Red Uprising

Chapter 10

Y/N POV

The arm unwinds itself from around my waste as it gently lowers my weight into a chair.

This level of kindness feels strange to me after the long months of torture and suffering. The feeling of another touching me without inflicting pain has become alien and should be unnerving but I've lost the ability to care, my sense of self-preservation having run out while I hung by my wrists, gasping for life. The constant pain and terror, the fear of what was to come next, the loneliness and solitude had worn away any fight left in me. Without any sign of Natasha, or any of The Avenger's, hunting for me; without even Sydney's visits to look forward to during the long hours, I had lost all hope.

The audio was simply the final straw, bringing down an increasingly more precarious tower and leaving a gaping, hollow void in its wake.

There is silence in this room. For so long I've heard the steady drip of a leak, the hum of a speaker waiting to broadcast, the rattle of chains binding me in place, the laughter of my tormentors...

It takes a few minutes for me to look around at my surroundings. Having been certain, this would be another piece of the game they have been playing with me. This room is different. Clean, tidy, well furnished. Shelves line the walls, filled with books and DVDs. A bed in the corner appears to hold comfortable pillows, clean sheets, and a warm comforter. The smell of citrus fruits fills the air, and in the corner of the room, my eyes land on a burner, hot wax simmering and releasing its odours. Finally, my eyes fall on a door, unlocked and without guards, something I have never known in all of my time with HYDRA. This room is different. This room is lived in rather than holding someone who simply exists.

"You're bleeding." The voice startles me at first, I'd almost forgotten she was here.

My eyes follow the sound. She's sitting on a sofa opposite me, her body relaxed and calm, her eyes watching me curiously.

"You're bleeding." She repeats the words as she gestures to my wrists.

"Not the first time." I shrug nonchalantly.

The bruises and cuts that litter my skin vary in their stages of healing. Yellow bruises that will soon disappear are littered between others that are such a deep purple they appear almost black while angry pink scars run parallel to cuts that now bleed, the crimson liquid running from my wrists and slowly dripping from my fingertips.

"I can fix it, though." Her eyes still haven't left my wrists.

I feel her hesitate briefly before she waves her fingers slightly. I'm almost certain the motion was unnecessary, purely for dramatic effect, but I don't question it for long. Within seconds, I feel the skin knitting itself back together, the pain easing, the blood flow stopping. Within seconds, the sense of relief I feel is bigger than I have ever known. Within seconds, my eyes flick back towards the door.

"Don't get any ideas." There is a smirk on her face and a laziness to her voice.

I give a nod, confirming I understand her meaning. Even with my wounds healing, I am far from fighting fit. Malnourished, dehydrated, and simply lacking any desire... I have no doubt she would end any attempt I could make without even rising from her seat.

"Why would you help?" I ask the question that I've been pondering since she had first offered me her hand.

"I told you, it's time we talked"

"I usually try a conversation before I electrocute people, but I'm no expert on making friends." I'm sure I'll regret the words I sneer, but they leave my mouth before I consider them.

"I don't hold all of the cards Y/N, I follow orders like every soldier. Right here, right now, I'm the only person trying to help you."

"Help me?" My voice rises as the words leave my mouth. "You think you're helping me? By letting me heal so the torture can start all over again? By binding my powers so I can neither keep myself alive nor defend myself? By killing my friend?!"

She sighs as if exhausted, and for the first time, my eyes fully take her in. Her small frame takes up almost no space on the sofa built for three, knees pulled to her chest almost defensively. The raven hair I had once watched billow in the wind so freely is now tied back in a plain band. Her eyes, rich and blue, are almost hypnotic, but as they focus on me, I see a vulnerability that wasn't there before, my own pain and fear reflecting back at me. My eyes run over the remainder of her features; a delicate nose - slightly crooked as if once broken, a slight tan to her skin showing her access to the outside world - something I was always deprived of, and finally, her jawline - strong and proud with just the hint of a bruise that hasn't quite healed.

"Sydney." Her eyes pull away from my gaze.

"You knew her." I'm unsure whether this is a question or a statement at this point, but she replies either way.

"I know all of us." There's no emotion left in her voice. "I knew all of us."

"All of us? What does that mean? Who are we? How many of us are there?"

"The children HYDRA... changed." She stumbles over the last word as if struggling to find one that is acceptable. "There were sixteen, but now, two unless you count Maximoff. I guess she would be three, but she's not like us, not really."

"Sixteen..."

The number is larger than I expected. Sixteen children pulled from their families if their families were even allowed to live. Sixteen children tortured, experimented on. Fourteen children are now dead.

"Sydney wasn't like the rest of us either." Her eyes meet mine again. "She wasn't changed until after she freed you. She was weaker, mentally anyway."

"You say that like it justifies what you did"

"Her loyalties were all over the place. She was dangerous to everybody." She shrugs with indifference.

"And you think you're not? I was free, I got out. I was happy, and you helped them bring me back here!"

"Happy?" A tilt of the head, a small smirk pulling at the corner of her mouth. "With the Black Widow? The things she's done... She's no better than us! I'm not the bad guy here, I'm trying to help you. Where is she? Do you think she came looking for you?" Her voice is rising. "She left, and she forgot about you. She moved on!"

"She..." I don't get to finish.

"She moved on, found someone else, right now she's out living her life while you're here fighting for yours."

She picks up a remote control from the table that sits between us, pointing it at a TV screen that springs to life.

On the screen is a parking lot, it takes less than a second for my eyes to pick out Nat's car, a second longer for my brain to pick out the diner in the background and recognise it as the one we one visited. The camera moves closer, its owner entering and appearing to take a seat at the counter. In a booth by the window, Nat sits, a casual smile on her face. Opposite her, a blonde girl hangs on her every word. She laughs at something Nat says, and as her head glances in the direction of the camera, I recognise her as the waitress, the one Nat had brought to my very first Stark party. As she turns back towards Nat, her hand reaches across the table, clasping Nat's hands in her own.

I look away. Between the video and the audio I heard earlier today, I can piece together the rest without seeing it. What was left of my heart shatters as my worst fears are confirmed.

"I'm sorry." She offers up a simple apology. "They were never your friends. They were drawn to your power, and they wanted to use you. We're your family AJ."

The name catches me by surprise. The name my parents had used for me all those years ago. When I don't respond, a smile touches her lips, gentle and genuine.

"Your parent's files are on the table." She nods her head towards them as she stands. "I think you should read them."

"Where are you going?" I watch as she crosses towards the door.

"To my room." Her smile grows as she gestures around herself. "This one is yours. I'm sure you'll find me when you're ready."

"Wait... I don't even know your name." I call out as she opens the door, a meagre excuse, but my head is swimming with questions I have no idea how to ask.

She steps from the room without a backwards glance, never answering the question. As the door finally clicks shut, I'm left with nothing but my thought, a pair of files and a hint of blue mist delicately swirling my left hand.