~Broken Family~

Signs

Gwen was dreaming.

She felt like it, anyway. Like a dream, she knew what was happening, but couldn't feel or comprehend any of it.

"Get 'er hands off me!" Gwen shouted through the fuzziness. The two pairs of rough hands threw her down to the hard ground, where she rolled over and tried to see through the blurriness.

She knew she was in trouble, but she couldn't bring herself to stand and put up a fight. Her half-conscious brain told her she must have been drugged, but she could hardly focus. Every time she tried to get a sentence out, her thoughts and words would slur together and she would be unable to finish.

"Stahp," she mumbled, rubbing her tied wrists together. Her muscles ached and trembled from whatever they were giving her. She felt sick to her stomach, and she gagged a few times before taking a deep intake of breath.

From her position on the floor, she saw several pairs of shiny armored boots marching into the room in synch, dragging a pair of cowboy boots along with them. Her vision lasered in on the familiar boots.

"Harley," she mumbled as another body was thrown beside her. She tried to push herself up onto her elbows and knees to poke him, but her muscles wouldn't move. "Harley."

She knew it was him. She couldn't remember how, but she knew he would help her.

Gwen managed to scoot closer, still laying down, and give him a feeble shake with her tied hands. His back felt warm through his shirt.

"Harley," she slurred again as the world spun and she fell back over, coughing. She glared at the soldiers she couldn't see but knew were there. "What'd you do't 'im? What'd you do?"

She was pretty sure she got slapped in the face, but she couldn't really feel it. She let out a whimper, wishing she could wake up from this nightmare.

Someone said something in another language, then a rough pair of arms grabbed her limp body and tied her to the wall. Her head hung down, eyes drooping, and when she looked up again she saw the Harley being tied in a chair across from her.

"Don' touch him," she stuttered as one of the big men lifted Harley's head by his hair. Something dark and red was smeared on the lower half of his face.

"I zink your friend needs a doctor," he commented dismissively with a German accent.

Out of the corner of her dim vision, she saw a shorter figure standing by the doorway, shoulders tense.

"Clay," she drawled, pulling at the restraints. "Clay, Clay, help..."

"Isn't that cute?" she heard someone sneer. "She still thinks you are friends, no?"

The Clay didn't respond.

***

When most of the fog finally dissipated, Gwen was very alarmed.

She was strapped to the wall by thick metal bands similar to the ones Peter had described, unable to use her strength to pull free. She still felt a little weak and woozy.

She didn't know how long it had been, staring blearily at the soldiers as they took notes and gave Harley's drooping head a rough shove every time they went by. She stared at his unconscious form, still in his little suit and tie, and prayed that he was all right, that he would wake up and formulate an escape plan any second.

Clay stood by the whole time, never saying anything.

Gwen hated him.

She couldn't believe that he was a traitor. How could an eighteen-year-old kid work for HYDRA? How long had he been planning it? Had he ever really been their friend? What was he planning? And where were they?