Angel

Snow fell from the sky in flurries of white powder. The sky behind it was as black as ink and the flakes nearly drowned out the landscape, both from the intensity of the storm and the way it caught in my eyes and forced me to blink and lower my head. We had been walking for what felt like hours. I wasn’t sure exactly just how long though, since I kept blacking out.

The hand around my arm was tight as it dragged me through the storm. His feet crunched through the crust with uniform precision as I stumbled along after him, desperate to keep up and terrified of where he was leading me to begin with. My coat wasn’t thick enough to keep out the chill that seeped into my bones. My mouth was dry but my skin and clothes were wet. I struggled to stay on my feet, but most of the time I failed.

Finally, the man came to a stop and I heard the soldiers behind us follow his lead. The land was silent beneath the roar of the wind and the sharp chill that clung to my exposed extremities. I could no longer feel my face except for the bite of cold on my nose and ears. Every so often the wind would rip in the opposite direction and send my hair lashing against my face.

The man’s grip on my arm tightened as he tossed me forward. I stumbled over my boots and fell face first into the snow. I could hear them laughing behind me. Laughing at how weak I was.

But their coats were thick. They had started the morning with a healthy meal. They had ended the previous day the same way. They had slept in warm beds. Their sleep had been peaceful and uninterrupted. They had not lost track of days or time. They had not lost track of where they were. I was weak because they made me weak.

“Do you know where we are?” I heard the man ask.

His sharp voice cut through the dense air like a dagger made of ice. I leaned against my frozen hands, burying them beneath the snow and trying to force myself to face them. My body convulsed against the cold. My stomach ached from emptiness. And without the cold and emptiness I still felt the bitter harshness of exhaustion and dehydration.

I could hear a whining gasping sound under the roar of the wind and it took me a moment to realize it had been coming from my own body. My tears turned to ice against my cheeks, they were so cold that I hardly noticed them at all.

“No,” I admitted through chattering teeth. I figured it was best to play along. At least for a while.

I felt his boot against my spine as he pressed it against my back and shoved me back into the snow. I was unable to hold my body up against the weight. I breathed in a mouthful of snowy powder, but it did little to satisfy my thirst. Finally, I managed to roll myself onto my back, so that I could stare up at the black sky and those little flurries of powder that kept getting stuck in my eyes. The man looked down at me and smiled. His cheeks were pink from the cold but a black scarf around his throat was keeping most of the chill away from his face. He had removed it to speak.

“How about now?” he asked.

I couldn’t keep my eyes open against the snow long enough to get a good visual. But I concentrated as hard as I could. It was important for me to always know where I was. That was something Steve had tried to drill into my head. That was something my sergeant had drilled into my head. I could never be lost because I could end up like this. Trapped by monsters, freezing to death in the snow while they watched on like hungry vultures.

Beyond the darkness of the storm and the night I could make out the shadows beyond our surroundings. When the wind parted the snow enough I could see a vast mountain range above us. There were shadows on both sides. We must have been in some sort of valley, but the storm was too strong for me to recognize it. It was clear that they wanted me to.

“Maybe we can jog your memory,” the man said as he dropped something into the snow beside me.

I reached out a bare hand and found the object. It was cold against me but as familiar as my own skin. I traced my fingers over the glossy handle and then pressed the switch, which released a blade in a quick, sharp click.

I reached up and wrapped both of my freezing hands around the hilt, forcing myself to keep the blade in my grasp. I knew I wasn’t strong enough to use it against them. I couldn’t jump up fast enough. I didn’t have the strength I needed to throw it. I knew the blade was useless against all their guns, but I held it tight anyway, hoping that maybe it would save me somehow.

“I don’t know where I am,” I said as my body shook and a puff of lingering heat left my mouth. He smiled down again. It was a wide, Cheshire like smile that appeared like it had been cut into his aged skin. His teeth gleamed, yellowing behind the jagged gash.

“Did you ever wonder… what his first kill was like?” he asked me. His voice had lowered so that only I could hear him over the wind. But I felt an icy chill run down my spine at his words, it had little to do with the snow my body was resting it. “Did you ever think to yourself, why did they choose him? What was it about him that said he was a killer? Why him… of all the numerous soldiers they could have chosen? In all the years that they survived, unnoticed by everyone, how was it that they only had him?”

“No,” I said as the switchblade jerked violently in my trembling hands.

His smile grew wider, cutting across his face like an open wound stretched tight against muscles. I rolled to my side and pushed myself up. I tried to balance on my knees. My legs didn’t want to move to bring me to full height, but I used what little strength I still had to stand. I gripped the knife in both of my hands, holding it out like it stood a chance against their bullets.

“Where did you bring me?” I asked, shivering in the cold. He took a step back and casually rested his hand on the butt of his gun, as if to remind me that I wouldn’t make it out alive.

“You really haven’t figured it out?” he asked in mock disbelief. “Or did he just not tell you?” He gave a short laugh and motioned one of his soldiers over. The person was dressed in all black, covered from head to toe in layers to keep him warm. He marched to the other man’s side and stood still, waiting for another command.

“You see that ridge, just up there?” the man asked as he pointed to the shadows behind him. “There’s an old railway up there. It’s abandoned now. But it used to run right through this valley.”

“Why did you bring me here?” I asked.

“This is where it first happened,” he said on a contented sigh. “His first kill. This wasn’t the first time he’d taken a life, of course. But it was his first kill as the Winter Soldier. Officially.” I took another step back, brandishing the knife higher, slowly beginning to understand why they’d taken me on a field trip. “Did he ever tell you how they found him? Lying in the snow, right where your feet are? He had been screaming for hours. Bleeding. Freezing. Dying. And as they dragged him away. He pulled a knife from his pocket and stabbed a man in the throat. Very impressive for a man with only one arm.

“Picture yourself. Lying in the snow. Frozen. Your arm torn off at the shoulder in chunks of frozen meat and dangling skin. Imagine all of the animals that must be sniffing you out, waiting for you to die so they can feast on your flesh. Imagine that your only salvation comes from the people you’re trying to destroy. That was the moment we knew we had chosen the right man for the job.” He smiled to himself and then turned to march in the other direction, almost creating a circle around me. I followed his movements with the tip of my blade, creating a path in the snow as I tracked him.

“Rogers was their original choice. It was just easier. The serum didn’t seem to work on the others. So many others gave their lives trying to replicate it. But Barnes. He was special. There was something in him that the new serum latched onto. A darkness that the other men lacked. A darkness that Rogers himself never would have achieved. It had to be perfect. The men weren’t killers. Their need for self-preservation was stronger than the desire to kill or follow orders. But not Barnes. He wanted to risk bleeding to death in the snow just for one kill. Because killing was more important to him than living.”

“You’re wrong,” I said. “He did what he knew was right. Rogers would have done the same.” The man stopped and turned his eyes on me.

“But what about you?” he asked in a soft voice. “How strong is your will to live? Would you rather take out one of us than make it out of here alive?”

“Gladly.”

“Good.”

He stepped toward the masked soldier and unsnapped the gun at the man’s side. The man made no move. His face was blocked behind a black mask and opaque goggles, but I could feel his eyes on me. I kept the blade up, ready to attack. My heart began to pound and body heat began to leave my lips in short puffs of steam. The man removed the soldier’s gun and stepped back toward the others.

“If you kill him,” he said slowly, as he handed the weapon off to a different masked soldier. “You’re free to face the elements on your own. If you fail to kill him, well… then you belong to us.” He turned back around to face me and adjusted the scarf around his throat as he prepared to pull it back up over his face. “I hear you’re rather skilled with your blade. Prove it.”

With the wave of his fingers, the masked soldier leapt forward. A knife appeared from his side and he waved it at my face. I jumped back, blocking the slash with my arm, yanking him away from me. I was starving, and half frozen, and he knew I couldn’t put up a good fight. But he also knew I couldn’t kill.

The fight didn’t last very long. With a few slices through the air and my own defensive moves, the man got me across the cheek. I jumped backwards, feeling the warmth of blood spread across my cheek. I couldn’t kill him. I wouldn’t. But I knew how to make it look like I tried. I was a doctor once. A medic. I could hurt him without killing him.

I bolted forward, knocking the man into the snow with the crack of my elbow. He fell backwards with an unexpected yelp that rang out through the storm. I pinned him beneath me and ripped the blade from his hands, tossing it to the snow several feet away. Then I lifted my own knife above my head, preparing to strike, trying to locate the place between his bones where no arteries flowed. Where I could slide my blade in without killing him.

But I couldn’t do it.

He reached up to rip the mask off of his face, releasing the blood so he could breathe. His nose had been broken from my strike. It smeared across his cheek and I saw panic in his eyes. He was just a boy. No more than eighteen, but probably younger. There was so much fear. He didn’t want to die, and even though I had never intended to actually kill him, I couldn’t bring myself to bring the blade back down through his skin.

I dropped my hands and he wiped the blood from his face, terror was still written on his features. And for just a moment he seemed to realize he had lost. I stood up and stepped away from him. I knew they were behind me but I kept my eyes on the boy in the snow. He sat up, angry about being bested by me. By a woman who hadn’t eaten or slept in days. A woman who’s entire body was sore from bruises and aching bones. But I wasn’t just a woman. I was a soldier. And no matter what I did, I couldn’t erase that part of me.

I held the knife at my side, fingering the smooth pink paint that had been melded onto the hilt. I had to do something and I knew it. I had to at least make it look like I tried. He stood up, holding his nose and searching through the snow for his knife.

The crunch of boots in the snow sounded from behind me. I turned around quickly and lifted my hands in surrender.

“I just want to give him a fair chance,” I lied to the man with the black scarf.

“Too late,” he said as he lifted his gloved hand.

I only caught a glimpse of the syringe before he swung forward and stabbed the needle into my neck. I jumped backwards and tried to pull away, but it was too late. He ripped the needle from my skin, showing that whatever had been inside of it was now inside of me. I stumbled back and pressed my hand against the sharp pain it had left behind.

“What did you do to me?” I asked as I felt the drug spread warmth and stiffness through my blood, accelerating my exhaustion. I slipped in the snow and fell to my knees.

“I already told you,” he said as he tossed the needle aside and then stepped toward me. “You belong to us now.”

Notes

Okay, I'm so sorry it's taken so long to get this out. This story has been giving me hell. This is actually the third rewrite now. And so far the only thing that has remained the same is this chapter. :X

You may have noticed something first off. In my author's notes of the previous story I mentioned that I would have to make this story 3rd person. That was my plan initially and I got about 40 chapters written before I dashed that idea. I can't write Jo from 3rd person at all. I tried and it didn't work. I have to get inside her head in order to capture her character properly. The story was feeling very repetitive and boring. Jo's inner monologue was important for the first story, and it was lost on the second draft.

That brings me to a question. There are undoubtedly going to be parts of this story where Jo is incapable of offering the narration. I HATE switching the point of view in the middle of the story. But there's just no way I can get around that. If that's cool with everyone then let me know and I'll post a warning when those chapters go up. If not, then also let me know. But also be aware that important scenes will have to be removed in order to keep Jo talking continuously.

Also, second thing. This chapter takes place in the future. The next chapter jumps back to a few months after the last story ended and leads up to this. I was originally going to have the story jump through time every ten or so chapters, but it got too complicated and a lot of the chapters were unnecessary. I still have them and I might publish them in a blog or in a separate story later. But for the moment they've been removed.

So, being that this story is still unfinished, I can't guarantee regular updates just yet. But I have been working on it and I have been making a lot of progress. So I'm hoping posting the first chapter will motivate me to keep it going.

And here's the Bucky gif. His fall because of (hopefully) obvious reasons.



Also, another quick note. The epilogue of the last story was removed because that was part of the first draft that was scrapped.