Steve rogers x y/n

Chapter 17- winter

"That's not Bucky"

I stared into the cold steel of his eyes. He held a gun in his hands, three men behind him also armed.

He lunged toward me, Steve stepping between us.
I got out of bed with the most strength I could conjure up. Having a gunshot wound sure didn't help.

A fight had ensued between the two, as the agents behind them stalked toward me. I could see Steve struggling behind as James knocked a final punch, rendering him unconscious.

I crept Into the corner, trying to get as far away as I could. I was trained for this sort of thing, but with a hurt shoulder, and no strength left. I was helpless.

After attacking Steve, James looked toward me, the same emotionless eyes he had before we came.
I tried to say him name, the one Steve had used but it didn't work. Whatever hydra had done they really perfected it this time.

"схватить ее" (grab her)
The guard yelled, James complying.

He grabbed my arms, throwing me over his shoulder. I screamed in pain, my would rubbing against him.

We walked out of the compound to a jet, where he placed me in a seat. As one of the guards clicked handcuffs around my wrists I realized, I wasn't free anymore. Hydra had done it again, and this time I wasn't going home.

I look around the jet, five agents surrounded me and James, watching our every move. They hadn't handcuffed him, but then again he was totally under their control.

A man flew the plane, most likely another agent. There was a woman cowering in the seat beside me. She had a white coat, long blonde hair, and thick glasses, a doctor maybe?

She was holding onto the straps of the seatbelt, pulling at them so tight the skin on her knuckles turned white.

I knew it would be a long flight, but I couldn't rest. Not that I didn't want to. I knew if I fell asleep and something happened I couldn't defend myself. I stared at James, my eyes filled with sorrow. I could've fought the agents, if only I had the energy to.

My head started to drift down. My brain fighting with my body. I wanted to stay away, I needed to. But I couldn't. The gunshot was taking a toll on me.

James sat across from me, staring. I would've joked with him about it, but I knew he wouldn't get it, and I didn't want to get a slap from the agent next to me.
They always told me I had too much of a sarcastic personality, really? I never noticed.

I could feel James's eyes staring into my soul, or at least it felt like that. I tried mouthing to him,
"James help me."

Each time I tried to do it, he furrowed his brows more, not understanding. An agent caught wind of what I was trying to do, walking over to me and slapping me hard in the face with the back of his hand.
"Замолчи" (shut up)

I could feel his ring pierce into the skin on my cheek, as cold blood ran from the cut. Bringing my hands up to my cheek, still in chains, feeling the slice. I pulled them back down to see the crimson dripping from my fingers.

I looked up to James, physically holding himself back from attacking the agent. I shook my head in protest as he situated himself back into the seat.
This was going to be a long ride.

_________________________

I kept myself awake the entire time, as much as I was exhausted I couldn't let my guard down.

The jet engine roared as we landed, agents all shouting in Russian, mostly which I understood, but my focus was on James.

The back of the jet lowered, as the cold Siberia wind howled, slamming the cold wind against my body.

I was in a t-shirt, shorts and slippers that Wanda had given me back at the compound. Not the best attire for -13 °.

Two agents unbuckled my seat, leaving the handcuffs on. I glanced at James before they ripped me out of the jet. His head was low, only one agent was holding his upper arm, but armed ones were at every side of him.

They knew what I could do, my abilities. But at this moment they knew how vulnerable I was. And how James couldn't fight them.

We walked out of the hangar, my almost bare feet digging into the white powder.
I shivered for a moment stopping, causing the guards to yank my arms pulling me forward.

"ходить" (walk)
One yelled, I did what he said, not wanting to anger them more.

I knew where we were going, the place I called home for so long, but I had a new home. Or at least I thought i did. I finally had escaped, only to be brought back not even a week later.

I hated the feel of this place, the atmosphere, the people and most of all, I hated the cold winter.