Aftershock

The Broken Shield

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Steve

A tremor courses through the uneven terrain, pulsing outward from the facility in waves as it continues its all-too-steady implosion; the whole building is leaning, now, on a crumbling foundation. Windows pop like fireworks. Those Hydra bastards wanted to go out in style, I guess, and I'm in no mood to stay for the show.

"They're taking too long," I say. "I should go in there."

Rhodes doesn't answer. He doesn't have to— we both know that he shares my feelings. I see it in the way that he shifts from foot to foot, staring down at the facility with unmatched focus.

"Rhodes, we can't just stand here anymore."

"Easy, Cap. Twelve o'clock, coming in hot."

It's Sam and Natasha. They bust through the door, black smoke pluming from behind them, coughing something awful. Rhodes and I run to meet them and inspect their injuries— for the most part they made it out unscathed. "Are you two alright?" Rhodes asks, immediately following up with, "Nat, did you get the files?"

"Been worse." Natasha brandishes an SD card. "And just barely. I'd prefer not to cut it so close next time."

"Might not be a next time if we don't get out of here," Sam says. "Where's Tony and Scott?"

Rhodes shakes his head.

"They haven't come out yet?"

I'm staring past all of them. My short-lived relief has already worn off. Come on, Tony.

There's movement inside the building, I can see it— a figure stumbling through the smoke. I'm the first to the door, and just manage to catch a limp Scott Lang as he falls to his knees in front of me. One of his arms is drenched in blood, spouting from a sizable gash in his shoulder, and his complexion is paler than a ghost. I open my mouth. Nothing comes out. In an instant, the others are by my side.

"Scott!" Rhodes shouts. "Jesus, we need to get him to a doctor. Now."

I can't bring myself to move. "Tony..."

Rhodes takes Scott from my arms into his own. "I'll fly him."

"Tony." I grab a fistful of Scott's shirt and force him to face me, in the moment not apologetic for the wince of pain I caused. "Where is he, Lang?"

"Catwalk," Scott sputters. His voice is faint and weak, topped off with a guttural cough. "Inside. On the...on the..." Another cough, worse than the last. Rhodes and I share a look.

"Get him out of here," I say. "I'm going in."

He doesn't argue, nor waste time blasting off in the direction of the cars.

Natasha puts a hand on my shoulder. "Steve, it's suicide."

"Are you saying you wouldn't go after him?"

She offers a rueful smile, shakes her head. "I'm saying good luck."

"Be careful, Steve," Sam adds, resting his hand on my other shoulder. Worry has etched deep lines into his forehead. "Bring him back."

I consider them for a moment—just a moment— before offering a nod and busting through the door.

It's darker than pitch in here, and the air is thick with smoke that pours from an unknown source. It's hot, suffocating, disorienting, and I'm immediately thrown into a coughing fit. It doesn't matter. None of this matters anymore. I cover my mouth with the crook of my arm and run, shield raised above my head, trusting blind faith that the ground, or my legs, don't give out beneath me.