Till the End of the Line

Memories.

She took the bullet for me

I should have seen it coming long before she had to.

I internally curse myself. This was my fault. How could I have been so stupid? Why did I bring her into this hellscape on her first assignment? I'm meant to protect her! I'm her teacher! I put my ear to her mouth. Her body is limp, but she is still breathing.

"Come on Becca; Just a little further,"

I whisper urgently. Even now, I can feel the warm stickiness of blood seeping through my uniform, the life slowly ebbing away from her with every step I take. 

So I walked faster. 

Then I ran. 

I couldn't lose her. She was my only grip left on sanity. She reminded me of someone else I used to know, someone with blue eyes, blonde hair, and a passion for picking fights. I blink, and as soon as that sliver of memory appears, it's gone again, and no matter how hard I try, I can't recall it again.

But now isn't the time for thinking. I rushed towards the helicopter and flagged it down.

"Какой у тебя статус солдата? (What is your status, soldier?)"

The voice crackled through my earpiece. I hiss impatiently. Now is not the time for protocols, not when my student is bleeding out. Leaving my emotions behind as I speak in rapid-fire Russian, explaining our circumstances. The HYDRA Recruit lands his helicopter and helps me place Becca on the floor. 

I feel a wave of possessiveness when the recruit takes her from my arms. Like she only belonged to me, like I should be the only one allowed who could touch her. But she needs medical attention.

I fumbled with the USB with all the data HYDRA wanted us to retrieve. I smile. Even though I can't show it, I'm proud of Becca. Not only getting us out of that situation alive but also finding a way to complete our mission. I climb onto the chopper and sit next to her, they've hooked her up to some monitor that is beeping and glowing steadily, I hate it. It reminds me of something. Something...from before HYDRA, but there was no before HYDRA. I was born and raised here. So what are these memories? These ghosts I keep seeing?

Maybe I'm just tired. I've been running on no sleep for three days, so I settle next to Becca's makeshift gurney and close my eyes, drifting into the welcome abyss.

I'm standing in front of a scrawny, blonde, young man in front of me, his blue eyes filled with a sorrow I know well, the loss of a loved one. I know this look because I'm usually the cause of that loss. He calls me by a different name. "Thanks, Buck, but I can get by on my own." The me that isn't me says something, but I can't make out the words. Something about a line? My subconscious tries to recall the name of that man. He must've been important to me, but who?

Before I can dwell on it, I'm transported to a battlefield. I can feel the vibration of grenades and the pounding of gunfire, but everything's frozen except for a man in front of me. A man wearing all blue, with a shield that looks like a giant target. I know this man well. He is Captain America, the enemy of HYDRA and everything I stand against, but instead of feeling the hatred I expected, I'm filled with a sense of calm and hope. I see a soldier heading toward him, guns blazing, and I call out his name, but no sound comes out of my lips. What was his name?

Again, my dream changes scenes. This time I'm falling. Falling so far down, I saw Captain America's horrified face, his hands outstretched as if trying to grab me, but he slipped or let go. Now I'm falling. Falling down, down into darkness, down into cold, down into pain and destruction, and the entire time thinking, "Thank God it was me and not you." 

Still, I fall, bracing for a death that never comes. Instead, only pain and blood. Blood on the snow, my arm, no longer attached to my body, every bone in my body shattered and screaming, and still I survived.

Then I'm being dragged by the foot for hours through the snow, blacking out, waking in an underground bunker, and my arm is shiny and chrome. I can no longer feel it. No longer will I be able to touch someone with that arm and feel their warmth, though I cannot feel pain with it. 

Then I see the horrified look on my face, which morphs into the mortified faces of my victims. At least a dozen. Men, women, even a child or two begging for their lives, asking why I'm doing this, or worse, accepting their fate and taking the bullet without any fight at all. All the blood, screams, and pain surrounds me. Suddenly, I'm drowning in it as the ghosts call me a monster, as they suffocate me and close in, and then suddenly I wake up screaming.