Here we go. Things are only going to get worse from here.
Tiphanie: I'm so glad you like it! And if you think it's morbid already, you have no idea what's coming. I hate it when people romanticize him. I mean, it's one thing if he's escaped HYDRA and is trying to get his memories back. But not many people do him before that. When he was still a mindless soldier carrying out HYDRA's orders without question. At that point, there would be no romanticizing him. He's a soldier. He's going to be violent and rough and he's not going to care. He's there to carry out his mission and that's it. I'm so glad you love it! I've always wanted to explore the Winter Soldier, pre-movie. And this is my shot to do that, and be ridiculously morbid at the same time!
chiarigirl: Aww thanks hon! I'm glad you like it!
Enjoy!
We drove all day, never stopping once. I wondered if he ever got hungry, or had to use the bathroom. From what I'd seen, I wasn't entirely sure he was even human. He'd murdered an innocent man, a police officer without blinking. Not showing any signs of guilt, or remorse. Granted, I couldn't see his face, but he was hard set on the road, barely turning his head at all. I was terrified, still in shock from what I'd witnessed as I sat not five feet from him, tied up in a van, heading back to D.C, to my crazy father. I knew I had to get away, but I didn't know how. He was like the Terminator, and I was a measly, weak girl.
I knew he'd have to ditch the van eventually. The police would find the body eventually, and they'd see the van license plate on the officer's camera, and then they'd put an APB out and they'd be on our tail in no time. The nearest town was forty miles away, giving me just enough time to figure out a plan.
He stayed out of the main part of town, sticking to back roads to try to remain unseen. He pulled over on the side of the road, turning to me, making sure I was secure before getting out of the van. He disappeared, leaving me in the middle of nowhere. Maybe it was a test. Would I escape? Would I try to run? I tried to move my hands, maneuver them so I could possibly slip out, but my injured shoulder was making this much harder.
I gave up, stilling as I took a moment to breathe. I had managed to break into my father's office, which he kept under lock and key, hack into his computer, and find a confidential file, which suddenly made me wanted my an ex-Nazi group. And put me in this current situation. Maybe it would have been better if I hadn't run. I at least wouldn't have a dislocated shoulder, a concussion, a black eye, a bruised cheek, or a cut up lip. Or, at least I thought I wouldn't.
My dad had never hit me. Sure, he could get aggressive. Passionate. That's what he'd called it. I called it overly aggressive. But he had never laid a hand on me, or my sister. But verbally...all my childhood I heard: 'why are you such a baby?' 'Don't be so weak, Olivia.' 'Suck it up, Libby.' Sure, he'd comfort me when I cried for a while, but if I cried too long, he'd call me names, tell me to grow up. Grown ups didn't cry when they scraped their knee.
I suddenly felt afraid of what was waiting for me when I got back to D.C. Would he take me back to my father? Or would he turn me over to HYDRA? Put me at the mercy of ex-Nazis. I suddenly felt safer with the machine of a man who kidnapped me off the street. Who had beat me up, kept me in a warehouse for god knows how long. Wait-no Stockholm Syndrome, Libby. This isn't Beauty and the Beast. This was real. And this monster, wasn't afraid to kill.
It was dark by the time he came back, a car pulling up behind the van with the headlights off. I could hear his boots in the gravel as he moved around the van, opening the back doors to pull something out before moving them to the car. I couldn't see him in the dark. He was nothing more than a ghost in his black uniform. But I supposed that was the idea. Why he wore a mask and goggles, even at night.
The side door slid open and he reached in, snapping the zip tie like it was nothing. He pulled the duct tape from my mouth, making me whimper. He unbuckled me, pulling me from the van. His hand wrapped around my arm, the injured one of course, pulling me towards the black car. Don't be so weak, Olivia. My father's voice echoed in my head. Suck it up, Libby, Yeah, Libby. Put on your big girl panties.
I swung my free fist, hitting him in the side of the head. He barely moved, but my blood was pumping too fast to even notice. I kneed him in the stomach, and he hunched just slightly, but his grip never wavered. I twisted, threw punches, fought him, screaming. I wasn't going down without a fight on this one. I finally caught him in the jaw, his mask falling off. He turned away, finally releasing me. I ran to the car, jumping in the driver's seat, grabbing the wires, ready to jump start it, but he moved unlike anything I had seen before. He nearly tore the door off the car, reaching in and grabbing me, throwing me to the road. I landed on the other side of the road from him, gravel digging into my skin as I landed, sliding to a stop. My shoulder was on fire, probably dislocated again. I laid there, watching him from the opposite side of the road.
He stood there, still, just watching me. His mask was back on, and I could feel his glare from where I laid. I had done it now. Way to go, Libby. You weren't dead before, but you are now. I half expected him to pull out his gun, just shoot me there. But he didn't. I rolled over, taking the pressure off my shoulder. My arm was on fire, skin pulled back and bleeding where I'd slid across the gravel. Rocks were stuck in my arm, making me wince as I tried to brush them off. I could hear him approaching me, but I didn't want to see him. I didn't want to be here. I wanted to be home, in bed with a book and some tea. Why had I gone snooping? Snooping only leads to trouble. And I was in deep.
His hand wrapped around my arm, yanking me to my feet. I screamed as it popped again, and I was sure he had ripped it off. I fell forward against his chest, his solid, hard chest. He was wall of muscle, solid, built to fight, and not to lose. The top of my head barely cleared his shoulder, and he was twice as wide as I was. I was up against this machine, this monster. I was so stupid, thinking I could stand a chance against him.
He pulled me over to the van, his hand wrapping around my neck before he slammed me against the side. Stars erupted in my vision as my head collided with the metal, a loud banging echoing through the fields around us. I whimpered. Who was I kidding? I was a baby. I was weak. I cried then, letting it all out. Tears spilled down my face as I kept my eyes closed, wanting this all to be a dream. His grip on me didn't waver though. And I wasn't waking up.
He tightened his hold, my eyes flying open as my airway constricted. Maybe this was how he was going to do it. Choke me out, then take my bruised, beaten body back to my dad. Maybe my dad was paying him based on how many bruises I came back with. Bonus for broken bones.
I gripped his wrist with my good arm, my left not moving no matter how hard I tried to lift it. Maybe he had ripped it off. My hand closed around his wrist, waiting to feel flesh, bone as I squeezed, but his wrist was hard. There was no give to it. No muscle. Just...hard, solid-metal? I had slipped my hand under his jacket sleeve, shocked at the cold underneath. My hand went up further towards his bicep as my vision swam from a lack of oxygen. There was no endpoint, no place where metal met flesh. His entire arm was metal. Oh, that explained so much. He was a machine. Did he think on his own? Or did he have someone controlling his every move? Was that why he had his eyes covered? So the people controlling him could watch? Were they looking at me right now, all bruised, purple faced, crying like a baby? Had they seen everything?
The dots in my vision got bigger as his hand tightened just slightly, the metal under my hand shifting just seconds before I passed out, finally giving in.
The Winter Soldier finally let her go when she went limp in his grip. She crumpled to the ground and he stared down at her for a moment. She really was weak. His handler had told him she would put up a fight, but it wasn't anything he couldn't handle, and his handler was right. He could have broken her in half easily. But she was supposed to come back alive. They didn't care what state she came back in, his handler telling him to roughen her up just enough that she'd break. She was headstrong, though. She was still trying to escape him, even after what he'd done to her. But maybe, he thought, she was finally breaking. They still had a good fifteen hour drive back to their extraction point, and he'd have to stop and restock supplies, and switch cars again. He still had time.
But when she'd turned on him, there was something he saw in her face. Determination? Anger? Something had shifted in her, and she hadn't cared that her punches were nothing to him, he could barely feel them through the armor. She'd kneed him pretty good, but it barely knocked the wind out of him. It was the first time she'd fought him. What had changed?
He steeled himself. He wasn't supposed to ask questions. He was supposed to retrieve the girl, and take her to the extraction point alive. That was his mission. She was his mission.
He picked her up, her body weighing next to nothing to him as he half dragged her to the trunk of the car. He was tired of her already, and she'd almost revealed his identity. He was just a little mad still. So, he put her in the trunk, not bothering to tie her up. He'd completely separated her shoulder when he'd grabbed her a second time, meaning she only had one arm she could use. She'd hit her head pretty hard against the van, probably aggravating her concussion, meaning she'd probably be out of it for the rest of the trip. He'd need to get food and water again. He hadn't fed her since the day before. She was bound to get hungry again. And if he fed her, that was one last thing he needed to hear her complain about. She'd have to use the bathroom as well eventually. It was sixty miles to the next town on the back road, enough time for her to at least wake back up. No saying what state she'd be in. But if she was still unconscious, he had ways of waking her up.