The Red Soldier: Origins of the Red Soldier

ISSUE #4

'Any last minute advice?' Steve asked her through his open window.

'Don't get killed.'

They drove well into the night until (Y/N) begun to fall asleep at the steering wheel. At that point, Bucky instructed him to pull off of the road and into a small hidden lane through a dense forest, where they could set up a camp for the night.

Although insisting they should carry on, (Y/N) couldn't deny that they'd regret not resting tomorrow morning when they reached their first target; besides, his hands were restless, and he needed to stretch his legs. He hadn't drove in over a year, and he regretted that now. He cursed himself now for not purchasing the 1936 Chrysler he'd seen for sale, even if he would have only ever used it to go to the green grocer's.

Whilst Steve and Bucky got the tent out of the boot of the car and begun to set it up, (Y/N) gathered some wood and lit a small fire; the temperature was dropping, and he knew they'd all appreciate some warmth. His hands hovered above the flames, fingers and palms outstretched as he let the fire tickle away the cold.

'I'll take the first watch,' (Y/N) said, just loud enough for Bucky and Steve to hear him from the tent.

'You've been driving all day, you should rest first, I'll stay up,' Steve replied, Bucky nodded in agreement.

'I'll be fine,' he said, 'I'm not tired – go to bed.' Steve looked as though he were going to argue, but a stern look from (Y/N) told him there was no use in arguing.

Once the tent had been buckled up, and he had a cup of lukewarm water, with a tea bag in it, in his hands, he took a deep breath. He began to worry about his family. That was his curse as of late. He couldn't sleep, and so he'd stay awake, riddled with concern. His brother was imprisoned, and his father was dead, that much was known. The whereabouts of his uncle were still a mystery though.

He could only imagine the state of panic and fear his aunty would have been in when two strange men in army uniforms turned up at her door to deliver the yellow telegram; at least his mother knew where her son and husband were.

After digging a small hole in which he could place his 'tea' into, he studied his hands, watching as streaks of red energy danced around his fingers, illuminating the air around him. He directed it at a medium holly, causing it to become unrooted. In pure amazement he watched as it followed wherever his hands went.

Eventually, he grew bored of it, letting it fall from an eighteen foot height. It crashed into a bramble, causing a bit of a ruckus; a noise which must have stirred Sergeant Barnes, since he exited the tent moments after.

'What was that?' he asked, a thick wool blanket draped over his shoulders, a rifle held in his arms. He emerged from the tent cautiously, scanning through the trees.

'I made a tree fly,' (Y/N) responded casually, 'pointing into the distance where the holly now lay, broken up into branches. 'Did I wake Steve up too?'

'He's still sleeping, and I was already awake. You should get some sleep.'

'I don't think I'll be able too,' (Y/N) huffed, starring into the embers. Bucky got down beside him, pulling a portion of his blanket over his shivering shoulders.

'Want to talk about it?'

'Not particularly,' he grumbled, leaning into Bucky a little, 'you're warm.'

'You're freezing,' replied Bucky, resting an arm behind (Y/N), pulling him closer, 'fire needs more wood.'

(Y/N) raised a hand, focusing on the pile of thin branches he'd gathered earlier. Then he simply needed to pull them towards him, allowing them to drop into the fire. Bucky watched on silently, impressed, stunned. 'You're amazing,' he whispered into his ear, 'did you know that?' Then, gently, he planted a soft kiss on (Y/N)'s cheek.