The Girl & The Hound | Winter Soldier

THIRTEEN

❝HIS EYES WERE LIKE A DEVASTATING HURRICANE AND ALL I COULD DO WAS BRACE FOR IMPACT.❞

❝WELL NOW YOU UNDERSTAND WHY STORMS ARE NAMED AFTER PEOPLE.❞

Sawyer gripped the makeshift towel dress she had created closer to her quivering body as her stomach churned at the crimson stains around her bathroom. Her body trembled vigorously but ironically was surging with an overwhelming sensation of numbness, her wet feet padding reluctantly slow with her eyes clenched shut whilst she whimpered with every horrifying step, tears seeping effortlessly as she tried to block it out.

Her pristine bathroom looked like the carnage of a war zone, tiles on the wall smashed from impact and blood smeared like tarnished paint on a blank canvas. She refrained from looking at it, her stomach unbearably sickened and weighed down by the nauseating scene as the coppery smell inundated her, Sawyer struggling to detain a gag as she made her way to her baggy clothes that had been moved into the corner by the prevailed events.

Placing a hand on her mouth at the sight, she instinctively spun on her heels as a sob wrenched in her throat, her clothes tattered with bloodied flesh and drenching in the water she'd kicked out of the bath as she struggled for her life. She sucked in a breath, the noise shaking through her trembling figure as she stumbled to her bathroom door, almost slipping in the mess with a pitiful yelp as she caught herself on its frame, desperately clinging onto the door handle.

With a weak knock, barely audible to Steve and Natasha through her aftershock, Sawyer knocked her knuckles against the beaten door bleakly before Natasha slowly opened it to Sawyer's avail, a pile of clean clothing cradled in her arms. Natasha smiled softly to Sawyer who weakly mustered up a faint, ghostly smile of appreciation accompanied with a quiet mutter of thank you as she accepted them, Natasha then closing the door as she did so.

Facing into the gruesome bathroom again, Sawyer dropped her towel from her body tirelessly, using it as a rug on the floor as she forced herself to ignore the gory decorations of the room as she pried her almost lifeless limbs to get dressed. But peeling her clothes on to her agonised body was a painful task.

Sawyer allowed sobs to escape her lips as she paused, suddenly collapsing on to the towel overwhelmed in despair as her mind constantly hissed horrific retorts of hatred and disgust at her.

She'd taken a life with no remorse at the time of it until he choked on his own blood. She grimaced, her head dropping in shame as the tears glided off of her cheeks, the sobs continuing as she felt disgust at the very skin that ravelled around her flesh. It was entirely against her being to be so brutal and ferocious and now she felt tainted from her feet to her head with an un-washable psychological filth.

Bleakly glancing to the last piece of clothing left, she emotionlessly slid the jacket onto her arms before zipping it up, the comforting, hugging material instantly snapping her mind to one thing- or being. The notion left her darting frantically to her feet with her wavering legs, her heart hammering against her chest as she almost slipped before she ran into the living room with a sob forming in her throat, Natasha and Steve standing awfully tense at the sight of her face still stained with blood and her neck an oozing purple.

"Where is he?" Her voice rasped and contorted through her whimpers, Sawyer stammering around the apartment in search for the dog, her eyes welling up even more at his disappearance whilst calling out his name desperately before Steve suddenly restrained her as he quickly followed after her. "Sawyer, stop he is fine-" he began to usher to her before she instantly snapped out of his grasp instinctively from the paranoia, her expression void of emotion but her eyes plastered with fear.

"Don't manhandle me," his eyes widened at her threatening retort, Natasha pursing her lips and shrugging as Steve glanced back to her in confusion, maintaining his strong grip on Sawyer's left arm before her eyes suddenly flickered with a jolt of fear, "please- get off me!" she snapped more aggressively, her paranoia suddenly engulfing her as Steve tightened his hold, only knowing to envelope her into a locked hug as he frowned sadly whilst Sawyer squirmed in terror in his grasp. Under his comforting hold, sobs wrenched tortuously from her before she suddenly halted in her efforts to escape, instead burying her head into his chest as the tears streamed as Steve rested his chin on her head comfortingly.

"I killed him-" she whimpered, Steve tightening his hold on her sorrowfully as he run his hand through her hair soothingly, Natasha staring pitifully, unsure on how to even feel so affected in emotions by murdering someone in the way Sawyer was drowning in hers, "I am disgusting," she whimpered violently, holding his shirt tightly with her fists as she felt utterly humiliated, ashamed and helpless.

"Sawyer," he comforted her, maintaining his strong hold on her trembling figure, "it was either he killed one of us or you killed him, you did what you had to do, don't lose sight of that," he affirmed her as she clenched her eyes shut, barely able to accept his consolidations through reminiscences of the blood on her hands, the blood on the walls, the blood that was smeared demonically everywhere- she didn't deserve sympathy, she repeatedly scowled to herself, she was disgusting.

Steve glanced to Natasha, still clutching onto Sawyer as Natasha nodded in confirmation that the plans were still going ahead, Steve mouthing a silent 'thank you' in response, content at the thought that at least Sawyer would be safe.

⌁

Sawyer stared on endlessly out of the passenger window, the snow fluttering against the glass as she traced her fingers over her journal, the presence soothing her as her heart welled up that she couldn't inform 'Barnes', so she had figured, where she had left to escape to a safe house where Gunner would also reside with her.

At the thought she closed her eyes, she'd let him down.

A daunting aspect was that of the attackers who warned her off, perhaps they'd punished 'Barnes' for it and he'd never search for her again or perhaps they had even found another barbaric way to ensure he'd leave her alone. All she knew was Washington DC was extremely dangerous for someone as dainty and defenceless as herself to attempt and stand her own, and through her current emotional turmoil, she was determined she couldn't search for him until she was positive she could face him without feeling unnecessary fear.

But as the snow trickled down, painting the landscape with its embrace, all her mind could wander to was how cold he was to touch, almost like he was winter and his breath taking eyes- void of emotion but sculpted with the rarest of beauty. At the reminiscence of him, she drew in a breath, retrieving a pen from the spine of her journal and set her pen onto the paper. A few strands of her hair trickled past her face as she glanced down, fixated on the paper but her mind fixated on him; she hadn't given up on him- but would he give up on her?