The Silver Soldier

XXXV

"How old are you, Stiles?"

I pause, as if I can't remember. "19." I conclude.

"And your date of birth."

"I-" I blink. I honestly don't remember. Was it the 7th of April? The 8th? I never kept track of that sort of thing on the island. "I- I don't know."

The man on the other side of the loud speaker is quiet for a moment, then he speaks again. "What are your parent's names?" It asks.

"Noah and Claudia Stilinski."

"Do you remember where you have been these past two years, Stiles?"

Another pause. I stare at the metal table below my hands. The pause is too long. they ask the question again, this time I answer. "Yes."

"Where have you been?"

"On the island," I say, "Malgasco."

"And what were you doing on Malgasco, Stiles?"

I put my head in my hands and take a deep breath. If I had actually undergone the same brainwashing process as the Winter Soldier, I would be traumatized. I remind myself that I am supposed to be acting as if I am the victim here. I am traumatized. I am scared. I am not The Silver Soldier, I am Stiles Stilinski.

I am supposed to be weak. Fable.

"I-" I shake my head. "Where's my Dad? Can I see my Dad?" I manage, letting a tear slip free.

"Did you kill people, Stiles?"

The question startled me.

But I nod.

"How many people?"

I take four deeps breaths, closing my eyes. "A lot."

"How many?"

"I don't know." I tap my foot nervously on the floor.

"Did you torture people, Stiles?"

"Yes." My voice is barely audible.

"Who?"

I look up at the one way window, only seeing my reflection staring back at me. "What?"

"Do you remember who, Stiles?"

I take a moment to think. "Who I killed? Or tortured?"

"Both."

I look down at my hands once more, thinking about my next words carefully. I shake my head. "All of them. I remember all of them." I don't bother to wipe the fake tears off my face now.

"Can you list five of them for us?"

Us.

There are multiple people behind that window. At least two of them.

I can hear their heartbeats, but I can't pinpoint how many of them there are.

"Michael Horivan." I start. "And his nephew, Alec. I took him to gain information, but I don't know what happened to him after that." I pause, swallowing an invisible lump in my throat. "I killed Trina Harnti and her husband Kieth." I say, remembering my first mission. "And I tortured and killed Matthew Waters, along with his fiancé and mistress. I don't know their names." I just named 7, 2 more than he asked for. I glance at the door. "Can I see my Dad?"

"Are there any more?" The man ignores my question.

I blink. "More?" Of course there are more, I'm Hydra's best fucking agent. I look away, at the wall to my right. "Joe Malici." I start again. If he wants to know more, I will tell him more. "And Tracy Golden, Alexi Trusendov, Holden McCarthy, Daniel Luismen, and Javeco Nikako." I run on. "I shot Paul Piskalny and his mother, Heather, and a few days after that I killed Jacquline Falcon."

The man on the other side of the window is silent.

Finally

"Harvey Lancaster. Mike Davidson. And Ella Newdorf." I list some more. "Carson made me torture them. And afterwards, I had to put a bullet between their eyes." I take a breath my hands are shaking now, "No loose ends, that was their saying." I continue, "I still remember how it felt, pulling the trigger. I remember the recoil, and the sound the gun made when it exited the chamber. I remember watching the life disappear from behind their eyes, how their fingers twitched for three minutes and twenty-two seconds before going still."

I look down at my shaky hands. "I remember everything." I conclude, looking up at the windows; seeing my own reflection staring back at me. "Where's my Dad? Please." I ask, making them believe the desperation in my voice. "Can I see my Dad?"

I hear the familiar buzz of the door, it unlocks. I already know who is on the other side before they have a chance to open it. When they do, I don't look up. I keep my eyes on my hands, focusing on the subtle tremors running through my fingers.

"Stiles?" My fathers voice is quiet, nearly a whisper.

I glance up. As soon as I meet his gaze, I let a wave of tears flood out. I am not the Silver Soldier, I am Stiles Stilinski.

I am his son.

Act like it.

Before I know it, I feel his arms wrap around me. "It's okay, buddy." He whispers, barely holding it together. "It's okay."

I allow myself to sob into his chest, near hysterics. I hate to admit it, but this hug feels nice. I haven't hugged someone in a long time. Too long. I have always liked hugs, the warmth, the pressure.

I don't know how long I cried into his shirt, it has been at least ten minutes. I haven't cried in a long time. Maybe just as long as I had gone without hugging someone.

Crying isn't something you get to do on Malgasco.

All the tears have been building up over the years, waiting for this moment. I can't seem to run out of them, and it's a good thing, the more I cry, the more I sell the act.

"I'm sorry." I sob.

"It wasn't you, you're okay." He reassures. "You're okay."

"I didn't want to." I pull away slightly, looking up at his eyes. "I swear on my life, I didn't want to kill them. I didn't have a choice-"

"Shhh." He shakes his head. "I know, Stiles. I know. It's okay." He is crying now too, still holding me tightly, afraid to let go. "I'm so sorry, my boy. I'm so sorry."

"Can we go home?" I ask, not wanting to stay in this place any longer than I need to. The longer I stay in proximity to the enemy, the better chance they have at figuring out my lie.

"Of course." My father cups my cheek in his palm, I lean into it and cry some more.