Steve Rogers wandered off. He wanted to black out, but the wounds over his flesh kept him conscious. Pain made you feel alive, he thought. And blood was slowly oozing, from the fresh cut on his left hand, leaving crimson tracks on the perfect ivory. So cold. He felt his legs numb now.
It was getting late.
So he stopped walking up the mountain, and decided to rest in a tall tree. Covering himself in an old blanket, for once, he let his guard down, and indulged in the softness which radiated a familiar aura of a long lost home. Believing the enemy would not attack under such weather, he finally let out the long-repressed sigh. The shattered memories flashed. He frowned, then let go. He would wait until the morning broke. Stretching himself a bit, he adjusted his position, held the shield tight, and dozed off.
There was no light when he woke. His whole body started to ache unbearably again once he opened his eyes only to see the darkness. And the ugly cut on his hand had inevitably worsened. The short break had achieved nothing. Not even a dream. Steve had hoped for dreams, or even nightmares, for weeks, despite knowing full well how dangerous they were in nature when you were at war.
He wanted to escape.
Guilt throttled him.
Steve reached for the bag he had been carefully protecting since he lost contact with the others. He had been trying his best to keep it in the best condition possible even amid the hardest fights. So it remained intact. Same as the day he took off. Cautiously he took a small bottle of ointment out, applied it, and put it back with discreet. The searing sore was alleviated at once. And he smiled a little as he remembered. The way that person grumbled when he helped him pack could always light him up.
Light. Yes, a light. He had one inside.
He heart wanted to turn it on desperately. But his mind immediately berated his recklessness, his stupid sentiments that might reveal his location to the enemy, ruining the mission he had been entrusted. He ran his fingers over the cold metal surface, on which the name of that person was beautifully emblazoned.
S-T-A-R-K.