W I N T E R

Awakened

She was asleep in the quickly formed cell for long. That was, as long as Wanda wanted her to be. They gathered as much information on her as possible, using Thor's knowledge and her resting state. She frightened them, and Steve knew it. He did something he hoped he wouldn't regret. He woke his friend that hadn't been frozen more than a year. As Bucky became adjusted to the base, Steve filled him on the alien they had "rescued" from that prison. He told of the metal that kept her under control, along with the hold Wanda had on her mind. It had been a hard choice to wake Bucky, but it had been an intelligent one. His friend's arm, so carefully recrafted, was made of the same metal. He could control her, once woken up from the sleep she had been residing in. Bucky agreed, relieved he was given a task. They heavily guarded her cell, the day Wanda woke her. The sleeping state was removed from her mind, but the damper over her anger thoughts was held in place. She woke slowly, but the second she stirred, she wailed, soft and mourning. The black blood resumed its seep from her wings. She attempted to sit up, but only succeeded in flipping over, laying on her stomach. They all saw the extent of her injured wings, and winced. She shook, there on the bed she had been given. The angry being they had all seen a month ago was gone, replaced with the moaning, heavily injured and sedated alien. Wanda, without orders, placed the damper over her wing nerves and the veins that wove through them. A soft sigh was emitted, and the silver-skinned female sat up. Slowly, she looked around. Her eyes, a vibrant dark blue, gauged the room around her. She searched the faces that surrounded the bed, landing on Bucky. She could sense the metal that weakened her in his arm, and the room around her wreaked of it. It burned her nostrils and throat, leaving her thirsting for water. She was spoken to, but the language was still unknown to her. The clicking that she did recognize came from behind a medium sized red-head, and the god she knew all too well showed himself. She clenched her jaw, and shook her head. Softly, she responded. He told her of what had happened, how the battle rage that ran rampant in her kind had taken over. Once he emitted the impact she had inflicted, she flinched, and her gaze flicked to the others. She noted the pink scars on a few that were signs of a healing cut, saw the broken arm slung in fabric upon another. Shaking her head once more, she brought her long fingered hands to her face, rubbing them across it. Her long black hair matted, and stuck to her forehead and back. She removed her hands, and spoke again to Thor. She told him that the best thing he could do was kill her. It would finish the job he had started so long ago. If he didn't, she would remain a battle-hungry beast, searching this world for opponents to tear apart. Thor didn't know how to reply to it, but something in him wouldn't agree to it. Perhaps it was the way she looked so broken sitting on that bed, so different than the monster the team had faced a month ago. He asked Steve whether to question her now, and he shook his head. He replied that it would be best to allow her to wake up, and clean up her wounded wings. Steve was willing to give her a chance, seeing the change in her once her rage was settled. The soft clicks of her language brought Thor's attention back to the black-haired princess. She told him, then, what needed to be done. The pain in her voice hurt him. The wings, she said, were too far gone. Her hair, that had once been alive, as well. The hair was an easy fix, she would cut it, so that it barely reached her shoulders. The wings, however, were a different issue. They were deeply embedded within her, and there was only one way to remove them. Thor was hesitant to bring the matter to Steve's attention. Yet he did, upon he request. He told his friend of the stone that gave her life, that her wings were attached to. It was too risky to remove the wings by hand. She could retreat within herself, and remove them, thought that could result in her death. The other option was Wanda's power, doing nearly the same thing. She would need to be guided by the alien, however. Despite Thor's idea on what Wanda would say, she agreed. It would be a long process, and painful to the silver-skinned being. Still, Wanda went through with it. Long into the night she sat by the bed, her eyes glossy as she worked on the removal. It was several hours before the deed was done. When the red tendrils were extracted from her, she let out a wail, one so mournful Wanda began to tear up. The wings had been released from her, and now they lay upon the bed. The silver-blue membrane shone with the silver veins that had run through them. Steve wondered at the aliveness of them. They seemed to shimmer and flutter softly still, though torn and flecked by blood as black as the alien's hair. They were taken away that same night, and a new life without the wings began for the misplaced alien. Things were going to change drastically for her, she could feel it in the silver veins that ran cold with black blood. Her back, still seeping blood, was wrapped with stark white gauze. She let herself slip into sleep, something she hadn't done in far too long. When she woke, then first person she saw was the one who bore the metal arm; the arm that stunk of the weakening metal. He wasn't too far from her now, sitting in a chair in the corner of her room. He stood as he saw her waking. When he spoke, she frowned. He shook his head, knowing her confusion. He looking down at his flesh-covered hand, his fingers flying across a small object. When he held it to face her, the words he'd written were in her language. That must have been Thor's doing, she realized. She moved closer so she could make out the letters on the small screen. As she read them, she frowned. It stated his name, but the last word was one not in her language. It was a name of his people, not hers. She asked him to say his name out loud again, and her voice must have registered through the device he held. When he spoke again, she analyzed the words, listening to the words so she could repeat it back. She felt too helpless without knowing this language. She was intent on learning. The word was rounded in her mouth when she repeated it, but she liked. She smiled as she spoke.

"Bucky."