Winter's Touch

Winter's Touch; Chapter Five

Five; Revelations.

{A Winter Soldier Fic}

He turned down a stretch of road that elbowed off of the interstate and back down into a small winding path, surrounded by trees. You didn't bother telling him about your dream. Nightmare, you corrected yourself. It was just too complicated and might make him more hostile. Forget it.

The road led to another small town in the middle of large, long forests and tall, towering mountains. If it wasn't for the mission you were on, you would've asked for him to pull over politely, so you could take pictures. With what phone? You thought. You'd left it in the parking garage when he attacked you. You turned your head and looked over at him. All of a sudden you felt sorry for him. Had those people done this to him? Gave him scars from torment? Ripped off his arm and thrown a new one on so they could mark him their property? The more you thought on it, the more you became confused and aching. Strange and unheard of possibilities floated around in your head. The one that just so happened to float around at this moment was the most terrifying of all. Was your dream just a trick of the mind? Was Wyatt Irving truly innocent? If so, you were bringing him his death. Your conscience began to weigh on you, making you feel guilty and disgusted with yourself. You watched in horror as he drove down another winding road towards the woods and up into the mountains. You knew he was getting closer to his target, and you were the one that was leading him there. You needed answers. It was all so confusing and terrifying, your mouth forgot its place.

"What's HYDRA?" You lurched forward, caught by your seatbelt as the car came to a screeching halt and a pistol was aimed between your eyes. Immediately you close them, and wait for the worst. You can hear heavy breathing and the click of the gun cocking, which makes you jump and whimper. Your eyes betray you and you open them-staring into his own, past the weapon and his hand and see his nose wrinkle up in anger. You move to apologize, but he presses the muzzle to your head-like he had been done to in your dream.

"Don't speak." The anger rose in his voice and his face became distorted in fury. "Don't move. Don't.... Don't do anything. Because if you do, I will shoot you." You gulped, your mouth dry and your tongue cracking. You didn't nod in agreement, thinking he might take that as movement. The only way you moved was to breathe-your chest aching to let out the long ragged breath it was holding back. You still needed to know if the man you were helping him seek out was innocent, and that you weren't aiding a murderer. So you lifted your courage and parted your lips, knowing that whatever you did now may be the very last thing you ever do. Isn't everything?

"Is Wyatt Irving innocent." It was more of a statement than a question. He pressed the opening of the barrel further into your face, and it almost hurt, when he pulled back a bit. But he still didn't put the gun down. You heard him let out a short scoff before he leaned in further to intimidate you.

"Wyatt Irving is responsible for the murder of thousands, and the attempted murder of millions. He forced his brainwashed soldiers and mercenaries to take out innocent people. He is in no way innocent." He finished through what you could tell were gritted teeth. You were confused. When? How? Where? But then piece by piece everything started to come together. You thought back to the events of last year in Washington. All that chaos and destruction. And then it struck you like a derailed train. All of those people killed and hurt, all of the lives destroyed-it was done by HYDRA, whoever they were, and they used someone else to do it. And you were sitting right in front of him. Your eyes widened and your palms became sweaty on the seat.

"You're the Winter Soldier." You yelped as, immediately he brought the gun down to your chest and pressed it into your sternum. He growled through his mask at you, and you pressed farther back into the door.

"Don't call me that." He said more quietly, and turned his eyes away from you. He was ashamed. You sat there, feeling sorry for him again. So to get yourself away from the gun, you tried to calm the fire sitting next to you.

Carefully, you moved around so you could be more comfortable and make it easier to talk to him-in an attempt to save your life. You started off slowly, as if not to provoke a wolf with a stick.

"It's not your fault." You said quietly, still holding up your hands in defense. "It's alri-"

"Shut up." He said in a low growl, but you could tell behind the animal you heard he was holding back any other emotion than anger. But despite his warning, you kept going.

"Okay, I'm sorry. But it really isn't your fault. They used you, and you were to blame for countless years of their crimes." You could hear him whispering it under his breath, again and again. Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. But still, you pressed forward. The only way out was forward.

"You had no choic-" He moved his arm about six inches to the right and sent a bullet into the back of the seat. In a panic, you moved your hand up to your arm and pulled it away again. Bloody. He had grazed you. It stung with pain and you held your hand over it gently, looking up at him with tears welling up in your eyes. Don't cry. You thought. Be angry with him. You should be.

He stared at you as he threw the gun up on the dash and pressed the gas-looking back out onto the road with fire in his eyes and rage on his face that would scare the devil away. You were quiet and receded the rest of the drive until a hotel began to pass on the side of the road. You spoke in a small, fearful voice and asked him if he could pull over. To your surprise, he listened and pulled up to the inn and got out, without rage, without annoyance, and disappeared to get a room key.

He came back a few minutes later and unlocked the room, but just stood there. He turned to the car and you saw him staring at you. When you hesitated, he gestured for you to enter. You quietly got out of the car and said nothing as you entered the room in front of him. Again, there was only one bed but he made no complaint. Closing the door and moving over to the couch, he sat down on it and propped his feet up on the table before it, tilting his head back and watching you. You silently watched him as well and laid down on the bed, turning away from him like you had before. It seemed like hours before you fell asleep, and even then you woke up shortly after you'd dozed off. The last time you woke up from a restless nap, it was 5:21 and starting to lighten up outside.

You moved to get up slowly, not to irritate your arm, but found no pain. You reached up to feel it but the burned and clipped skin was guarded by clean white bandages, except for one tiny little red spot of blood. You looked around and saw nothing, but jumped back down on the bed and feigned sleep when the doorknob rattled and turned. You heard someone walk in and peeked out to see him carrying two brown bags in his hands. You smelled food and your stomach grumbled, making you realize how long you'd been without something in your stomach. You winced. You had hoped he hadn't heard that, but when he set the bags down on the kitchen table and took a seat at it, he looked over at you and raised a brow.

"If you're gonna try and fake it around me, you might wanna step up your game." He said, tapping the chair across from him with his foot.