I'm Here | ✓

53 - Family

"What are you doing on my counter?" Sam exclaims. I shrug, watching the tiny marshmallows swirl around my hot chocolate. It warms up my hand, and I'm grateful; it's the middle of December, and it is freezing outside.

I avoid his question altogether and poke a thumb at the window. "Did you see the snow?"

"It's been snowing for ages." Regardless, he wanders over to the glass, taking a peek at the pristine white powder sitting on the grass outside. At Steve's apartment back in Brooklyn, the snow would've already been stamped into a gray slush by hurried feet and tire treads, but here, it's untouched. I hear Sam exhale a little bit in awe before retreating to wrap a blanket around himself.

Steve is across the room, drawing little snowflakes on the frosted window with his finger. I watch him for a moment, grinning like an idiot. Sam scoffs a bit at my adoration, but I don't mind. With nothing to do these past few weekends, we've been staying at Sam's house. It's nice, even if it gives Sam an excuse to yell at me for how long I take in the shower. I always respond that Hydra never gave me citrus-scented shampoo and I'm going to take what I can get. It's a lovely little chaotic family; Sam's the stressed-out but funny older brother, Steve is the responsible father figure, and I've been designated the cocky little brother for more reasons than just my sarcasm.

But I've got other plans for today than just sitting around, waiting for more snow. I hop off the counter, slip on my shoes, and shrug on a jacket. "I'm gonna go for a drive," I say, snagging Sam's keys off the hook with my left pinky finger. I have no intention to do any such thing, I just want to get a reaction.

He sighs. "I was just about to go to the grocery store. You used my last packet of hot chocolate mix, you know, and I still haven't had any this morning."

"Oh. Fine." I hang the keys back up. "Just a walk, then. I'll be back in ten minutes."

"Are you sure?" Steve glances up, his finger hovering above the glass and worry etched on his face. I wave him off.

"There's been no sign of Hydra for months. I'll be fine." I give him a tiny smile of reassurance, and he mimics it. He's been on his toes for months since the incident, and honestly, I don't blame him; I lost control, and he doesn't want a repeat of what happened. But we've been fine, switching between Sam's house and our apartment, spending evenings training in the gyms, occasionally wrestling each other. I doubt we got rid of Hydra completely, but we eliminated the ones with enough balls to attack us. They're all probably hiding under a rock now. They won't mind if I go out for a walk.

I step outside and shut the door behind me, pacing down the sidewalk. My breath makes tiny white clouds in front of me, and I admire the ice crystals forming intricate patterns on my left arm. I watch where I step, making perfect shoeprints in the snow. I have the time to admire the season. Before, snow was only a mild inconvenience, the secluded mountains of Siberia hiding the dangerous secret which was me, but I have the power to appreciate it now.

And God, it is beautiful.

Still, that's not what I'm here for. I turn a corner and slip into a backyard, careful to not leave any footprints on the ground. I scale a fence, running, relishing the frozen adrenaline slipping through my veins. I keep close to the houses, avoiding open windows, balancing on patches of ice glazing over the snow. I forgot what I felt like with a purpose, a mission of my accord, without someone pulling the strings in my mind. The cold makes me feel free, rather than trapped. A reminder that I'm not stuck in Siberia, that I'm spending my time with friends-turned-family, both old and new. Of course, with every family comes a few pranks, and that is exactly what I intend to do.

Finally, I get to Sam's house. I already know my ideal path; I set my foot silently on his window, propping my hands on his gutter. I climb up silently until I'm sitting on the roof, peeking over the edge, waiting for him to walk outside. I can barely restrain my laughter; this is going to be so fucking funny. My fingers slide through the snow on the roof, forming a small ball in my palm. I pat it into place, tightening my grip until it's practically ice.