𝗗𝗜𝗚𝗜𝗧𝗔𝗟 𝗦𝗜𝗟𝗘𝗡𝗖𝗘

Dear Arkansas Daughter

A/N: I didn't read through this before I posted it so please cut me a little slack when you read it 😭just finished the first ep of 'secret invasion' and i am too pissed and too upset to proof-read. they literally wasted one of favourite characters. fuck marvel!!!

Five minutes later, Isabell is sitting tucked up and half-asleep in James' lap, running her fingers over the scars on his hands. He's tense, his arms tight around her, and although she's too tired to be fully aware of what's going on, she knows he's telling a story.

Something he doesn't want to be telling. Something he wishes she didn't have to hear.

Isabell rests her cheek against his chest, focusing on the steady thrum of his heartbeat. Always a little too fast or a little too slow.

James pauses to kiss the top of her head, and she guesses that this is the end of his story as Steve slips in with questions.

"Who were they?"

"The most elite death squad," James says, and the cogs click in Isabell's bleary brain. The Winter Soldier program. "More kills than anyone in HYDRA history, and that was before the serum."

"They all turn out like you?" Steve asks.

"Worse."

"And the doctor, could he control them?"

"Well enough."

Steve turns his head away, murmuring something under his breath. Isabell has to strain her ears to catch it. "... said he wanted to see an empire fall."

James nods heavily. "With these guys, he could do it. They speak 30 languages, can hide in plain sight, infiltrate, assassinate, destabilize, They can take a whole country down in one night. You'd never see them coming."

"Are there any more of these?" Steve mutters. "These programs?"

"Not teams like us."

Something sharp digs at the back of Isabell's brain and she sits up suddenly, tugging at James' arm. He glances at her as she struggles to articulate.

"There were more."

Steve looks intrigued. "Who?"

"Me." Isabell tries to focus her mind into English. "Безликие дети, fuck, the faceless children. Me. Me and Kitty. Jakob. Others. Dead, all of them. Но они были там. (But they were there.) We were real."

The man in the corner – Sam, Steve calls him – gives a shrug. "Doesn't matter if they're dead, then. We don't have to worry about them."

But James is staring at her, eyes dark and unreadable. His hand is cold against her back. "It matters." He says, his voice only just loud enough for Isabell to hear. An uncomfortable blush burns across her cheeks.

She never told him, not once. He still doesn't know that she killed them. Nobody knows. She'll never know why they made her. Kitty.

She swallows back a breathy little sob, closing her eyes again. It's too much, too soon. So much blood. She's still dirty. Her face still hurts. James still hit her.

Isabell lets sleep pull her into its dark and dangerous grasp.

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇

She wakes again much earlier than she'd like, to somebody whispering in her ear and wiping a damp flannel across her face.

Isabell groans.

She's propped up in James' lap again, facing him as he gently sponges blood and grime from her forehead. They're in somebody's car, she realises hazily.