Hurt // Marvel [2]

7

"How'd you get them?"

I shrug again. "I've always thought I was born with them, but that doesn't really make sense. You don't really hear about anyone being born with things like this. You and Steve had the super serum, Bruce messed up his gamma rays, Clint and Nat are just incredibly talented after years and years of training."

Bucky leads me into a small shop and goes right over to a section covered in paper, notebooks, and writing utensils. I lean down to reach for the notebooks and pause to think about how many I'll want. One for Steve, Tony, and Natasha definitely. I then grab one extra one to write to Sam or Clint or anyone else. I think for a second of Bruce or Thor, but Hulk flew off in a quinjet and Thor left a few weeks after Sokovia.

I pull money out of my backpack as Bucky leads me towards the check-out counter. He takes the money from me and begins talking to the worker in a language I don't understand. As they talk, I look around at the other people browsing around the store as we walk by.

Each and every one of the people I saw were different. They all have different stories, different problems, different lives. Why were specific people given specific lives? Why was Steve given a life as a hero? Why was Bucky forced into a life full of torture and confusion? How did Tony end up with people who betrayed or left him? How did I end up where I am?

We're all given different lives, and although we make our own decisions, there's a lot that is out of our control.

"I have to have control over everything." I state it as a matter-of-fact to Pietro. "It makes me anxious if I think too deeply into things I can't control." I pause to take a breath. "Everyone would always want to be in my group for projects in school because they knew I'd just take over and do everything for them."

"No one can control everything," Pietro states. I've come more into terms with this recently. I'm understanding the fact that I can't control everything that happens to the three of us while we're being controlled by Hydra. But a part of that understanding makes me mad. Our lives shouldn't be in their hands, they should be under our own control. We get to make our decisions, not some higher-ups who just choose when to keep us caged up and when we might be helpful.

I jump as a fist pounds on our door.

"Medela." They call my last name as the door opens and a man sticks his head in. "Come with me." I sneak another glance at Pietro before going towards the door.

I know the protocol. I put my hands up into the air and I don't resist as they handcuff me. I follow silently behind the man in the uniform.

I'm led down the same bland grey hallways I've been led down many times before. The man stops in front of a door I recognize. It's unmarked, like many of the other doors in this base, but I'm still able to recognize it, and I still feel the pain that comes when I'm brought into this room.

This is when I start to resist.

"I'm not supposed to be back here for another few days." Before I can make a move, the man grabs my arm, keeping me from getting out of the room. "You messed something up!" I plead with the man, trying to yank my arm out of his grip. "I have three more days!" I continue struggling as the man straps me down to the metal chair in the middle of the room.

I can only watch as he clamps my wrists and ankles down, keeping me from moving.

"You can't mess up the schedule." I actually don't know what changing the schedule would do. I just know that I'm forced into this room on a weekly basis. Once a week. No more, no less. But we're early, and I know it isn't me who messed up.