Frostbite

Nine

I woke up to the sound of a car engine humming in the background and voices whispering. My eyes fluttered open, and I glanced around warily. I was in the backseat of a sedan, and Steve was upfront with Natasha, who was driving. Where the hell had she come from?

"Uh- where the hell are we and what happened?" I demanded as I sat up in the seat. They both turned in surprise, not realizing I was conscious. Nat focused back on the road.

"I dug us out of the ruble and carried you until I knew we were far enough away from the camp and the STRIKE team that showed up. I called Nat for a ride. We're back in D.C.," Steve explained. He was covered in dirt and looked exhausted.

Then I remembered the building falling on top of us and something hitting my head. Taken down by a rock. I groaned and tossed my head against the seat, gasping at the sharp pain when I did.

"Son of a bitch," I cussed, touching the back of my head. There was barely any blood, so I'd probably be fine. It just hurt like hell.

"Watch your language," Steve teased. I narrowed my eyes at him and clicked my tongue in disapproval. Nat snickered and turned onto a residential road. I glanced around in confusion.

"Where are we going?" I asked.

"A friend's place. We just have to park the car away from the house in case it's found," Steve relayed. Natasha parked the car and we all climbed out. It was still dark out with the sun was just barely peeking over the horizon, so we wouldn't be noticed easily.

"You have friends?" I joked, falling into step next to Steve. Natasha was on his other side.

He scoffed, "That's rude. Natasha is my friend. Aren't you?"

"If that's what you want me to be," she smirked, shaking her head at us. Steve grinned down at me in triumph, and I rolled my eyes dramatically at him.

There was a loud crash somewhere behind us and we all jumped and turned. There was nothing there. We picked up the pace.

"It was probably just a raccoon," Nat suggested, looking over her shoulder again. I nodded, and we kept silent the rest of the way, too paranoid to make any more noise.

Finally, we went down a small alley and into someone's backyard. We had made it. Hopefully, Steve's friend wouldn't turn us away. We all crammed onto the steps and Steve knocked cautiously.

A tall, dark-skinned man opened the door and peered at us all curiously. He had a well-kept, short beard and goatee, and dark eyes that looked as if they had seen too much. There was sweat on his forehead as if he had just gotten done exercising.

"Hey, man," he greeted.

"I'm sorry about this. We need a place to lay low," Steve told him quietly. You could hear the guilt in his voice for even asking.

"Everyone we know is trying to kill us," I informed him, pressing closer to Natasha. The man paused, staring at each one of us in turn. I didn't know what he saw. Dirty, beaten-up victims that needed help? Or cunning fugitives that would just drag him down as well? Either way, he let us in.

"Not everyone."

We scrambled through the sliding door, and he locked it behind him, checking that no one was watching and dropped the blinds.

"The name's Sam Wilson," he finally introduced himself to Natasha and me.

"Natasha Romanoff," Nat said as she crossed her arms against her chest, taking in her surroundings. I chuckled internally at her intentional lack of social skills.