The Falcon's Saviour

Prologue

Sam Wilson's been hurt before. He's been shot, stabbed, almost blown up, hell even a really, really bad paper cut. But this....today, tonight. Takes the biscuit. Top of the list. Worst ever. Every inch of him is in agony as he lays broken in some dirty, disgusting alley in Harlem. Man what a place to die; he thinks staring up at the night sky. He would think it beautiful if not for the situation and the smell. The smell is something else. He's pretty sure everything gross that can exist exists in this alley and he can smell all of it, pretty sure he's laying in some of it too. The broken parts of his flight pack dig into his spine, he can actually feel bits of the back inside of his body which he knows shouldn't be there. And the only reason he's not screaming in agony is that he's pretty sure his jaw is broken so bad he can't open his mouth to scream. Plus he's been distracting himself by singing the Pina Colada song in his head on repeat, over and over, pulling him away from the pain. 

He's going to die. That he knows. He can feel it. Every second that his watch counts down echoes in his head letting him know that he's one second closer to death. Dying alone. This isn't the way he thought he would go. No, in his mind he saw himself dying in some hospital bed, old, frail, fading, surrounded by his family. He supposes that's the way everyone wants to go. With those they love around them. Peaceful. But no one gets the death they want. Something always happens. An accident. An illness. Bad people. Wrong place, wrong time. He supposes there are worse ways to go; this way, he was trying so hard to be the hero, defeat the bad guy, save the day. He should have checked the new flight pack before he left the facility. Tony had warned him that there were bugs, issues he was trying to work out of it, but Sam just wanted to try it out, just an hour or two. Like a kid too excited to wait for Christmas morning. His own impatience is what has killed him. He wasn't even looking for trouble when he'd crossed the assassin on the roof, aiming for a businessman across the street walking home after a long day with his sleeping son in his arms. Single father no doubt, doing his best. Sam had to step in, the shot would have killed them both. So he did, he swooped in to be the hero. Got a few good swings in, a fatal shot then fired, not from Sam but at him, the assassin's bullet lodged itself in Sam's thigh sending him tumbling back, and over the edge of the building, the flight pack was supposed to save him, but it failed as he tried to fly away. 

Instead, he fell, seven stories to the ground below, landing with a sickening crunch on his flight pack which shattered on impact. There are rushed footsteps, two, soothing soft whispers and then there is a warmth at his side. A presence kneeling next to him, hovering, thinking. He opens his eyes trying to focus on the figure above him but his sight is obscured, by his own swollen eye, and blood, the blood seeping down from his forehead. His fall had really done a number on him. He's pretty sure he hit everything he could possibly hit on the way down. Soft hands are touching his face, worried eyes above him. And then she, he can make that much out, no man's hands are that soft. Her hands shift from his face and he tries to move, tries to seek her out, but he can't, his entire body is screaming in pain. Her hand finds his sprawled out next to him, and then there is a warmth that floods him, tingling, stitching, like his body is repairing itself faster than ever before, there is a glow somewhere to his right, he can just about make it out through his eyes, a white, golden light wrapping around his hand.

"You're going to be fine," she tells him but it's distorted by the thumping of his heartbeat in his ear. His fingers twitch in her hand, he's trying to clutch to her. To thank her. He doesn't care how she's doing it but she is and he wants to cry with relief. Instead, he lets himself fall into unconsciousness surrounded by the smell of lavender, letting it fill him, calm him. The woman takes a breath and shakes her head. Katherine O'Leary. Katie to her friends and family. She couldn't leave him when her daughter saw him lying there, it's not in her nature to. She had to help, and even as she checked over him, she knew deep down if she didn't risk it, if she didn't use her powers he was going to die, and his file could end up on her desk at work the next morning. Homicide. She leans back a little watching him as the worst injuries start to heal. The broken bones in his face shifting and snapping back into place.

"Mommy?" a young girl, blonde, pale, just like her mother, Poppy, she shuffles her feet where she stands in the entrance to the alley.

"Don't turn around, sweetie" Katie warns not looking up from Sam. "Just keep watch for me"

"Okay" Poppy whispers tucking her gloved hands in her pockets. "Is he okay?" she asks, Katie sighs softly and nods.

"He is now" she answers as the glow of her hand disappears and she pulls back. She hasn't fully healed him, that would be too suspicious. She heals him enough so he won't die. She pats him down and finds his cellphone, flashing with missed calls and texts. It's not that she doesn't recognize him, she knows who he is, the Falcon, one of the newer Avengers. She easily finds the tracking device on his phone and turns it on before sending a text to the name 'Fossil No. 1' in his contact list asking for help. She slips his phone away and stands moving to Poppy, she gently takes the girls hand and they walk away together, Poppy risking a glance back to see Sam shifting slightly where he lays, his head turning towards her mother before he settles again, Poppy clutches to her mother.