The Beach
First sensation was the cold of water, moisture peeking through his combat suit, kissing back of his head and messing up his hair.
The second sensation was a groan, a groan leaving his body. It hurt. He tested a move but all the muscle response became a spasm of pain. His spine wished not to be shifted.
So he rested, in total stillness, still closing his eyes. His shady memory hadn't managed to gather necessary information. He could not remember who he was but he remembered an explosion, its blast so powerful that it blinded him and swept off his feet flying... apparently, to this very beach. Because it was a beach. He remembered.
„A beach..." He muttered through rough lips. It tasted with salt and blood.
Regaining more hearing powers, through a mild headache, a sound of waves delicately massaged his ears. It caused his mind to explode with pleasure. Orgasmic feeling poured down, from the neck to the wet back and further, through loins. Sounds of steady waves, like nothing he ever experienced...
A poke. Into his thigh. He gasped.
An exotic, hard-accented language reached his ears, breaking through calming waves. He couldn't stand it. He opened his eyes. It brought more pain. Foggy vision synchronized with voices of two Blacks standing above him, with visible curiosity and fear in their young eyes. They must had been teenagers. And one of them was holding a stick, a stick that kept on nagging him.
He muttered something, realizing that each and every muscle of his body aches and burns. The less interested boy backed off when his cold eyes pierced him, but the second one kept on messing with the stick, apparently happy that the strange man responds. Winter Soldier reached and stretched his metal arm, that glanced in the sun. This arm wasn't hurting. He clutched the stick in the steel grab. It cracked under the lightest touch he applied.
The soldier smiled with satisfaction. The boy flinched a bit, giggle was replaced with a confused grim.
A few hard-edged words flowed towards him, but his hazy mind couldn't comprehend. It hurt, lack of communication hurt. He sent the boys another intense glance, and it occurred to him. Their language, he never knew it or he... forgot...
„Arrrghhh!" That was his communication.
Both boys took two steps back when the alien, white man wriggled for a second on the wet sand. With full sensation of an arising agony, his breath rose quickly and fast, and his face flustered, in an unusual pink hue, that almost fascinated his watchers.
There was more blood to taste. He started panicking. Another gaze onto his only and random companions... he was afraid to die here, on this foreign beach.
„H- help..." It was not more than a stifled moan, almost unrecognizable among the noise of waves.
Metal arm went up and tried to reach them, until it fell to the humid beach, limp.
When he came back again, he tried to shift his body. Because of voices, so many voices, belonging to adults...
"Don't move."
This sound gave him a chill. A soft but deep female voice. A rugged accent.
He took a couple of shallow breaths, feeling fever building up in his forehead.
"It... it hurts." He replied roughly, voice braking down immediately into a gasp.
"Your back is completely broken, you spat with blood, yet you're still alive..." Said the voice. "You must be a demon..." There was some kind of a satisfactory insult in her tone.
A gentle hand rushed through his hair, apparently applying something on his head. Cold water kept on flushing under his neck. He murmured.
"We can't move you. You may die." Another touch, but on his chest." Why do you have a metal arm, demon?"
He growled, when his armor loosen up. "I'm... I'm not a demon..."
The metal arm... he couldn't remember.
"Show me your eyes." Demanded the woman, as she hadn't received an answer. "Show me if you have light in your eyes."