June 16, 1943 - Military Training Facility
(John's POV)
John was exhausted—both in body and mind. They'd been waking up early every day, but his muscles hadn't had a chance to recover from the training over the last two days. The sun was now directly above, beating down on him as he stood in front of a tall rope-climbing obstacle.
Looking beyond the ropes, John saw a long line of even more obstacles waiting for him as he cursed under his breath, "Fuck."
"Rogers! Get off from there!" Sergeant Duffy's voice boomed, pulling his attention to Steve.
John watched as Steve, dangling halfway up the ropes, struggled to keep going. The rest of the recruits were pushing ahead, but Steve looked like he was about to collapse. Yet, he kept forcing himself to climb.
Gilmore, as usual, was quick with a sneer, "Oh, come on, little princess. Why don't you just take a nap now?"
The group chuckled at Gilmore's words, but John just muttered, "What a fucking dick."
Everything was getting on his nerves. The intense training was one thing, but these motherfuckers made it worse. It wasn't just the physical strain; the whole situation frustrated him. John didn't even want to be here, didn't care about becoming some super soldier. If he could, he'd have skipped the military altogether.
"Murphy! Get your ass up!" Duffy's shouted as John groaned in response, his muscles aching as he grabbed the rope and started climbing. He managed it, but each pull felt like dragging his body through mud.
As he climbed, he couldn't help but glance at Steve again, struggling but still moving. For all his frustration, John found himself thinking, 'Damn, that guy's psychopath.'
'I bet Tommy and Arthur didn't go through this shitty training,' John mumbled under his breath.
He knew about the bar, about how Tommy had somehow secured a loan from Howard fucking Stark, of all people. And Arthur—who was once grumpy all the time—now always smiling like a joker. John glanced at the recruits ahead, crawling through the mud, their rifles held tight as they slid under barbed wire.
He groaned, "I don't like this..."
Reluctantly, he grabbed his rifle and got down, beginning the crawl under the wires. The smell of dirt filled his nostrils as muddy water splashed into his eyes. His mind drifted despite having some dust coating his mouth, 'I don't want this. I should be working at the bar, goddammit.'
For a second, he even considered Arthur's route. He crawled along, staring at Sergeant Duffy, wondering if he could pick a fight with the man and get out of this nightmare. But then he noticed the gun strapped to Duffy's belt and shook his head. 'That guy might shoot me.'
Unlikely, sure, but John wasn't about to test it. And challenging Tommy? That seemed even worse. Tommy was a lieutenant colonel now, and John knew his chances of getting to him were slim—unless Tommy approached him first.
"Rogers! Get that rifle out of the mud!"
Duffy's voice snapped him out of his thoughts. John looked up and saw Steve, stuck under the wire, his rifle dragging through the dirt.
Gilmore and his cronies were laughing, making John's blood boil. A part of him thought he'd be one of them, laughing along, if he didn't know Steve. But he was too drained to even think about mocking anyone. He was barely surviving this mess himself.
"Move! Faster!"
After what felt like forever, John finished the obstacle course. He thought, hoped, they'd finally get a rest. But no, they were soon marching again—this time across the training ground, closer to the command center. His legs were heavy, and the thought of marching back to the barracks made his lips tremble in frustration.
"Recruits, halt your steps!" Sergeant Duffy barked. He pointed at a flagpole John hadn't noticed until then. "That flag shows we're halfway to the end point!"
John took this moment to catch his breath, panting heavily with the others. He saw Steve finally caught up, looking like he was halfway to passing out as he thought, 'He's gonna die.'
"Alright, listen up!" Duffy's shouted. "Whoever gets that flag off the pole gets to ride with Agent Carter in the Jeep. The rest of you will keep marchin'!"
John glanced at the Jeep where Carter sat. The promise of a ride sparked something in him, and his eyes locked onto the flagpole. Without a second thought, he made a dash for it.
But before he could even reach the pole, someone grabbed him as he saw Gilmore's annoying face sneering at him as the guy shoved him hard, knocking him off balance. "Outta the way, Johnny boy. You ain't cut out for this."
John stumbled as he cursed, "Oh, piss off, Hodge! You think you're funny?"
Gilmore just laughed, already starting his climb. The rest of the recruits crowded around, trying to scramble up the pole, but no one was making much progress. It was a mess of elbows and boots, with everyone grabbing at each other.
John wiped the sweat from his face, turning to see Steve standing at a distance.
"Hey, Steve!" John called out. "You're not even gonna try? Or are you waitin' for us to drop dead first?"
Steve looked at the flag, then back at John. "I will, John."
"Whatever you say, man," John muttered as he joined the others, still trying to get a hold of the slippery pole.
But it was useless. No one could get up the damn thing. They were all grabbing at each other, and it was impossible to climb with so many hands in the way. Frustrated, John finally gave up, stepping back from the mess.
From the sidelines, he could hear Duffy laughing, clearly enjoying their misery. John muttered under his breath, "Motherfucker..."
"Alright, alright, recruits! Get back in line!"
The recruits scrambled to follow orders. As the line started to form, John caught sight of Steve walking toward the flagpole. Confused, he called out, "What are you doin', Steve?"
"Rogers, get your ass back in line!" Even Duffy barked at him, but Steve didn't listen. His eyes were fixed on the flag at the top of the pole.
John watched as Steve crouched down at the base of the pole, fiddling with something. Before John could figure out what was happening, Steve stood up, holding something in his hand. The scrawny guy turned to John and said, "I'm gettin' the flag."
Before anyone could react, the flagpole began to tip over. It slowly crashed to the ground with a loud thud. Steve then walked over, calmly picked up the flag. The recruits, including John, stood there, stunned and silent.
Steve carried the flag over to Sergeant Duffy, who was just as speechless, and handed it to him. Without a word, Steve then walked toward the Jeep and climbed in before greeting Carter who was smiling with a nod.
John looked at this with annoyance. Though he knew Steve might just save himself from passing out considering his weak body situation, he shook his head, "You sneaky little bastard."
(Tommy's POV)
The sun was setting, casting long shadows over the training grounds. Tommy leaned against a military truck, quietly observing Chester and Dr. Erskine while holding his cigarette between his fingers. They were about to pick the final candidate for the experiment soon. It felt rushed, but Dr. Erskine had been insistent.
"Have you seen his progress? That little guy doesn't belong here. Can barely keep up with the rest of them. He shouldn't have been in the program in the first place."
"On the contrary, Colonel. He's exactly where he needs to be. He has what we're looking for."
Tommy took a drag from his cigarette, letting the smoke curl out as Chester rolled his eyes. Tommy just offered his pack with a smirk, and Chester grumbled but took one. Tossing his lighter over, Tommy watched the recruits lining up in front of them.
"Get down and give me ten push-ups!" Agent Carter had stepped out of the Jeep. The recruits groaned at the command, which made her raise her voice, "Make that twenty push-ups!"
Their mouths were instantly shut this time. The recruits hit the ground and began their push-ups. Tommy could tell the recruits were exhausted as his eyes stopped at Steve.
He knew that scrawny guy was about to get his muscles torn if he kept forcing that scrawny body to do push-ups he was barely able to do. Tommy took another drag from his cigarette, exhaling slowly as Chester spoke, "Alright, Dr. Erskine, do you think he's got what it takes?"
"We'll see about that." Chester went over to the truck, picked up a training grenade from a nearby crate, and yanked the pin. Tommy knew that one had been jammed earlier. With a quick glance at Dr. Erskine, Chester yanked the pin and tossed it toward the recruits, shouting, "Grenade!"
Panic swept through the recruits like wildfire. Every man in the unit dove for cover—except for two. Steve Rogers sprinted forward, throwing himself onto the grenade without a second thought. He curled his small frame over it, shouting, "Get away!"
"Look at that bastard," Tommy wasn't even looking at Steve; instead, he smirked as he noticed someone else hadn't flinched either.
He could see John rolling his eyes at Steve. Tommy knew why. John hadn't moved because Carter hadn't. He wasn't brave, just observant.
"At least he's still thinking," Tommy mumbled to himself, exhaling smoke. The guy was a coward, but sharp enough to see what was around him.
Meanwhile, Steve stayed on the ground, eyes squeezed shut until it was long enough before he realized the grenade wasn't going to explode. He peeked up at Carter and asked, "Is this a test?"
"Yes," Carter replied with a small smile, then glanced at John before nodding at Steve, "It is."
"Still doesn't fit," Chester grumbled, noticing Dr. Erskine's grin stretching wider.
Dr. Erskine shook his head. "Not anyone would be brave enough to sacrifice themselves like that, Colonel. He's perfect."
"Shelby, what would you do in that situation?"
Tommy looked at the colonel briefly before turning to the scrawny recruits brushing themselves off and getting back in line at Carter's command. Then he smirked and said, "I'd grab the grenade and throw it back at you."
"Of course, you would," Chester's face slightly eased up as he laughed hard at Tommy's answer. The colonel glanced at John before turning to Tommy and asking, "Shelby, you said he grew up with you?"
"He did," he replied while watching the recruits getting back in line as he looked at Chester, somewhat guessing where it was going as he asked first, "Thinking of recommending him, Colonel?"
"What do you think?"
Tommy looked at John's exhausted expression quietly. It might be fun to see John pushed a bit more. Turning back to Chester, who was frowning, he smiled at this before nodding, "John's fit for the program. Of course."
"We can't make any decisions too soon, Doctor." Chester chuckled at that, slapping Dr. Erskine on the back as he walked away. He pointed at the command center ahead, "Chop, chop! We've got things to discuss in my office."
He was smiling as he followed after Chester. Seeing Dr. Erskine frown was fun to watch as they strode to Chester's office. It'd also be a fun argument he'd never be part of.
(John's POV)
After finishing their exercises, they finally had dinner at 4:30 p.m. John had no appetite, but his body demanded food. He forced down the bland meal, barely tasting it, before dragging himself to the barracks. Climbing up to his bunk, he collapsed flat on his back, completely exhausted.
I don't belong here, he thought, staring up at the wooden ceiling. The other recruits were chatting and laughing, but John's mind was elsewhere. Knowing Polly, Tommy might've already set up the bar by now and probably started hiring.
"That British woman is sexy as hell, goddamn."
"Did you see her ass? That wasn't just a piece—that was the whole bakery!"
John briefly glanced at the wooden door as he saw Gilmore walking in with his cronies, and his mood soured. 'Another reason I gotta leave.'
"Steve?" John called.
He felt a faint tremor on the bunk bed beneath him. Although there was no answer, John knew the scrawny guy was there. Steve was probably as drained as he was.
"Do you think she's a whore?"
"What do you mean?"
"You know what I mean. She definitely spread her legs to get where she is."
Gilmore and his cronies were huddled together. The group burst into laughter. John closed his eyes, too tired to respond.
He thought, 'Carter would kill that motherfucker if she heard him.'
"You don't talk about her like that, Hodge!"
"Damn it, Steve..." John groaned. He often wondered why the guy was so idiotic sometimes, knowing Gilmore wouldn't back down now. John sat up just in time to see Gilmore and his crew approaching, their faces twisted in sneers.
"Oh, look at little Rogers, trying to play the hero. What are you gonna do about it, huh?"
John watched, noticing Steve still twitching from exhaustion, his body barely able to stand upright. He muttered under his breath, "He's gonna die."
'Wait a minute,' he blinked his eyes. But then an idea struck him, his eyes narrowing as he followed Gilmore's movements. 'He alone might not be enough, but getting the others involved definitely will do.'
But feeling his body was also tired, John slightly hesitated. However, thinking about the fact that he might regret this made him clench his fist and mutter to himself, "This is going to be fucking painful."
"Stay out of this, Steve." Stepping down from the bunk, he blocked Gilmore's path. "This isn't your fight."
"John, this isn't yours either," Steve snapped back, but John ignored him as he stepped forward.
Gilmore's grin grew wider. "Look at this. The big guy's gonna play protector now?"
Without warning, Gilmore swung, landing a solid punch to John's face. The force sent John stumbling back, stars flashing in his vision as his cheek throbbed from the impact. Laughter erupted from Gilmore's cronies, filling the room with their mockery.
John spat blood onto the floor, shaking his head to clear the haze. His eyes landed on a wooden chair by the side of the bunk bed.
He felt a hand help him up, and he heard Steve's voice, "You alright, John?"
"This ain't gonna be pretty," John mumbled to himself, his eyes still locked on that chair.
(Tommy's POV)
Tommy glanced at the lamp overhead, its yellow glow casting shadows in Chester's office. He looked at the desk, where Chester rubbed his temple in frustration. Across from Tommy sat the main source of that frustration, Dr. Erskine.
Taking a long drag from his cigarette, Tommy watched him quietly. They'd been arguing for hours about which candidate would be the best fit. Yet, the discussion always seemed to get postponed to another day.
"The Vita Ray Chamber," Erskine began, "it should be ready by now. I requested it weeks ago, but getting a hold of Mr. Stark has been... difficult. He seems preoccupied with something lately."
Tommy knew that the Vita Ray light was what Dr. Erskine intended to use to stabilize and activate the serum. He didn't understand all the science behind it, but he made a note of it nonetheless. His primary concern was stabilizing his presence in the bar business.
"That damn genius always has his head in a different place. We need to talk to him about this. If he keeps dragging his feet, we're going to fall behind schedule."
Tommy could hear Chester was exhausted. The genius was nowhere to be found when they needed him. As he pondered the situation, a thought crossed his mind, 'Is it because of what I said before?'
'Should I be impressed or speechless? I don't know,' he thought.
He still couldn't believe Howard had taken his nonsense seriously. But then, an idea struck him. He remembered exactly what kind of man Howard was and turned to Chester as he spoke, "I can get Mr. Stark out of his garage, Colonel. Just need a little help."
"What kind of help are we talking about, Shelby?"
He could see Chester was interested as he took another drag from his cigarette, mumbling, "I'm gonna need someone—"
Before he could finish, the door to the office burst open with a loud bang. Tommy saw Carter storm in, her boots clattering on the floor. She shot a glare at him, making him wonder what was going on as she approached Chester.
"Colonel Chester," she reported. "There's been a fight in the recruits' barracks."
Chester shot up from his chair, disbelief etched on his face. "A fight?! What the hell's going on with these men?"
'A fight?' Tommy thought, wondering who would be crazy enough to cause such a ruckus.
Carter turned her glare on him again, prompting him to jump up from his seat as well. He took one last drag of his cigarette, flicked it to the floor, and stepped on it, not caring that he was in Chester's office.
The colonel snapped at him, "Shelby! You're coming with me."
As they exited the command center, Carter had a Jeep waiting for them. They rounded the corner to the barracks, where a small crowd of soldiers had gathered, whispering amongst themselves. As Chester approached, the recruits quickly snapped to attention, exchanging nervous glances as the colonel stormed into the room.
Tommy didn't feel good about this as he saw Chester's face turn livid before sharply turning to him. Chester was furious. Tommy understood why, he looked at the perpetrator, John, who was sitting on the ground with a bruised face, grinning despite the mess around him.
"T-Tommy, it's hard to breathe," John rasped. "I think I broke my ribs..."
"I'll break another, Johnny," Tommy muttered, his eyes scanning the room.
The bunk beds were out of place, dust and wood splinters scattered from a broken chair. Steve was groaning nearby, clearly having taken a beating too. He was sitting right beside John, which made Tommy assume they'd been on the same side of the fight.
Shaking his head, Tommy asked, "You too, Steve?"
"I did what was right, Colonel," the scrawny recruit replied.
Tommy knew Steve had probably tried to break up the fight. He turned to the other side of the room and saw more recruits lying on the ground, groaning in pain. One of them, a bulky figure Tommy vaguely remembered—Hodge or something—was holding his ear, wincing, "My goddamn ear… he bit my ear off!"
"Shelby!" Chester roared at him.
Tommy knew why the colonel was angry. They now had no justification to prolong the decision-making knowing full well John didn't behave like a soldier. But Tommy didn't care as he looked at the rest of the other recruits lying flat on the ground.
Tommy had already guessed John wouldn't fight 'honorably' as his eyes landed on John, who flashed him a smirk. It brought a smile to his face as he repeated, "I'll fucking break another one of your ribs, you bastard."