The Red Soldier: Rise of the Red Soldier

ISSUE #16

The sounds of gunfire and men howling in pain rang through the night. Had it not been for the artillery smoke Dr (L/N) might have been able to see the stars above as he tended to the wounded soldier before him. (Y/N) was on his hands and knees, pulling off his belt to use as a tourniquet and grabbing bandages from his kitbag.

            'It's going to be alright,' he told his colleague, 'It's going to be alright.' They were both breathing heavily as bullets flew over their heads. (Y/N)'s helmet fell down over his eyes, obscuring his vision. He wasn't even supposed to be there, he was supposed to be back at base with the rest of the medical staff. His sergeant, James Barnes, came up from behind and crouched down beside him.  'It's so loud,' yelled (Y/N) at his superior, 'I can't – I can't concentrate!'

            Sergeant Barnes nodded his head, resting his machine gun on the floor and using his free hands to cover (Y/N)'s ears as he tightened the make-shift tourniquet around the soldiers leg, just above where his knee used to be. He'd begun to bind it tightly in bandages when a bullet soared through the air, straight through his patient's skull. Both (L/N) and Barnes looked up, finding themselves surrounded by Nazi soldiers.

            Dr (L/N) reached for the pistol in his holster, raising it in front of him, aiming at the enemy. James Barnes tried to pick up his gun, but he was met with a machine butt to his face, busting his nose and knocking him out cold. (Y/N) lowered his weapon, anxious to see if his friend and sergeant still had a pulse. His hands stretched forward towards Barnes, but two of the adversaries pulled him back, cuffing his hands before they began to drag him away by the back of his collar.

            'Bucky,' he shouted, as three strange men bound his friends wrists and began hauling him off in the opposite direction.

'(Y/N)?'

'Bucky!' he called desperately.

'(Y/N), wake up.'

'BUCKY!''

(Y/N) woke up in a cold sweat, shaking uncontrollably as Bucky Barnes held him, stroking his hair. Everything was blurred from the tears in his eyes. 'I-I,' he stuttered.

         'Shhh,' Bucky cooed in his ear, 'it's just a bad dream.' (Y/N) picked himself up, reaching for the bin as he wretched. Bucky shuffled forwards, rubbing circles in his back comfortingly as he chucked up the spaghetti bolognaise they'd had for dinner the previous night. When (Y/N) had stopped heaving, Bucky got up, resting a gentle hand on his shoulder. 'I'll fetch you a drink.' (Y/N) nodded, blinking away the tears from his bloodshot eyes.

         When he'd finished spitting out the regurgitated pieces of spaghetti from his mouth, (Y/N) stood up, shifting slowly into their bathroom. He stole a glance at himself in the mirror, noting how awful he looked. His bedhead had become damp from the sweat, bags hung under his eyes, and he had vomit stains on his chin.

He'd been having a lot of bad dreams lately, more than usual. Bucky had them too, but (Y/N) seemed to be getting the worst.

The tap spat out clean cold water, which (Y/N) (L/N) used to wash his face and brush his teeth. When he could no longer taste sick in his mouth, just spearmint toothpaste, he began to pull at the knots in his hair, giving up after only a few minutes and proceeding to the kitchen.

Bucky sat at the dining table, stirring sugar into his coffee, he got up when he saw (Y/N) though. (Y/N) looked at the clock above the sink, noticing that it was almost six o'clock in the morning; the sun would begin to rise soon. 'Sorry for waking you up,' he apologised, letting Bucky hold him tightly.

         'No need to apologise,' he replied, resting his head in (Y/N)'s hair, 'I made you tea.'

         'Thank you,' mumbled (Y/N) tiredly, 'you should go back to bed.'