Kept Behind Enemy Lines

C H A P T E R F I V E

Percy roamed the halls of the giant tower, hoping to find something even slightly familiar. Finally it came along, in the form of a star spangled man.

"Do you wear that thing everywhere?" Percy asked Captain America as the man passed.

"No, I've just come back from a mission." Percy faintly recalled the mans name being Steve.

"Oh. Um, I'm kind of a little lost..." he trailed off, a light dusting of red coating his cheeks. He didn't overly enjoy admitting these things to strangers.

"Sure, where are you headed?" Steve asked, meeting Percy's eyes and studying him. Everyone had been watching him closely. Percy had wondered in many occasions why they didn't just keep him locked away in a cell. He was their enemy after all. And who wants the enemy roaming their halls, possibly gathering information and readying themselves to escape?

"Well if I knew that, I wouldn't be lost." Percy retorted sarcastically. "My room." He didn't feel quite right calling it 'his room'. Because it wasn't. It was just a place for him to sleep until they made their minds up about what to do with him. It was just the same room where he'd woken up in after being knocked out by Steve. But Percy also supposed that there were thousands of other rooms in this unnecessarily big tower and that simply calling it 'the room' or 'a room' would not be sufficient enough.

"I'll show you. Follow me." Steve turned on his heels and began walking down the hall. They all looked fairly similar. No wonder Percy had gotten lost. But still he tried to memorise the directions and mark familiar points as they went along, like the vase on the shelf to the left or the picture of some famous person hanging in the right wall. Small things like that. But he wasn't Soldier and he couldn't plan a totally accurate map in his head.

Some way along the walk Steve paused to answer the phone and after a few nods and yes' he continues, taking a sharp turn next time he could.

Percy was pretty sure he could tell when he was walking in a circle.

Maybe not the same hallway, but definitely retracing where they'd already been.

Percy's steps naturally became lighter and his body blended into the shadows a little more, making him less visible. He walked, looking calm, but tense and ready for an attack. It had become instinct, something that had helped him a lot in recent years.

It was funny how your senses seemed sharper when you were alert for danger.

At long last, they reached a door. But it was not the door he'd been looking for. Not by a long shot. The window on the door here was barred. The hallway was colder, more sinister here.

This was not what he had to call his room. This was a cell. Percy didn't like cells. His past forbade it.

Cells made him small and weak. Powerless. Just another few words to add to the list for some, but to him it was a big thing. Percy didn't want to be these things. Small. Weak. Powerless. Out of control. But in a cell he was. Restrained and he was. Percy would not go into that cell. No matter what they thought of him for kicking and screaming at a hopeless situation. No matter what. He would not go back. Ever.

He could crack in a cell. In a cell was where the bad things happened. Where his blood spilled, much like his secrets. Where enemies were made and allies were lost. Restrained was normally how Percy was in these situations. So he couldn't fight back. Couldn't return an ounce of the pain people had caused him.

He failed to notice that he wasn't screaming or running the other way. He failed to notice the way his breathing picked up as he stared at the door with a barred window, or how Steve was cautiously pushing Percy towards the room, where he swung open the door, still closely watching Percy.

At the metal desk sat a woman in a black figure hugging suit. Her elbows rested on the table and her hands lay on her intertwined fingers. The familiar notepad and pencil were a little off to her left. She studied him intently as he was cooed in like a child.

Percy realised where he was in a sudden flood of emotion.

White walls. White floors. The blood of ghost memories hovered on the walls when he stared at place for to long. Percy balled his hands into fists. How dare they bring him back into a cell. To his own hell.

The metal table sat between the interrogator and the suspected criminal. Biting cold silver handcuffs on either armrest of the uncomfortable metal chair that was bolted to the floor. Clearly that side was for him. It was the only chair left and he doubted it was meant for Steve.

Percy tried backing out, but a solid wall of flesh blocked his exit. He turned and tried to push past Steve, but in his panic his strength was failing him.

"You couldn't have picked a better place that wouldn't freak the kid out?" Steve inquired to Natasha.

This scene was all to familiar. Suddenly his vision melded into his old cell and he missed Natasha's answer. Next thing he knew the room was smeared in blood and dripping with left over rain from the leaky roof. Steve became that oh so familiar bodyguard that would stand just inside the door to keep him contained should anything go south. Natasha became Dr. Holland, his main doctor and caretaker. Percy looked at his hands to calm himself down.

It wasn't real. It couldn't be.

His hands were covered in blood to. He was drowning. Spiralling deeper into his memories. Whips. Ropes. Blood. Chains. Cells. Tables. Doctors. Needles.

Percy couldn't take it anymore. It was overwhelming.

The dark soon claimed him.

~~
And that was officially 1000 words. So yeah, another chapter. If you liked it well enough, please vote!

Until next time!

Borntosingwithdrama.