United we stand

Homecoming. Part II.

Chewing.

The first thing Helmut learns about the vibranium hand – it's a chewing thing, and you better roll your sleeves up or the fabric will get between the shifting plates. It took several shirts and a sleeve of his bathrobe to memorize this simple fact.

"What am I supposed to do, Victor?" With a phone cradled between his ear and shoulder, Helmut was trying to get back a long scrap of white fabric. Vibranium is a strong contender. On the other end of the line, Doom's laughter eases Zemo's suffering.

"There's plenty of time, what's the hurry, Mein Freund? I'm not going back until autumn, I think you can postpone your duty for a while. We're all just people, Helmut. You deserve some rest."

One little piece cracks and stays in his hand and the other part of the former sleeve disappears among the mocking mechanisms.

"Scheiße!"

Victor chuckles.

"You rarely use German, is everything that bad?"

"Unbelievable!"

In a few words he describes the circumstances which led him to the bathroom where in the empty bath, yet pretty warm, James was sitting motionless like a mountain, no reaction to anything done with him.

The vibranium arm 'wakes up' randomly, and the shifting panels always damage every unsmooth surface. Blankets, bedsheets, towels, and clothes suffered the most.

At the end of the short but passionate speech, Victor was dying of laughter.

"Mein Gott! Winter Soldier's killing your towels! A terrible murder!"

"Fick dich, Victor!"

***

Blue, dark blue. It's a blue room, like a night dome. Maybe, because it's past midnight outside. The thick blue curtains close them from the sights of the outer world.

They stay in the bed for a long, very long time, examining everything their sight can reach. Ceiling, a high ceiling, a local sky sprinkled with non-flashing constellations. Gemini, Orion, Canis Minoris, Eridanus, Hydrus. Lots of them.

Hydra.

Soft, dull light shines from above, probably, the source is under the bed.

Their body feels empty, longing for their return as if it's a place to come in and out. Muscles and bones, joints, and tendons harden with energy flows. Short, frequent impulses run along. They can feel now.

Cottony of a blanket, let it be hidden by the thin layer of a sheet; burnt incense, its curls of sweet smoke drift imperturbable, slowly. Watching floating white, transparent feathers of vapor is watching the essence of tranquility, of eternity, of calmness of a whole planet that's been drifting on the cosmic void for eons.

Hydra.

Stretching their right hand up reverberates along with the muscles, it's a tension of a contrabass tight string. It's buzzing in a low-pitch, their body vibrates. The skin of the visible part of the arm – from the back of their hand, lower (or is it upper direction?), along with their muscles, along the elbow, and further...there's a mark. It looks like a bolt of lightning left its kiss on his skin.

The same kisses are left over their naked torso. Probably, the sweat pants they have on hide similar prints.

They look interesting.

But the memory is still sleeping, they don't remember what it truly is.

Soldat, soldat, vernis na rodinu.