Chapter Text
It took a week for John to be patched up well enough that they sent him back again.
During that time, he had gotten his hands on a small notebook, barely the size of his hand, which he used to vigorously write down all the major events that happen that he remembers- the SHIELD data leak, the Avengers breaking up, the arrival of Thanos, the blip, the return. Then, the major events pertaining to himself- his Medals of Honor, his return home, his taking the mantle of Captain America, Lemar’s death, the subsequent loss of the title, Olivia leaving. Everything he could think of, when it happened, how it happened- what he could change to stop it from happening again.
By the time he was done, there were eight pages left in the notebook. Each of these, he dedicated to scribbling down everything he knew about his team members’ whereabouts in 2012.
It didn’t take up the eight pages. His… the team was secretive, a fact only exacerbated by the entire team not being very proud of their past. Yelena was part of the Red Room’s Black Widow program, and mentioned breaking out at some point, but he had no idea when. Or where the Red Room is. Or what it is.
Ava constantly talked about growing up in labs, and he knew she was an ex-SHIELD black ops agent, but it was unclear whether those two stretches of time were concurrent, overlapping, or otherwise.
Bob had vaguely alluded to ‘traveling’ during this time- addicted to meth and aimless, and, perhaps even worse for John’s particular goal, completely unnoteworthy. He would be next to impossible to track down.
Bucky, John knew, was the Winter Soldier right now. That was a whole can of worms that he had no interest in opening.
The only one he could solidly pin down was Alexei, who spoke frequently and freely of his time in Russia’s Seventh Circle Prison.
John kept this little notebook on him at all times and didn’t show it to anyone- including Lemar, who, he suspected, was becoming more and more concerned and suspicious of him. Which wouldn’t be good, in the long run, but at the moment John was more concerned with forgetting anything important- or losing something that was essentially a guidebook to the future. His future, specifically.
It stayed in the very bottom of his pack when he went back to the active field in the 75th Ranger Regiment.
He checked his gear for the thousandth time, running more on muscle memory than attention. A strike team of six- including him and Lemar- were being sent on a night raid to a nearby settlement. When it was first discovered, it seemed to only be families and refugees, but there have since been rumors of them harboring a member of the Taliban.
The US couldn’t have that.
The War on Terror, John figured, was good in concept but exceedingly harsh in practice. Many of the people he’d seen out in the field were innocents, who should have been nowhere near a warzone.
He wondered exactly how many of the people he’d killed even knew they were harboring a terrorist.
He was jolted out of his thoughts by a signal to advance, and he shouldered his gun, stepping out from behind the rock outcropping he was using as shelter and rushing towards the site. The night was quiet.
It wouldn’t be for long.
He carefully opened the door of the second building to the right, his gun barrel first into the building.. Lemar was at his back. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the other two teams of two doing the same to two other tents.
He crept through, his gun trained neatly in front of him even as his eyes flicked around wildly to try to catch sight of anyone who may be attempting to sneak up on him. Lemar split off after the first intersection, checking any spare rooms behind them so there was no chance of a sneak attack.
Room one, clear. Room two, clear. John was barely giving cursory sweeps through each room, glancing once for signs of life before moving to the next, wishing this was over.
Unfortunately, a single glance was all he needed to spot the small family huddled in the corner of room three.
He froze in the doorway, his night-vision goggles trained on the family. The laser sight attached to his gun was hovering on the wall a foot to away from the father, who was crouched over the mother and son, covering as much of them as possible. All three were shaking.The son, who John couldn’t imagine was older than three, was muffling gasping breaths in the bunched fabric of his mother’s dress.
John closed his eyes for a single brief second, centering himself. Distantly, he heard the sound of gunfire from one of the other groups. Based on the crackling report from his earpiece, the terrorist had been found, and had attempted to fight back. The secondary team he had come with was converging on their location to help, with Lemar and John having directions to stay behind and dispatch the harborers.
With prejudice.
John glared at the cowering family as if they were to blame for everything wrong with the world. He was already unhappy enough with being stuck back in one of the worst times in his life, he didn’t want to relive what made it the worst. And he had done a lot of thinking, since his failure as Captain America. Since he joined a group of assassins and found a little too much in common with them. Since Olivia had left him.
He really, really didn’t want to start slipping into justifying atrocities as justice again.
He moved into the room- only about a yard, but it felt like miles- and quietly unlatched the window to his left. It slid open, just next to soundless- certainly not loud enough to alert Lemar down the hall. He retreated back to the window, angling himself perpendicular to the doorway.
The father untensed the slightest amount, one of his spread arms dipping ever so slightly. His brow furrowed. Behind him, the mother was staring wide-eyed at John.
John pointedly aimed his gun further away, and, ever so slightly, jerked his head in the direction of the window.
That was all the sign the family needed, and the father herded his wife and son to the window with a quickness that John has rarely seen. In a flash, the mother was through, and the father was passing the son through. And then the father. And then they were gone from sight.
John sighed quietly. Room three, clear.
He turned, closing the door behind him- just in time to spot Lemar heading towards him from the other end of the hallway.
“Building seems clear. You see anything?” Lemar asked. John really hoped it was just his own paranoia making that question sound more pointed than it needed to be.
“No,” he confirmed anyway. “We’re clear.”