(𝟮.𝟮) 𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐋𝐄𝐃𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐒 ➣ {𝕪•𝕓} ❘ [𝖇𝖑𝖆𝖈𝕶𝖜𝖎𝖉𝖔𝖜 𝖝 𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖊𝖗]

⧗ 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔯𝔱𝔜 𝔬𝔫𝔢 ❘ ɴᴏᴛ ɴᴏᴡ, ɴᴏᴛ ᴇᴠᴇʀ

━━━━━ 𝗙𝗟𝗔𝗦𝗛𝗕𝗔𝗖𝗞━━━━━

📍Rᥱᑯ Rooຕ Aᥴᥲᑯᥱຕყ, BᥱꙆᥲɾᥙ⳽, USSR

Age 16

Y/N was in front of the shooting range cardboard, maintaining the required distance. Behind her was her mother, Madam B and Hydra's prized possession, the Winter Soldier.

With a set look, she raised her gun and emptied out the six bullets in one go in full confidence. Though there was this feeling in her that one or two bullets may not have passed through the bullseye.

The Winter Soldier pressed a button on the controls on the wall; the shooting range cardboard shifted forward.

Y/N grimaced ever so lightly when she noticed that not one or two, but three out of six bullets hadn't made it through the bullseye.

"You know what that means, don't you Y/N?" Madam B glared down at her daughter, who huffed a quiet breath. 

Y/N followed her mother into the room where she would receive punishments whenever she failed her expectations.

☆°。• *₊°。✮。• *₊°。°☆

Y/N sat in the locker room with her back resting on the wall. Yelena was right beside her, her blonde hair tied up in an intricate French braid and twisted into a bun. She went through her sling bag with a determined expression.

The blonde had been waiting for Y/N to walk out of the room so that they could spend some time alone together, but her heart dropped to her stomach when she noticed Y/N limp out of the door, eyes brimmed with tears of pain that were contrast to her clenched jaw and stone-cold expression.

Yelena pulled out an alcohol bottle that she had sneaked from the clinic and poured it on the bloody wound on Y/N's forearm and cleaned out the dried blood, causing her to hiss out in pain and let out a choked breath.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," the blonde apologized, resting her forehead on Y/N's temple and pressed a chaste kiss of comfort to her cheek.

Y/N sniffed sharply, the pain on her arm and the butterflies in her stomach from the kiss made her head go whoozy from the two contrast stimuli.

"Can I continue?" Yelena referred to tending to her wound, cocking her head to the side to catch her expression.

"I think so," Y/N grimaced, feeling the alcohol eating and gnawing at her wound, "Оно горит," (Translation: It burns)