#dissonance

You wake just as he snaps your arm, your body jolting from the sudden interruption. You instinctively reach for your forearm only to find it perfectly in tact and let out a trembling sigh as you regain your bearings. You’d only been dreaming, and the space beside you is empty as you peer over in search of the Winter Soldier. He’s still in cryofreeze, and you’re still on your own.

You lay back against the plush mattress and turn your gaze towards the window where the frilly curtains have been pulled back to reveal a deplorable view. All that rests on the other side of the glass is a brick wall, reminding you of your permanent place as Hydra’s glorified pet. You may have earned the privilege of living in the artificial replica of your old bedroom, but you know the chances of ever feeling the sunlight on your skin again are slim to none. Only in your dreams may you feel the warmth of the sun and the summer breeze along your face, and only in your dreams can you find companionship in the Winter Soldier.

It’s been three years since you last spoke to him, promising to alleviate his mind from the horrors Hydra had implanted in exchange for the answers Zola had withheld about your grandfather. In that time you’ve learned to keep your head down and mouth shut; obedience is your salvation, and with the Winter Soldier gone you know the only person you can trust to keep you out of harm’s way is yourself. Arnim keeps you on a tight leash, and no other guard or researcher is willing to risk facing his wrath by showing you mercy.

The days move by slowly, but you’ve grown numb to the passage of time. Your routine is always the same— wake from your nightmares, report to the lab for blood draws, wait for any incoming patients who may need your healing touch, shower, sleep, and wait for morning to start all over again. It’s a miracle you haven’t somehow gone insane, but you hold onto what little shred of hope you have that your soldier will wake to keep you going.

You’re out of bed and roaming the halls towards the research lab by the time the clock in your room strikes eight. They don’t send guards for you anymore— another privilege your compliance has earned you— as Zola considers it to be a waste of resources. You know better than to be late, better than to wander in search of some form of escape. The scientist also knows you’d never leave without your accomplice, and it is for that reason alone he doesn’t mind the bond you had foraged in duress. You don’t have the courage to take off on your own, and your unnatural attachment to him prevents you from abandoning him here to endure further torture for your transgressions. Anything that can be used to control and manipulate you is welcome in his eyes.

Hydra’s team of researchers is busy at work when you enter the lab, and no one bothers to acknowledge your presence as you push past the heavy doors. The air is uncomfortably cold, your simple cotton white gown doing little to keep you warm as your bare feet pad across the cement floor. Though you’d earned freedom from your previous cell, your new room hadn’t come with your previous wardrobe. You longed for your sweaters or even a pair of socks, but Zola insisted you were still a year away at least from earning that privilege. Until then, you wore only what was provided to you.

With no one to block your path, you silently make your way towards the center of the room where the cryochamber rests. The metal steps creak with your weight as you use the support to reach the glass window at the top, gazing upon the still features of the Winter Soldier. You make it a point to see him with every visit to the lab, your palm resting against the frigid metal as you watch him sleep and wonder if he too is plagued with dreams of you the same way he haunts your own. You understand there’s no possible way for him to know you’re there, but sometimes you hold your breath in anticipation of him miraculously opening his eyes to greet you. It never comes, and yet you never deviate from your routine.

“Good morning, Project,” Zola greets with a faux smile and airy demeanor as he enters the room, effectively rupturing your moment of tranquility with the soldier. You’re not entirely fond of the title he’s bestowed upon you, but the use of your real name has been forbidden by all personnel in the building— his way of humiliating you and dehumanizing you further.

You wordlessly make your way towards him as he motions for you to take your place on the exam table. You don’t protest when he tightly winds a rubber band above your elbow, and you hardly flinch when the needle pierces your skin and blood begins to ooze out into the tubes. It took him a month after your capture to develop a needle strong enough to pierce your skin without your body rejecting it; after that, sample draws became a regular occurrence.

“Your abilities are stubborn,” he tells you as he watches the viles beside your bed fill with crimson fluid. “I have yet to successfully transform your blood into a serum that can be administered to the wounded and the sick without exerting your physical form, but so far I have had no success.”

“I read the journals,” you tell him flatly, your haunted gaze fixated on the cryochamber across the room. “My grandfather tried to do the same, but it’s not possible. My blood is useless if it isn’t flowing in my veins, the magic wears off. I act as the totem, and I can only heal what I touch.”

“Your grandfather was incompetent,” Zola sneers harshly, and though you’re used to his insults the sharpness of his tone has you shrinking back in fear of being reprimanded for your doubt. “I have the time and resources available to me that he did not. So long as I have you, I will accomplish my mission and Hydra shall live forever. All thanks to you, my dear.”

You don’t respond, choosing to remain silent as your vacant gaze returns to the needle in your arm. Blood trickles down the entry wound and begins to trail down your forearm, but you make no effort to stop it. Your body will continue to produce more as your blood cells regenerate, and the suffocating routine of your life under Hydra will continue until you find a way out of this cage. You miss the days when your only worry was facing the wrath of the Winter Soldier, and all you long for now is his hand around your throat and his blood on your palms to keep you warm.

The cycle continues, and you’re left longing for what once was.

~~~

The unrelenting chill of the snow on your bare feet burns your skin in a way that would be immobilizing to most, and yet you persist. Your bloodied soles leave footprints in your wake, but you force yourself to continue forward. You can hardly see past the strong winds, but through the flurry you can make out his silhouette in the distance.

Metal palm outstretched towards you, his offer of salvation is silent as he beckons you forward. You feel as if he grows further with each step you take, but you’re desperate to reach him before the storm worsens. Freedom is so close you can taste it, all you must do is take his hand and you’ll be saved.

Your fingertips barely brush against his cool palm before you’re thrown into the dark, stolen from your dream with a gasp as someone shakes you awake. A nurse sits on the edge of your bed, fingernails digging into your shoulders and features full of panic as she frantically speaks Russian at you. Between your lack of comprehension of the language and your residual drowsiness you can’t make any sense of what she’s saying.

“I don’t understand,” you tell her impatiently, brows furrowing together as you squint your eyes and try to make sense of her alarm.

“Soldat! Soldat!” She tells you while beginning to pull you out of bed. You struggle against her and try to shove her away, but this only spurs her frenetic movements further. “Awake!”

Your blood feels like ice in your veins as you’re met with the word, and you look upon her face in search of any insincerity. You find none, only fright and unease from your lack of urgency. You scramble onto your feet as you grab onto her for support in the wake of your trembling legs and begin to shake her senselessly.

“The Winter Soldier is awake?” You ask her, and despite the language barrier there’s a flash of recognition on her features as she gives you an affirming nod.

“Zola says it is so. Must go now!”

You don’t allow her the chance to say anything else as you shove past her and through the open door, sprinting towards the lab. After three years of isolation and numbing insanity, he’s finally being released from cryo freeze. Your rational mind is out the window, and you don’t stop to think whether he’ll recognize you or even want to move forward with the deal you’d made. Your only focus is on seeing him once more to prove that this isn’t another dream.

The cycle is finally broken.

~~~