I thrashed underneath the rubble, scrabbling with my left arm, my lungs screaming for air as I inhaled the dust and dirt. Black dots swam in front of my eyes, and colors exploded like so many fireworks in my head. Finally, my hands broke through, and I pushed the boulders away, flinching as bits and pieces rained down on my face and eyes. I pulled myself free, coughing and heaving, stumbling to my knees and falling forward on my hands.
The explosion.
No.
I looked up, blinked grit out of my watering eyes. I could see the dented red metal of my opponent as he stood by, staring down at something to his right. I following his gaze, and caught sight of a boot.
No.
I lurched to my feet, trying to call to him, but my throat was dry and filled with dust. I stumbled again, coughing violently. I regained my balance and quickly made my way to him, my leg spiking up in pain, heart beating like an engine out of control. I ripped the chucks of stone and mortar off his crumpled body, wincing at the blood on each piece. His face was still intact, covered in a shade of deep red and black. I lifted him and carried him free, laying him down and feeling for a pulse. I found none.
No.
I looked at his face. His eyes were frozen open in a stare of shock, of loss, of betrayal. I leaned in a put my ear next to his mouth. I waited. I waited for a breath.
I felt none.
"No, no, no." I was muttering like a man gone mad. I lost feeling in my hands, and my stomach churned. I ripped at his collar, trying to get to his chest. It wouldn't do any good, but I felt helpless. I needed to try.
I pumped at his chest, frantically, muttering all the while.
"No, no, no. Oh God, please, no."
I plugged his nose and breathed for him; one breath, two breaths, pumping his chest again. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight. Plug, breathe; one, two. Pump; one, two, three… Plug, breathe, pump, plug, breathe, pump, repeat; one, two, three…
I kept it up, for what seemed like hours, breathing, pumping, breathing. I was screaming at him, but it only came out as a hoarse word of denial, repeated with each thrust of my hands. I kept it up until I could barely breath, and I slumped down, placing my head on his battered chest and gasping for air, for life.
No, he can't go. I just got him back.
I grabbed my head in my hands, so hard I left bloody digs near my ears. I reached for his hand, so cold and lifeless now, and gripped it tightly, as I could warm him back to life. I sat like that for eternity.
So long I had forgotten that the enemy was still yet living.
I heard him say something, something low and full of regret and pain. All I heard was the voice of a murderer. I dropped his hand and whirled around at quickly as a cat, striking with my left fist, catching him on his armored jaw. He stumbled back, almost falling to his knee, but he stayed upright. He held his hands out toward me like he was calming a dog.
"I'm sorry!" he said.
I didn't hear, or at least I didn't care. I launched myself at him in flurry of blows, beating him back against a wall. He tried to plead to me, to say he never meant for that to happen. I didn't hear. I fixed my eyes on the glowing blue in the middle of his chest.
His power. His life. If I could take that…
"I never meant for this happen!" he shouted, his voice cracking.
I slammed him against the wall again, holding him down with my right arm and shoulder, while my left hand shot up, curling around the circle and digging in. I hear the metal giving way, the cracking of glass and the sparks of diffused wires. I needed this as penance. His heart for mine. As I prepared to rip it wholly from his armor, I said but one thing:
"Steve's dead."
The end.
A/N: Okay, I'm really sorry about this, but needed some feels, and this whole rumor that Steve's going to die scares the crap out of me, so I had to settle this for myself. It hurt to write this, but it's fun to watch people suffer, too, so... Sorry again! Please review! (Don't kill me though.)
IamMeWhoAreYou14