air didn't seem to faze her. She'd grown up with this weather, so Tony figured this probably wasn't all that cold for her. He could see his breath misting in front of his face and there was a white sheen of ice crusted in the corners of buildings where the sun couldn't reach. Tony wanted a coat and a cup of hot coffee.

"This is your first time in Russia, da?" Natasha asked, her accent thick and heavy, making her syllables sharper.

"No, but I usually come in the summer." Tony suppressed a shiver and muttered, "Fuck, it's cold. No wonder you moved."

"I did not move for weather," she dragged out the 'o' in 'move' and completely dropped the 'a' from 'weather'.

The accent was too much for Tony. It was like watching a bad mobster movie. He was almost expecting her to pull a cigarette out of her cleavage and light up before the big gun fight. Tony smirked down at her, "Why did you leave? Did you want a good American husband?"

Natasha's elbow bit into his ribs and forced the air out of him in a rush. Rubbing the sore spot, Tony wasn't dissuaded by her warning glare, "I mean, Clint is a decent choice, but how much money could he possibly make? You should aim higher if you're planning on being a trophy wife."

"Keep talking, Stark. You're about to find out how dangerous Russia can be," Natasha growled through her smile.

"Oh, don't be that way. Clint is a fine catch if you don't want expensive things."

"You know I'm on the radio, right? I can hear you."

Tony pulled Natasha closer with an arm at her waist, well aware that Clint probably had them in his sights, "Did you hear a bird chirping, darling? Or was that a hawk?"

"Focus," Steve reminded them.

"Buzz kill," Tony quipped back.

They came out from between the buildings onto a street that ran along the river. Moscow's business district grew at the fringes of the water like glass reeds, stretching into the clouds. In the tradition of most metropolitan cities, the skyscrapers were an eclectic mix of styles and shapes. Shorter builders hunched in the shadows of the towers, scavengers waiting to pick up broken business deals and wayward executives. Tony had been in a number of the skyscrapers and could name the owners for several of them.

They moved toward downtown, pausing occasionally for Natasha to feign interest at a window. At the edge of his vision, Tony saw Steve and Thor enter the river road a quarter mile behind them. Tony could appreciate the all black outfit. Steve looked more dangerous in it, it suited his abilities, but there was no way he'd abandon the red, white, and blue to wear Navy-Seal-gone-rogue.

Briefly, he met Steve's gaze across the distance and then the pair of blondes cut down a different street. They were drawing attention, just no more than two attractive men would anywhere. A gaggle of girls squealed once they were gone, talking excitedly in Russian. As the group passed Tony, he caught fragments of their conversation. While his Russian was limited to business lingo, he knew enough to recognize they were talking about Steve's ass. One girl with unruly brown hair loudly insisted that Thor was handsomer just before they passed out of earshot.

Tony shook his head.

"We're coming up on the building from the east," Clint informed them. "No sign of her yet."

"There is no evidence of our enemy in this vicinity either."

Once Thor cleared the line, Steve added, "But this entrance is completely blocked off by construction. No one's getting in here."

Tony peered up at the fifty-story building. It was older than some of the surrounding structures, still sporting the pre-Cold War stone masonry. A simple gold on black marble sign hung over the double doors. Tony could read the word 'Incorporated', but he wasn't familiar with the remainder of the title.

The courtyard was deserted. A group of three men in dark suits clustered around the door, leaning in to get cigarettes started on one lighter. They watched Natasha and Tony come up the short flights of stairs that led to the entrance. Even if there was something suspicious in the way their eyes tracked them to the door, none of them moved to stop the pair.

Unlike the outside, the interior of the building was streamline and updated. Tony immediately decided he liked it. The chairs that flanked the security desk were armless and, Tony assumed, far too chic to be comfortable.

The desk itself was one large, curved piece of smoky glass that had to have cost a fortune. As they passed over the pristine, white marble entryway, Tony scanned the people populating the room. It was easy to tell those who were trained from those who weren't. There were some men and women who took immediate, but not obvious attention to them, watching them out of their peripherals. They were the ones that continued to converse as though Tony Stark hadn't just sauntered into their workplace.

The ones who stopped dead in their tracks to stare were regular cubicle grunts that probably answered phones. One apple-shaped woman dropped her files, squealed in the same pitch as a twelve-year-old, and ran at him with pen in hand. Her frenzied Russian was hard to follow. Tony took the pen and asked her to slow down so he could understand her.

While he signed a few scraps of paper, Natasha went to the security desk. Tony couldn't hear what she said over the loud, persistent praise from the roundish fan. Whatever it was, it was plenty convincing for the man at the desk. The graying guard got on the phone and Natasha leaned her hip on the counter while she waited.

Finally managing to get disengaged from the enthusiastic woman, Tony joined the spy in time for all of the sleeper agents to pull out their guns. The regular employees were hustled upstairs by a handful of guards in security uniforms, the woman who asked for his autograph loudly proclaiming that they couldn't arrest Tony even while they bodily dragged her across the lobby.

Tony raised his eyebrows as he was faced with more gun muzzles than he cared to count, tossing out, "Did you forget to get reservations, honey? I told you there weren't overly fond of walk-ins."

Flat-faced and entirely unimpressed by the show of power, Natasha said, "Tell him the Widow is here, offering her services."

An agent in a nice, handmade wool suit lowered his gun, his jade eyes glinting with suspicion. A few years younger than Tony, the man held himself as if he was in charge. He barked at the others in Russian and leered at Natasha as his division surrounded them. Using heavy, broken English, he snarled, "What does American defector think she would be needed for here?"

"When he has a dozen rent-a-cops, who knows why your boss would need an elite super spy," Tony shrugged, hooking his thumbs in his belt loops.

The suit jabbed a tobacco-stained finger against Tony's sternum, right above the reactor, "And why would big name jerk off like Tony Stark be doing with traitor spy? We do not hire vigilante patriots."

Tony flashed him a dangerous grin, "Trust me, you can't afford me."

The lead agent pressed a flesh tone earpiece deeper into his ear, listening to someone of higher authority. What he heard made him curl his lip and flick his hand at the elevator, saying, 'Go, take them,' in his mother tongue. The plain-clothes agents tried to move them towards the elevator as a unit, but Natasha groaned and pushed through them.

"Move, children," she growled and stalked to the head of the group.

Tony barely kept his laughter contained. These people had no idea how far out of their league they were. They didn't try to get her back in hand, since she was going the direction they wanted. The trip up the tower was uncomfortably slow for Tony, especially wedged between six angry Russians with guns and one temperamental ex-Russian with several guns. And knives, and tasers set to 'kill', and other weapons Tony could only speculate about. If they searched her, it would take an hour to disarm her properly.

"You guys should consider updating your elevator. My tower in Manhattan is twice as tall as this one and the ride takes half the time." The silence didn't dissuade him from making small talk. His nonsense was designed to inform the others what was going on without being too obvious about it. He'd never been one for awkward silences either, so it worked two ways.

"Guys, I think I just found one of the trucks," Banner said Tony's ear bud, uncertain enough that he was dying to ask for details.

Natasha tilted her head at the statement and gave Tony a meaningful look. If Banner was right, then they didn't have long.

Clint came on after him, "Steve, you're the closest to Banner's position."

"Was there on the word fix," Steve replied.

Tony had long ago adjusted to the Captain's occasional antiquated euphemism. This was one of those things. He felt a bit smug when he knew exactly what Steve meant and Clint was the one asking for clarification.

"Be there in a second," Steve rephrased with an annoyed exhale the microphone at his collar barely caught.

The elevator door slid aside to reveal a taupe and chrome hallway with a trio of additional agents standing in the middle. The new group was in more traditional gear, bearing assault rifles. Natasha and Tony walked between them, past floor to ceiling windows that opened onto conference rooms. The cherry wood tables were all vacant, the chairs arranged perfectly around them.

They were ushered into the office at the end of the hall. Tony looked around casually while he strolled to the brushed silver desk in the center of the room. The man sitting with his hands folded on the surface was in his sixties, at least, but his thick head of hair and bushy beard were dye-box blonde. When he smiled at them, his forehead and the corners of his eyes didn't move.

Tony held the view that people should let themselves age naturally. He could afford to get enough surgery to look like a teenager, but people who couldn't make facial expressions always disturbed him. It reminded him of late nights curled close to the TV, watching Invasion of the Body Snatchers.

A cordial Russian greeting followed the frozen smile and the man switched over to English, "What brings the turn-coat Widow back to my service? And with company. Welcome, Mr. Stark. I'm sure your little pet spy has told you all about me, but let me introduce myself." He came around the desk and stuck his out hand with another emotionless smile, "Konstantin Volkov, it's a pleasure to meet an engineering genius such as yourself. I wish I had someone like you on my payroll."

Tony shook the offered hand, "No, you really don't."

"We're here about Golovin."

Konstantin's face darkened at Natasha's statement. Withdrawing to the other side of the desk, the man turned to his panoramic view of the Moskva River. He linked his fingers behind his back, a thick, gold ring glinting on his middle digit. He spoke to the glass, "Raisa left here over a month ago. We have not seen her."

"That's because she's been in America making an army," Tony deadpanned and came around the other side of the desk. "We think she's headed here, if she's not here already."

Natasha added, "You need to evacuate the building."

The Russian's tight mouth twitched. Underneath his Botox and implants, Tony could see apprehension. Not for the first time, Tony wondered what they'd done to this woman to make her break so badly. The secret stood beside him in two forms, the man who'd ordered the work and the woman who'd completed it. They'd transformed a doctor into a killing machine without gamma radiation or advanced technology or a mutant virus. They'd made her that way by breaking her down so far that there was nothing left behind.

Tony knew Natasha was not proud of what happened, but the bear-like head of the military faction held no remorse, only a sickening fear of the consequences.

"You knew she was unstable, why did you keep her here?" Natasha asked softly, her voice oddly tender.

The big man snorted and glanced at her, "Keep your fake sentiment. You're wasting your time. Her work was too valuable to let her go, so we did what we had to. I knew she would come sooner or later, it was just a matter of when and with what force at her back."

"That would be now, and an army of mutated convicts with enough strength to rip you in half. So maybe we should be more concerned with emptying out the building," Tony cut in.

He'd made a few calculations in his head and was extremely concerned about how long it would take to empty a fifty story tower. If Scorn was close, they wouldn't have near enough time. There would be a massacre if they didn't act quickly.

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Steve found the white panel eighteen-wheeler a few blocks from the office building. It had Russian plates, but was an American brand, strangely out of place in a city of smooth-edged vehicles. Feeling bare without his shield, Steve approached cautiously. The alley around the truck was empty, no cars or civilians moving anywhere on the short block. Steve glanced in every direction for potential threats as he crossed the road.

When he got to the back, he had to step over an unconscious guard. Steve looked into the trailer with some trepidation, worried that he'd find Banner in his Hulk form. Instead, human-sized Bruce was going through a crate full of vials.

The doctor looked at him over his wire-frame glasses and followed his gaze back to the guard, "Oh, I just hit him between the Atlas and Axis vertebrae, temporarily terminating his nervous process. He'll be fine."

Steve leapt nimbly into the truck and walked through the wide aisle the boxes left. Boot marks and scuffs covered the floor, giving Steve the impression that there were men lined up from front to back. Estimating based on the length of the trailer, Steve thought they might be looking for at least two-dozen men. Maybe more. All of the crates along the left side of the cargo hold were open, custom cut packing foam pulled aside to reveal rows and rows of hypodermic vials. Steve didn't have to guess what it was.

Banner braced one hand on the side of a crate and took his glasses off, "This should be everything. Tony said the medical supplies were loaded primarily onto one truck, most of the others carrying weapons and ammo. If we..." He pinched the bridge of his nose as if he was trying to relieve a headache, "If we destroy these crates, we can cut off her ability to make more of those things."

Steve listened to him respectfully, holding back the anger he'd had for Bruce since he'd found out about the serum. All of the work at the tower was lost with the destruction of Tony's servers and everything in Scorn's warehouse was obliterated by Tony's pyrotechnics. Steve was aware that the vials surrounding them were all Bruce had left of his research for stabilizing the Hulk.

"You sure?" was all he asked.

Bruce caught his meaning and sadness flickered across his strained features before he forced a smile, "Yes. The other guy was never really fond of the idea anyway."

Steve nodded solemnly, "Let's get to work."

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TBC...

Almost done. If I had to guess, I would say I can finish this in two chapters, but it may just be one long one. Haven't decided yet.

Chapter Twelve: LINK