Touch Me I'm Going to Scream // [Stucky]

Chapter 3

Recovering consciousness is rarely a pleasant experience. Lately, he has wondered if it’s the same for others. Perhaps everyone’s head is meant to feel like something that’s seconds away from cracking open and letting his charred brains spill out. What he is pretty sure of is that people sleep in beds and not in a cryo chamber ergo they don’t have to go through thawing. Maybe—the Soldier has had this thought playing on his head for a long time (one has to take into consideration that for the Soldier even a week is deemed a long time)—if he slept in a bed, with blankets and pillows, his extremities wouldn’t feel frozen all the time.

In fact, the Soldier has been thinking about a lot of things—he would go as far as to say that he has opinions (he can already imagine his handlers and other agents laughing at the mere notion.) He prefers his black uniform over the white one; he likes the sunshine and dislikes gavage feeding. He’s reached the conclusion that there is a fault in his programming and he should have informed his handlers a long time ago about it.

But, you see, these opinions he’s suddenly having, these likes and dislikes… they’re truly distracting and compelling. One moment he’s extending a hand to touch the dirty fur of an alley cat while he has to wait for his mark, and suddenly he’s questioning if he too has a mother. He never reaches a final conclusion with that one; maybe science is that advanced nowadays that they can create people. Maybe… maybe…

Maybe his head is finally going to explode and he won’t have to think so much (not that it’s of any help.)

The Soldier opens his eyes and quickly shuts them back, convinced that bamboo shards just stabbed his brain through his eyes. He tries to swallow but his mouth is desert dry, a faint taste of iron still remaining. He tries to move and realizes he can’t. He doesn’t know why—he doesn’t know a lot of stuff, that’s true, but something he is sure of thanks to numerous experiences is that he will need a moment to get reacquainted with his body.

Keeping his eyes barely open, the Soldier tries to get used to the light. As usual, he doesn’t know how much time he spent in the cell; time is kind of an abstract concept for him most of the time (hmm, that’s ironic, his brain supplies.)

“Why is he doing that?” says a voice he doesn’t recognize. The Soldier doesn’t know if he’s being asked the question; either way, he doesn’t have an answer.

Eyes finally adapting, the Soldier studies his surroundings through slitted eyes. He recognizes the room as a medical bay and he also knows it’s not one he’s ever been in—at least not since his last time in the Chair.

A blond man crosses his field of vision and the Soldier feels his heart stop. It’s a weird, new experience that he will analyze once he isn’t in enemy hands. Meanwhile, he fakes sleep.

“He wasn’t doing that a second ago,” says the same voice, sounding annoyed and agog at once. The Soldier wants to put a face to the voice but he doesn’t risk losing the element of surprise, should he need it.

He feels something come into contact with the skin of his arm and suddenly he understands the man’s words. He is so used to keeping his muscles rigid, controlling the constant shivers, that his body commanded by habit simply stops any movement and the bed stops rattling.

“Does he have an off switch? What did you just do?”

The man doesn’t withdraw his hand. In fact, he goes as far as wrapping his palm around the Soldier’s wrist. There is no memory in his brain about anyone ever touching him—willingly—without a needle or knife in the other hand. The Soldier will later find this as the explanation of why he isn’t able to contain a full-body shiver.

Understanding that it’s pointless to keep pretending, the Soldier opens his eyes. Looking over his body he sees that he’s tied to the bed. Even if he wasn’t, he feels like there isn’t a lot more that his body would be able to go through. At least he’s on a bed—he has a pillow under his head, too. Another irony: being in enemy hands is a way more pleasant experience than being with his handlers.