This was my entry for last July's Camp Nanowrimo. It is complete and is finally up for being posted. Loosely based on the set images posted for Captain America 2, it delves into the past with Black Widow and Winter Soldier, while the Avengers search for the soviet assassin.
I hope you like it.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Avengers and no profit is being made from this piece of work.
Occasionally he had flashes: flashes of a scrawny young man that he called his friend; flashes of girls who were laughing and throwing themselves at his feet and flashes of red, white and blue. He wasn't sure of the meaning behind those flashes but he didn't let them bother him.
At least, he tried. But some nights he just couldn't let those flashes go.
Waking up in a cold sweat, his chest heaving as he gasped to catch his breath, taking in huge gulps of air as his body shook. His head snapped to the left as a flash of light caught his eyes. He visibly relaxed as he realised it was just the light creeping in the window reflecting off of his metal limb.
It was still dark outside but the moon was bright enough to light up his surroundings. Not that the dingy motel room was anything to look at, but the light was nice to try and relax himself after the nightmare he had just had.
Nightmares were commonplace in his world. He didn't usually question them either, having accepted his mysterious past a long time ago. Tonight was different however as he had never seen any of those images before.
Red, white and blue was the enemy. Why was he dreaming of the enemy?
And then there was that girl. The one with flaming red hair that rolled down her back in curls. The locks weren't ginger; no they were red like blood. And in the image he had of her in his mind, her hands were dripping red as she cried for help.
But who was she and what significance did she have to him? He didn't know and he wished he did but that was a wish that James Barnes couldn't make happen over night.
He got up from where he was sat perched on the end of the double bed. He had gone all out on this room that was for sure. Cockroaches, a broken shower and a double bed, what more could a guy ask for? Rolling his eyes at the thought, he made his way to the liquor cabinet, which was well stocked. His choice was a bottle of vodka; only the best Russia had to offer. As a Russian he refused to drink anything less.
The fact that he couldn't get drunk only gave him an even greater incentive to drink the entire bottle. He ignored the burn that scorched his throat. He could take it. You couldn't have pleasure without a little pain after all.
Just closing his eyes took him back to the events that had brought him to this run down motel in the middle of the Russian wilderness. It wasn't as though James wished to remember those god awful moments that had lead to this point, but sometimes he just had to give in and let them consume them in order to make any sense whatsoever of what had actually happened.
He just couldn't stop thinking of the redhead.
Her face was familiar but he couldn't quite place it. It was as though she was buried somewhere in his memories, the section of his memories that was cordoned off: there was a dark place in his mind and he just couldn't access it, no matter how hard he tried and no matter how much he wanted to. It was unfortunate but he assumed that those memories and the information stored in those shadows was hidden for a very good reason. Who was he to break open his own mind?
Only that was exactly what was happening. He was beginning to feel like a different person and James couldn't work it out. It was as though he had been drowning before and now that he had resurfaced he was changing and evolving into someone else. He didn't feel like the James he had always been. He wasn't sure of whom he was now feeling like; it was a completely alien being. Almost as though someone had taken him out and stuffed someone else into his head.
The dark room was sparse and utilitarian at best. There was a cracked full length mirror on the wall and James stood in front of it, just glancing over himself. His metal arm was there, the good old faithful limb that he really couldn't live without. The advanced prosthetic was the only constant in his life and he was glad for the comfort it gave him. Being a person who was remade over and over again by his commanding officers meant that constants weren't an option for him, but the limb had always been there, complete with its red star, his badge of honour. He wore the star almost as proudly as he wore his title. Not everyone could be crowned 'The Winter Soldier', but he had definitely earned it.
He had served his country for decades and he was proud. He would die for the Motherland.
Or would he?
And there she was again, that cursed redhead with her beautiful long hair and those piercing green eyes, her skin as pale as the snow that blanketed the country most of the year. Whoever she was, he was important to him. Though for what reason he had no idea.
There was something drawing him to her and he was damn well sure he was going to find her and find out why he had this fixation on her. It wasn't a sudden fixation either, no. It had been going on for weeks.
Grabbing one of the newspapers that he had swiped from the front desk, James flicked through it almost absentmindedly until a photograph made him stop. He stared, his dark eyes almost glaring at the image on the paper.
It was her. The mystery redhead and a group of people fighting armed soldiers in the middle of some American city. The thought of her being an enemy made nausea rise in his throat. How dare he have such a fixation with an American!
But he must have known her. Maybe she would be able to help him figure out why he was feeling so broken. He had to find her. He packed his few belongings that night, as well as the newspaper, and before he knew it he was walking away from the motel, the building burning to ashes behind him. The only clue he had was the name of her location, printed in the newspaper: Washington D.C.
Let me know what you think! Chapter 2 will be up soon.