In 1943 Steven Grant Rogers was enlisted to the United States Army.
Everyone knows the righteous, patriotic Captain America and his story. People might have heard of his mother, Sara, who was a nurse and died of tuberculosis. Perhaps some have even...
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The human mind has the ability to turn off feelings after a trauma.
The thing with William was that he should be used to it, should be okay with seeing the blood of people he knew soaking the grounds, turning the vivid colours crimson.
But no matter what, his hands would always be scarred with murder and no matter how far he ran, his hair still smelled of war and running and running and running...
The sound of their heavy breathing and bounding hearts drowned out the silence as they became to a stop. John fell heavily against a tree, sliding down the rough bark. His head lulled back as he stared into the clear blue sky, his chest falling up and down rapidly. A suffocating sound left his lips as be forced his eyes shut. "It's okay, we are okay. we are fine." John mumbled, still keeping his eyes shut as he clutched the rifle to his chest.
Elliot looked around, holding his breath as he looked for anything out of place. They could still hear the distant sound of grenades and bombs going off being followed by silence and after that a row of gunshots made Williams skin bristle.
"Dum vivimus, vivamus." The dark-haired man mumbled in Latin. John gulped, prying his green eyes open as he looked at John with newfound strength. "While we live..." his voice was merely a whisper. "let us live." Elliot finished, standing closer to John as his hand rested on the other man's shoulder. John nodded and stood up, eyes filled with rage as the darkness in him creeping into the surface.
Both of their attention was caught by the sound of something heavy falling onto ground with a loud thud. Elliot's hand went to the small knife on his belt while John took a hold of the unloaded rifle that he has been clutching to his chest earlier. However, he relaxed slightly when he realizes it was William who had collapsed on the soft moss.
"Fuck- Elliot, keep a lookout. I've seen this before." John ordered, falling on his knees before panic-ridden William. The boy's face was glistening with sweat as he watched up at John helplessly, blue eyes wide and desperately searching help from Johns calm ones. His hands that were scratching his own neck and throat were gently clasped into Johns warm ones. Williams breathing was ragged, as if a piece of sharpnel had got into his lungs. His chest was moving up and down in an uneven pace, his hands shaking so bad he nearly forced himself to bite the inside of his cheek or even his tongue if only it weren't for the chattering of his teeth.
John had seen this all, before his twin had been killed, he had been a victim of an attack that was purely a torture created by his own mind. As much as people wanted to turn away, it was a common sight among men of war. William had turned into a soldier, and for soldiers, war never ended.
"Look at me, hey, kid." John said gently, realizing William was gripping his hand as if his life depended on it. John carefully placed his free hand on Williams trembling shoulder, gently helping him sit up. "Hey Thiefling, focus on my voice okay?" he said steadily, ignoring the distant echoes of grenades. William hiccuped, trying to gasp in oxygen as his blond head fell onto Johns sturdy chest, trying to hide from the world, from the hate, the pain and death.
