Package Coordinates, Belarus - June, 1956
Leaves crunch under my right foot as I hop ungracefully. My hand curls around the makeshift walking stick Winter handed me before he rushed ahead, scouting the cabin for danger.
The rough bark cuts at my fingers, a welcome distraction from the throbbing pain in my left calf. My leg has already started to swell up, despite my attempts to avoid putting any weight on it.
Concealed by the tree line, I watch as Winter disappears around the far side of the cabin. Patiently, I remain utterly still, straining my eyes to see in the dark. He soon appears on the other side, continuing his search.
Minutes pass before Winter stands beside me, nodding that it's safe to enter. He walks ahead, partially by his insistence, partially by my inability to move any faster.
My grip tightens around the stick as we approach the cabin, my breath forming a cloud in front of my face. The path is rocky, making it harder to remain quiet as I try to keep steady footing.
Eyes trained on the wooden door, Winter pushes it open with a loud creak. Fire crackles inside, revealing a shadowy figure sat in a blue tattered armchair.
The messenger.
"You're late."
The voice sounds out from the darkness. I tilt my head in familiarity. Do I know this person? I've met a lot of people in these last few months.
I check my watch, 9:56 pm.
"The meet is at 10 pm, we still have four minutes."
I reply, my throat scratches, desperate for water.
"On time means you're late."
The hidden man answers. Those words... That voice... I know him... I knew him. Recognition settles in my bones.
"Michael?"
My voice is barely a whisper. Begging to be heard by the person I thought I would never lay eyes upon again. Reduced to a twelve year old girl.
"How do you know that name?"
He demands, rising to his feet. His face comes into view. Aged, but still the same. Anger is written clearly across his expression, but not recognition. Pain pools in my gut.
He doesn't recognise me.
Winter moves to stand between us, but I hobble forward, closer to Michael. Michael examines Winter and the weapons close to his hands. Then his furious eyes return to burning into me.
"Michael, it's me. It's Edith."
My voice cracks under the weight of my pain, my desperation for him to understand. His face contorts in confusion as he tries to see me under the black hair and 16 years.
"Edie?"
He asks, his voice low. I nod desperately, tears welling in my eyes. My hand slips from the stick, letting it fall to the ground, but it does not clatter.
Michael's arms wrap around me, circling me in a protective manner. My brother was always far too protective of me.
A sob shudders from my ribs, tears streaming down my face. My fingers grip tightly to his coat, unwilling to release him.
My brother. My Michael. He's alive.
How? How, after 16 years is he alive? Here, not at home with his family? But here, working in the shadows, making deliveries for Hydra?
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Found You - James B. Barnes
FanfictionIt's 1955. Edith Collins has been working at Shield for a few years now, when she gets a call from her boss, Chief Sousa, saying he needs to speak with her urgently. Now Edie has caught wind of Hydra's infiltration, she has to keep her investigation...
