Name's Crossbones, darlin'

Feeling dejected, Loki went to the living room while Brock showered, his eyebrows knit together in deep thought. He stood by the kitchen island, waiting patiently for Brock to finish washing up. When the man exited the bathroom, Loki was greeted with the scent of his shower products billowing out from the steam and the vision of poise and control that Rumlow exuded. Loki's eyes wandered over Brock as he entered into the living room, taking in his perfectly set hair, the fresh set of clothes that fit him so well, and the sense of power he held as he walked over to the Soldier. He watched with concealed interest and wonder as Brock got right up into the man's space and took note of how the Soldier seemed to melt for his touch. There was something in the back of Loki's mind that felt covetous of the display he was seeing between the two men. He wanted Brock's attention, the Soldier received it so freely and he couldn't help but want the same.

The Commander was lost in thought as he entered the cafeteria and after the two were inside, he didn't even notice how hard he slammed the door behind him and everyone stopped to look at him for a moment but he didn't care that all eyes were on him. He took his breakfast first and sat at a table in the corner, far from the other's, obviously not in the mood for chatting. The soldier followed him quietly and copied his gestures, picking the same food and went to sit quietly beside him and started eating. It was food. He shouldn't let it go to waste but just as he was about to take a bite, Brock stopped his hand. It was as if he finally woke up from his thoughts, "Nah, can't eat that. Go ask for your morning shake." The soldier's mouth was filled with saliva and put the sandwich down, his face looking as if he was about to weep but got up nonetheless and went to ask for his special meal.

Loki had briefly started to sit up, but the harshly growled whisper to stay down kept him in his place. He was all for keeping himself alive and safe and if this man's tone was anything to go off of, it would serve him well to listen. His green eyes were focused intensely on the man next to him, "Who is 'they' and why are you helping me?" He asked, voice barely above a whisper to avoid arousing the attention of the other people in the room.

Some hours later, Brock shuffled and groaned, looking through squinted eyes and seeing a head of dark hair at the side of his bed, reached out, his hand gently caressing his head, "Hey there, sweetheart," and as he opened his eyes fully, blinking the sleep away, he realized that it was not the soldier as he previously thought and took his hand away, as if he did something wrong, "Oh... Didn't know it was you," he grunted and got up, eyes looking straight through the doorway at the soldier and smiled, nodding. The soldier said and did nothing. Brock didn't expect him to and got up.

Loki had briefly started to sit up, but the harshly growled whisper to stay down kept him in his place. He was all for keeping himself alive and safe and if this man's tone was anything to go off of, it would serve him well to listen. His green eyes were focused intensely on the man next to him, "Who is 'they' and why are you helping me?" He asked, voice barely above a whisper to avoid arousing the attention of the other people in the room.

Loki had briefly started to sit up, but the harshly growled whisper to stay down kept him in his place. He was all for keeping himself alive and safe and if this man's tone was anything to go off of, it would serve him well to listen. His green eyes were focused intensely on the man next to him, "Who is 'they' and why are you helping me?" He asked, voice barely above a whisper to avoid arousing the attention of the other people in the room.

Brock didn't open his eyes but grunted something intelligible but he was too tired to stay away for more than that. The soldier made sure again the the blanket was not slipping again before he returned to sit down on the couch as before, hearing also that the water stopped in the bathroom and it was not long until the stranger walked out. He wasn't exactly suspicious of him but he had his orders so the moment he saw the door opening, the soldier took his gun in hand, just to have it handy in case he needed to protect the Commander.

Fuck it if he cared anymore, he thought as he yanked him off the ground by the hands, kneeling down and picked him up on his shoulders, muttering to himself and cursing all the way to the car and while he was working on starting it.

He stepped on it and the tires screamed as they rolled on the spot and started to move. Now and then he looked over at Valentin but said nothing. If they ran, everyone would go looking for them and as much as he hated it, he was under Cap's protection as long as he was doing what he was told. He slammed the wheel and it honked loudly, "Fuck!" he creamed too and reached out a hand to take Valentin's and squeeze it gently, placing it on his own thigh, and keeping his atop the others, driving one handed, and he started talking.

Hands were lifting him, the sensation both jarring and surreal. The rush of being suddenly yanked off the ground left him reeling, a disorienting whirl of confusion enveloping his mind. He squinted against the blinding reality, acutely aware of his surroundings yet utterly helpless to budge a muscle. ( His body itched with the primal urge to escape; the fight-or-flight instinct ignited within him. ) He could feel Brock’s breath ghosting against his cheek momentarily before he found himself draped across his shoulders, the world spinning further out of his control. Oh, how he longed to voice his protest, to plead to be set down.

But he was rendered voiceless, his lips quivering with the unexpressed desire for freedom as Brock hefted him effortlessly, driving onward. His mind buzzed relentlessly, a storm of thoughts swirling in a chaotic race. ( What was he saying?! ) Initially, he had assumed that Brock had come to finish what the remnants of HYDRA had started. Yet, as the landscape whizzed by, it became clear: that wasn’t the truth. Brock was not leading him back to a base; the direction felt all wrong. Confusion swirled in his systems, re-playing moments in a disjointed montage.

‘What's wrong with him Rumlow?’

Suddenly, an unfamiliar voice cut through the haze—a blend of suspicion and concern—joined Brock's as they arrived at their destination. A pair of striking blue eyes peered down at him, and recognition sliced through his turmoil. ( It was Steve Rogers, Captain America. ) The very image of the enemy, labeled by his database not just as a fugitive but as one of their most formidable adversaries. As if bound by invisible chains, he couldn't even muster the strength to bare his teeth in response, just blinked back at the man who could have sent him spiraling into a deeper fear.

‘Is he sick? What does he need?’ The hero’s voice was thick with urgency, yet all he could do was lie there, trapped in his own skin, caught between desperation and the flicker of forbidden hope that maybe, just maybe, he was safe.

Steve came close and touched Valentin on the shoulder "Here, let me help," and Brock nearly ripped his hand off but stopped himself as he wrapped a hand over Steve's wrist and applied just enough pressure to some of the tendons that the hand released Valentin's shoulder. "That's alright. I got it. Just make sure everything is set. Don't want no trouble, yeah?" and the threat was implied in Brock's tone and the darkness in his eyes as he glared at Rogers.

He turned around and crouched to wrap his arms around Val, their heads were next to each other and he could feel his breath and the heat of his body. "Yer alright. I got you. Just a few minutes and it'll all be quiet and you can rest, okay sweetheart?" Brock whispered, barely audible as it was only meant for Valentin alone.

He opened his eyes with a gasp and fell down to his knees, panting and wincing with pain. He had wounds all over and burns that didn't completely heal yet and the suit on him wasn't doing any good either. His pain was momentarily forgotten when he realised where he was and looked around, his breathing calming down more and more.

When his finger was pricked to draw blood, Brock just hissed at the feeling but otherwise said nothing and just watched him, curious but sensing a calmness settle in him ever since he was brought here. At Lucien's statement, Brock pushed himself up right and breathed for a moment until he felt stable enough to walk and follow the other into the house.

‘Alcohol? Pretty sure I can spare you some.’

Brock was handling everything like a champ, considering the circumstances. Moments ago, he had been teleported to a world that defied all logic and reason, a realm that by any measure should not exist, having narrowly escaped the fiery jaws of death. ( The mere fact that he was able to speak was a testament to the immense trials he had survived. Such was the conditioning of HYDRA, an organisation that meticulously extracted vulnerability before anything else. ) Lucien was well-versed in Brock's past. He had been a part of the Taskmaster's notorious training grounds for criminals long before they had wormed their way in. Brock was a fighter, through and through.

‘My grace is working its way through your body; you’ll be right as rain soon enough.’

The Lake House stood before them, its warm and inviting presence a sharp contrast to the chaos they had just endured. Without a moment's hesitation, Lucien strode inside, making a direct line for the liquor cabinet. The room was dimly lit, casting gentle shadows across the rustic interior. He selected a finely aged bottle and two crystal glasses, the soft clink of glass punctuating the tranquil silence. ( Shedding his jacket, Lucien felt the liberating comfort of this sanctuary, allowing him to relax naturally. ) A soft hum escaped his lips as he poured a generous measure of rich, amber whiskey into each glass. He placed one carefully on the polished breakfast bar in front of Brock before turning towards the side door.

With a quiet murmur, he summoned his loyal Alsatian. The dog's nails clicked on the hardwood floor as she skidded into the kitchen, her presence announced by a series of enthusiastic barks directed at Brock.

‘Kovu, Rumlow. Rumlow, Kovu.’

He entered the house and absently fiddled with the straps of his metallic armor, almost scared to look at what was beneath it as he all but peeled the metal off himself. His black t-shirt underneath the plates was burned and exposed wounds of a deep red but he didn't feel the pain as much as he should have, and relieved, dropped the armor and stomped over to the table where there already was a glass ready for him.

Brock placed both palms on the table and slowly sank into the seat with a grunt of pain, when he noticed with the corner of his eyes a dog coming closer and barking at him. Brock raised an eyebrow and with a hand around the glass and his other extended, he reached out to pet it's head, no longer caring if it will bite his whole hand off or not, "Hey there, sweetheart," he said gently, his voice rougher than usual and it hurt to speak so he took a swig of the offered drink to get rid of the dryness in his throat.

Loki had briefly started to sit up, but the harshly growled whisper to stay down kept him in his place. He was all for keeping himself alive and safe and if this man's tone was anything to go off of, it would serve him well to listen. His green eyes were focused intensely on the man next to him, "Who is 'they' and why are you helping me?" He asked, voice barely above a whisper to avoid arousing the attention of the other people in the room.

Brock smirked as he looked at his boots. The soldier didn't have any tells apart from his eyes, otherwise was still but he could see his toes moving inside those boots as they bumped against the leather. He reached out a hand and tapped his thigh and it was as if that's the only sign the soldier needed to quickly approach. He was as silent as storm clouds darkening the sky. The Winter Soldier quickly approaching someone was a terrifying sight but Brock got used to it and soon enough, he got down on his knees, sitting between Brock's legs and rested his head against his thigh. Brock leaned in and ran a hand through his soft curls, smiling and whispered something to him in Russian, the soldier closing his eyes with a soft whimper, his forehead relaxing as well as his body, almost going limp but when Brock took his hand away, the soldier remained in the same place but opened his eyes, just in case something went wrong.

He got on his feet quickly "Yeah," he croaked in a hoarse voice, "I'm ready. Let's get this over with already," and took the stuff that he already packed, threw it over one shoulder and with the skill of being a spy, made it out of there without anyone seeing or hearing them and got in the parking lot, looking at the car they came in with a sower expression on his face, thinking about his apartment for the last time.

He went over to the car and started setting everything up for their sacrifice. It would be a shame to lose the self-driving system but he knew he could just make another, especially since Gizmo would have the data recorded for later use. Brock's laptop was pulled out and set in the passenger seat before Q pressed a black material to the windows that spread until there was a one-way film to avoid anyong immediately spotting there was no one actually driving the thing.

He was wondering what was the car doing and if anyone caught onto it, as he was looking around at the cars, watching for any military vehicle or any of the Hydra trucks he'd recognize. So far there was nothing and nobody even cared that they were on the road but Brock knew better than to feel comforted by small things like these as the situation could turn on them any moment.

"Adequate is fine with me." and took the helmet, letting both hand on the handles and locked it. People were starting to look at him or maybe them, Brock wold generally attract attention with his stance and he could only guess that the smaller man by his side would only make him stand out more. If only Ben was here, he thought and sighed.

"I thought we could just meet up back up here in... An hour? Scream like a terrified child if you need any help with anything." He instructed before turning and walking away. He didn't go towards the grocery store but towards an independent bookstore that he knew of due to Ben's obsession with memorising maps.