The Silver Soldier

XXXVI

Hydra made their greatest enemies into their best soldiers. And I admire them for it.

They knew James Barnes was Captain America's best friend, and they used that knowledge to their advantage. They made one of the most notorious killers out of a broken, half-dead World War II soldier.

Hydra is smart, I will give them that. But I also think that their ideology is outdated.

I am not a Nazi.

Many still believe that Hydra is a Neo-Nazi organization, in some ways it is. But I do not agree with most of their methods.

They want world domination, they do not think that man can be trusted with their own freedom.

I'm some ways, I disagree with that.

But what I do think, is that Hydra and SHIELD want that same thing. Control. The only difference is that Hydra is willing to do what it takes to obtain it.

SHIELD is an organization for idealists.

Hydra is the exact opposite. It attracts realists, people who know that the world isn't all puppies and rainbows. Mankind is evil, society just isn't ready to admit it yet.

"Your room is still the same as you left it." My Dad says, turning onto our street. I didn't realize I had zoned out. "I didn't touch anything."

I nod, looking out the window at the familiar houses passing by. I never realized how much I missed this place, the smell, the scenery... everything but Scott.

It's midday, the clock in the car reads: 1:46. I can see some boys playing in their front yard, using sticks as swords.

The Callum twins, I realize as we get closer. I used to babysit them when they were 6, now they're all grown up. It has only been two years, how has so much changed?

We pull into the driveway, I just sit there for a moment before moving to open the door.

"Stiles?"

I look back at my father.

"I'm here for you," he says, remorse in his eyes. "I will always be here for you if you need me, I hope you know that."

A hole opens in my stomach. "I know, Dad."

"If you ever want to talk..." he trails off, looking away. I can't help but feel bad. "If you ever want to talk, I'm all ears."

I hesitate, looking down at my hands. He doesn't want me to hide things from him, no matter how bad they might be. But the real Stiles wouldn't be ready to talk about all that just yet. "Maybe later."

He nods, understanding.

We both get out, I pause an stare up at the house for a moment. It hasn't changed a bit.

"What do you want for lunch?" My dad asks as he walks around the car, I follow him to the front door. "I can make some mac'n'cheese? Or soup?"

"Mac'n'cheese sounds good." I reply, I haven't had mac'n'cheese in God knows how long. We only really had healthy foods on the island. Each meal had some vegetables and a large portion of meat, like beef or chicken; we didn't have much sugar or starches. It was like being on a protein diet for two years straight.

To be honest, I didn't mind it.

I find that my body can't handle much sugar now that I've gone so long without it. Just having that ice-cream with Juliette messed up my stomach.

"If you want to settle in for a bit, I'll call you down when it's ready." He tells me once we're inside. Everything feels so weird... like I'm in a dream.

I go upstairs, curious as to what my room looks like now. Did he really not touch anything?

I push my door open, hearing the familiar sound of the hinges creaking. There is only a sliver of light spilling in through the crack between the curtains, besides that, the only light is coming from the hallway. My bed isn't made, the covers are in the same messy heap there were in when I got up for school that morning. The second drawer of my dresser is still open, my pyjamas lying on the floor.

There is a half-empty glass of water on my bedside dresser, the book on the Dread Doctors sitting beside it.

I pull my curtains back, letting the natural sunlight in. To my surprise, the small plant on my windowsill is alive, bigger than before with healthy green leaves and new soil.

My father has been looking after it. For two years. He has watered it, trimmed any dead leaves off, and repotted it when it grew too large for its last pot. The thought of that fills me with remorse.

Everything is in the same place it was when I left it.

I pick up the stuffed bear sitting on my desk - Bear, I had named him. Very original, I know. Five year old me loved the name though, it was fitting, seeing as it was a bear and all. I place Bear back down and shut the door.

My computer is outdated by five or six years, I got it when I started high school. But when I press the power button, it turns on just as it had two years ago. I type in my old password: TheStyleMaster95. Though it takes the computer a minute to log me in, I don't really care. I'm not in a rush.

SHIELD is probably watching my every move, I wouldn't be surprised if they bugged my computer. If I do anything suspicious on it, there is a very good chance they will find out. My best bet is to only use it for anything unrelated to HYDRA and my personal mission.

I need a burner phone.

Something I can contact Fridrik on without being tracked.

If he's not dead.

I stare at the screen, at all my old files littering my desktop. I double click on the Google icon.

But before I can type in the search bar, I hear something hit my window.

A rock, I realize. It left a little nick in the glass, near the top right corner of the pane. I stand up and walk over, curious as to who - or what - could have thrown it.

I pull the rest of the curtain back.

And I find Malia standing on the grass below.