Author's Note: I'm not entirely sure why, but this was actually the chapter I've been most reluctant to write. Maybe because not much really happens in it; it feels like a very sluggish sort of chapter. But then...it needs to be, I think. I kept scribbling away at this in small little bursts over the space of a month or two, not really eager to just sit down and devote a huge chunk of time to it. Then I suddenly realized I'd amassed enough material to fill a whole chapter! I guess slow and steady does win the race sometimes ;)
This chapter takes place in Make Me Whole chapter 16, "Age of Ultron."
I've had so many words
But I had no courage
Now we're saying goodbye
Don't want to miss you, tonight
...
Don't be shocked if I cry
You've changed me inside
I turned my back on you
You were the only reason I pulled through
I pulled through
Tell me it's not over now
I can change your mind somehow
My head feels so heavy
My heart is so empty
- "Give It All" by He Is We
requested by Unajet on FFNet
Winter stood on the front steps of the cabin, watching until the car disappeared around a bend in the road and the sound of the engine faded into the distance. He stood there, listening to the breeze rustling in the trees all around him. Birds sang overhead. Something went shuffling through the underbrush. A beetle buzzed angrily against one of the front windows.
Somehow, life went on. Even after the core of his whole world had left him behind.
Just then, his new phone buzzed in his pocket. He fished it out and opened the text that he'd just received. It was from Steve, of course—he only had two numbers on his contact list, after all.
Miss you already! We'll be back as soon as we can. :)
The words blurred, but Winter kept staring down at his phone till the screen turned black. He took a shaky breath and blinked his eyes clear...then the phone vibrated again in his hand, making him jump.
Sam says that if you eat one of his 29 Oreos while he's gone, he'll kill you in your sleep.
A snort of unexpected laughter escaped him. Had Sam actually counted them? Winter went back inside, distracted for the moment.
Sure enough, the package of Oreos on Sam's shelf in the pantry contained exactly 29 cookies. Winter smirked to himself, then went to pour himself a glass of milk. He could easily remember the first time he'd eaten Oreos since leaving Hydra.
"Hey, fellas," Steve said, walking through the front door with an insane number of shopping bags in his hands. "I picked up some Oreos, you want some?"
"You mean they had Oreos back in the Dark Ages?" Sam said, taking a couple bags off Steve's hands and rummaging through them. He produced a gallon of milk and the bright blue package of cookies.
"Ah-ah-ah!" Steve slapped Sam's hand before he could open the package. "No Oreos unless you help me put everything else away first! And Winter, go put on your bandanna—you've gotta try one!"
"So bossy," Sam moaned, dragging his feet as he picked up the bags again and trudged over to the refrigerator.
"Yeah, you'd think I was a captain in the Army or something."
"Ha. Ha."
Winter smiled to himself. He could hear their voices almost as clearly as if they were in the room with him. And an echo of their warmth seemed to hang around the empty kitchen.
"What. Are you doing?"
"No, no, I actually remember this." Winter carefully peeled the little circle of cream off the chocolate cookie and added it to the neat stack on his plate. "This is how you eat Oreos."
"Yeah—if you're a barbarian." Sam pointedly licked the cream off an Oreo, then dunked the chocolate cookie in his glass of milk, never breaking eye contact.
"Says the man dripping milk down his shirt like a toddler," Winter retorted, then laughed when Sam looked down in alarm only to find that his shirt was perfectly clean.
"Oh, because that's real mature," Sam grumbled.
Steve walked past the table, snagged an Oreo from the package, and ate it whole. The others stared after him, scandalized.
Winter had already put on his bandanna and returned to the kitchen when he realized there was no one around to see his face. He didn't really need to keep wearing it when the others weren't there...but...he wasn't ready for that yet. It was just easier to continue as he had been.
Returning his attention to the Oreos, Winter felt the smirk returning to his face. He poured himself a glass of milk, set a plate next to it, then selected one of Sam's precious cookies. He picked one that was intact, not broken or crumbly, and placed it in the middle of the plate. Then he pulled out his phone and snapped a photo of it, sending it to the group chat Sam had set up for the three of them.
Snickering to himself, Winter carefully pulled apart the Oreo, peeled off the disc of cream, and placed the three pieces in a row on the plate, then took another photo.
Winter sent a series of photos to Sam, showing a bite-by-bite destruction of the cookie. Finally, after sending a photo of nothing more than crumbs littering the plate, he got a text back from Steve.
Sam says that your death will be slow and painful.
Winter just laughed and started brainstorming creative photos he could take of the remaining 28 Oreos in the package.
With so much on his mind, he barely noticed the hours rolling by.
The first day or two weren't so bad. The novelty of having the whole cabin to himself kept things interesting. He kept up with the chores, which took much more time to get done now that he was the only one there. He tried out some new recipes that looked interesting, and sent pictures of the results to the others. On the second day, feeling very brave, he pulled all the curtains closed, double-checked all the locks, and sat carefully facing a corner where no one could possibly see his face at first glance...and he ate without his mask or bandanna.
But as the days dragged on and on, Winter found himself growing increasingly bored. Sure, there were plenty of things he could do on his own, a lot of the same things he'd been doing with the others. The bookshelves were well-stocked, there were hundreds of channels to choose from on TV, and the internet was an endless source of distraction. He could try making new things in the kitchen to surprise the others when they got back. He could go running or riding the motorcycle, at least after dark or when the roads were empty enough that no one would notice his mask.
But after he'd flicked through all the channels, played his tenth level of Candy Crush in a row, and flipped through a stack of books without taking a word in, he flopped onto his back on the couch and admitted the truth: Being on his own was boring.
It wasn't that there was nothing to do, it was just...why bother? Sam wasn't around to tease him. Steve wasn't there to smile at him. He couldn't even sit there and listen to the others' conversation if he couldn't think of anything to say himself. Even just sitting and listening to them breathe while they slept would be preferable to this empty nothing.
Funny. Only a few months ago, peace and quiet were things he'd barely ever experienced. Hydra had never left him alone for more than a minute or two, and even then he was usually under some kind of surveillance. Back then, the thought of lounging around alone, able to choose for himself how he spent every minute of the day without consulting anyone, wouldn't even have entered his wildest dreams. Now it was boring.
The difference was that he had friends now. Winter stared up at the exposed rafters on the ceiling and thought about that. It had been seventy years since he'd gone so long without speaking to or even seeing another living soul. Time in cryo didn't count. As he thought about it, he realized this might even be the first time he'd ever gone so long without seeing someone. Before, there always would have been guards. Fellow soldiers, even if he didn't know them. Strangers on the street.
But now...this isolation made him feel like he was standing in the middle of a dark forest, without even the moon to light his way. He just wanted to go home.
No, he wasn't just bored. He was lonely.
Oh, boohoo. I'm lonely after three days because I'm just that pathetic.
The mocking voice echoed in his head. With a growl, Winter grabbed the remote from the coffee table and switched the TV on, turning the volume up as far as it would go.
"IN OTHER NEWS—" the reporter on the screen blared, so loudly Winter could feel his chest vibrating.
You're so dependent on them. Like a parasite. I bet they were relieved to find an excuse to not have to put up with you anymore.
But then the words Captain America blasted into Winter's ears, and he bolted upright, forgetting all about the voice in his head. He turned down the volume a little so it wouldn't hurt his ears.
"—the first definite sighting in six weeks, though Captain Rogers has still made no official statement at this time. It seems that questions as to his whereabouts for the past nine months, as well as his alleged involvement with several terrorist attacks around the country, remain unanswered."
Winter stared at the screen, where they were playing some old footage from some battle Steve had been in. Not from the war—the picture was in color—but Winter didn't know the circumstances behind it. He hoped he wasn't the cause of the exhausted, harried look on Steve's face.
Even though Steve wasn't looking at him or smiling that gentle smile (he was talking to a police officer in a manner Winter instantly recognized as his 'Captain America' stance that made most people scurry to follow his orders), seeing him on TV was almost as reassuring as having him here. He didn't like the insinuations the news anchor was casually throwing around, almost making it sound like Steve had been responsible for Crossbones' atrocities, but Winter knew the truth. He could see, even in this old footage, that Steve was running himself ragged to protect people. To do what was right. To save people who couldn't save themselves.
People like him.
Winter continued watching to the end of the story, letting his mind wander when the commercials started up again. Steve was out there somewhere, trying to track down a deadly artifact that was probably in Hydra's clutches...and what was he doing? Sitting around, safe and snug in this cabin, feeling bored.
And you want them to come back, the voice in the back of his mind sneered, now that he had little to distract him. You want to take them away from what they really want to be doing—what they really need to be doing. So selfish. So needy. You're pathetic.
Winter knew he shouldn't listen to anything the voice said. But it was so hard not to when everything it said was true.
Winter lay in bed. He'd slept for...how long? Too long. Longer than was probably healthy. He wasn't sleeping now, but he didn't get up.
What was the point? He wasn't hungry. He didn't feel like doing anything. There was no reason to do anything. And nothing to look forward to.
The voice was actually leaving him alone for once. It knew that this cold, empty silence was punishment enough. He couldn't even distract himself with self-hatred. And it seemed that when the mocking, accusing voice of his own personal monster stayed quiet, he couldn't hear the voice that sounded like Steve either.
How many days had it been? Four? Five? Twenty-five?
Did it matter? Did anything matter? Probably not.
It was his bladder that finally got him out of bed. He lay there for twenty minutes before he finally managed to convince himself it would be preferable not to wet the bed, then another ten minutes to laboriously push back the covers, heave himself to his feet, and shuffle next door to the bathroom.
As he slowly saw to his body's needs, Winter dimly remembered those first few days with the others, clouded with the haze of withdrawal. He'd been so sick with the fever and headaches, so paralyzed with fear and distrust, that he hadn't been able to take care of himself at all. He hadn't even been able to recognize the signals his own body was sending him, after so many years of having every need seen to by someone else.
He remembered feeling moisture running down his legs, followed by a burning, sickening mortification as he waited for the others to mock him, laugh at him, or cry out in disgust and beat him like an animal for causing them even more trouble.
But he also remembered them supporting his weight with gentle hands, helping him hobble into the bathroom. He remembered them speaking to him kindly, as if a grown man wetting the bed were an everyday occurrence, not a source of deep shame.
"Oh... Sam, could you give me a hand here? No, no, you don't have to apologize, Winter. Now, I'm going to touch your hand and your shoulder and help you sit up, then we'll see if we can go into the bathroom and get you cleaned up, okay?"
They were always like that, Winter mused as he shuffled back into his room. Cleaning up his messes, helping him out of the pathetic problems he made for himself. And they didn't complain or look down on him, just offered their strength.
He picked up his phone to check the time before returning to bed, but discovered his phone had died. He plugged it in again and waited for it to power up, staring vacantly out the window. Suddenly the phone started vibrating with all the notifications waiting for him. He looked down in surprise. Three missed calls and over ten texts...
Winter played one of the voicemails, and immediately his ears rang with Steve's familiar voice.
"Hey, Winter, guess you don't have your phone with you right now. Listen, I just wanted to let you know that we've run into a dead end here, so Sam and I are headed your way tomorrow. I'll let you know once we work out the details. Okay, bye."
Heart pounding, Winter checked the timestamp on the voicemail. It had been sent last night. He hastily tapped on the second one.
"Good morning, Winter!" Steve's voice was cheerful, but a note of concern had entered it now. "Hope you're doing okay. I haven't heard back from you yet, but we'll be home soon. Okay, guess we'll talk then."
The third voicemail was from Sam. It sounded like he was in some crowded place. "Yo, Winter!" he said, sounding like he was trying to keep his voice down so someone wouldn't hear. "I don't know what's going on, man, but Steve's doing that thing where he pretends that he's not worried but it's totally obvious anyway. He's checking his phone every five minutes... Anyway, we're about to get on the plane, but send him a text or something when you get a chance, okay? See you soon."
Winter hastily opened the string of text messages, all of which were from Steve. First he'd sent their flight details and the time they estimated getting back to the cabin. Then, every few hours he'd sent a short message, starting with things like Miss you! and Can't wait to see you! But even in those simple bits of text, Winter could hear the worry Sam had talked about.
Are you okay?
It's just that you've been really quiet.
I'm probably just being paranoid.
Sorry, just tell me if I'm being annoying and I'll stop.
The last text read, We're on the plane now. Please just let me know when you get this?
Winter hurriedly sent a text to both of them: Really really sorry, didn't realize my phone died. I'm so glad you're coming home!
He barely had to wait a minute before Sam responded. He lives! \o/
Steve's text came only a few seconds later. We just landed in Denver. Should be there in time for lunch!
Winter looked up from his phone and suddenly became aware of the sunlight streaming through the window, glowing on the rug by his bed. In that moment, he forgot his listless apathy. There was no time to mope around in his bed! He had to get a shower, tidy up the cabin, wash those dishes that had been piling up in the sink...
Winter realized he was smiling. His brothers were coming home.
The intense relief and joy of seeing Steve and Sam again only made the prospect of the next goodbye more unbearable than it had been the first time. Winter knew now what he had to look forward to. He knew what it would be like, to sit around this empty house with only an occasional text and the voice in his head to break the monotony.
He stood on the front steps, hugging Steve with all his might, and he didn't want to let go. He couldn't let go. He knew exactly why Steve and Sam were leaving, and he knew the world needed their help, but everything within him screamed that this was wrong.
He should be going with them. He needed to be there, in case things went south as drastically as they had with Crossbones. What if someone else wounded them that badly, and he wasn't there to protect them?
So if they died...it would be because he cared more about keeping his secret than keeping them safe. He was so selfish. Even now...holding Steve, knowing this might be their last farewell, he was too scared to tell him the truth.
He hated himself.
A murmur in his ear broke the chain of his thoughts. "I'm sorry, Winter...but I have to go."
Just look at him—clinging to Steve like a greedy little child. He couldn't even let Steve go save countless thousands of people without throwing a tantrum. But the loneliness of the days ahead crashed over him already, and it was all he could think about. "What will I do if...you don't come back this time?"
It's what you deserve, the voice in the back of his head whispered, daring to appear now that Steve was nearly gone. If you hate yourself for how you're acting, imagine how disgusted he must be. All you ever think of is yourself. I hope he dies out there. I hope he dies never knowing who you really are.
"Hey," Steve said, his hand rubbing soothing circles into Winter's back, "I promised you I would. Don't you believe me?"
"Yeah...but what if something happens? What if I...n-never..." What if I never get a chance to show you what's under my mask? What if I never tell you the truth? What if you die, and I'm still such a coward that you never found out I'm still alive? The words caught in his throat, tangled up with the vicious attacks of that voice.
Steve put his hands on Winter's shoulders and pushed gently. Winter thought he was trying to get away, but he stopped when their faces were inches apart, just far enough so they could look each other in the eye. "You've changed me, Winter. I'm not the way I used to be. And that means I carry a little piece of you with me wherever I go. It's not the same as being with you for real, but...sometimes it's almost like you're still there. I hope it's a little like that for you too."
Winter looked deep into his eyes, as gentle and warm as ever. I don't hate you, they seemed to say. No matter what you tell yourself, I don't hate you. It's going to be okay. We'll see each other soon.
He nodded, letting Steve step back and slip from his arms. "Winter!" Steve called as he got into the car. "We'll be back before you know it!"
Winter stood there as they drove away, but he couldn't watch. His heart was a ball of lead sinking to his toes.
Will you forget me forever?
How long will you hide your face from me?
How long must I take counsel in my soul
and have sorrow in my heart all the day?
How long shall my enemy be exalted over me?
Consider and answer me...
lest I sleep the sleep of death,
lest my enemy say, "I have prevailed over him,"
lest my foes rejoice because I am shaken.
- Psalm 13:1-4