"You taught me the courage of stars before you left. How light carries on endlessly, even after death." -- Sleeping at Last, Saturn
~ ~ ~
Sam faded in and out of consciousness for what felt like days.
It could have been hours. It could have been weeks. She only knew that the few times she woke up, she was in pain, she was in the dark, and something was terribly wrong.
Then, she'd pass out again.
She dreamt a lot of her brother. Sometimes, it was reliving a memory. The jokes they told, the adventures they had. Other times, it was a nightmare. Her brother's broken body on the battlefield. The letter telling her that he was gone.
She also dreamed of that blue light.
She saw it again and again. Felt the energy coursing through her body, felt the power and the pain. Like her cells had exploded and formed again. Like her body had come apart and stitched itself back together.
She watched men die on the battlefield. Heard the explosions, the gunshots. And a man's voice; the soldier who had been killed in front of her.
It's a Hydra, he'd say. A gunshot would ring out and he'd fall.
It's a Hydra.
Sam woke up with a start.
The first thing she noticed was the cold. It was freezing, her gasping breaths puffs of white amidst the otherwise darkness of the room. Slowly, she sat up.
Pain exploded through her head, her vision swimming with red. Groaning, Sam doubled over, clutching her head.
"Smalls?"
She blinked at the stone floor. She knew that voice... didn't she? There was a faint scraping sound and Sam looked up, almost scared of what she'd see.
Blue eyes gazed through a set of bars separating them. Bucky, uniform rumbled and face stained with mud, blinked, relief flooding his face.
"You're awake."
"Freshie!" Behind him, Gabe sat up. "You're not dead!"
Sam squeezed her eyes shut for a long moment at the shout, the pain doubling. Raising a hand, she waved it through the air. "No, not dead. But quiet down, would you?"
Someone else made a noise. She heard footsteps.
Dum Dum's voice broke the air. "Freshie!"
Sam clutched her head. Dammit.
"Guys, I am in pain," she growled, glaring at them. The three shared a cell and glancing past them, Sam saw even more 107th soldiers. She blinked, looking around. They were all in cells; more soldiers than she could count. Something dark and cold twisted in her stomach. "Are we..."
"Fun fact they don't tell you about the war," Bucky attempted a smile. But it didn't reach his eyes. "Getting captured sucks."
Captured.
Sam swallowed. "Captured? By the Germans?"
"They aren't the Germans, boy."
Sam jumped, scrambling toward the bars and whirling around. The voice had come from behind her. Directly behind her.
In the darkness sat a man. His accent was British, dark eyes heavy.
"I'm... sorry?" She stared.
"They call themselves Hydra. They're Germans, alright, but the bastards of Hitler's campaign. Double-crossers. They've got better weapons, armies." He rubbed his face. "They're crueler."
She studied the man, a knot forming in her throat. She hadn't even realized she had a cellmate until he spoke, her head still pounding. He wasn't an American soldier, that much was obvious. But he wore a uniform; tattered and stained.
"You're a British soldier?"
His lips pressed in a grimace. "Name's James Falsworth. I am... what is left of His Majesty's 3rd Independent Parachute Brigade."
"I'm sorry," she said, hushed. He gazed out through the bars, shrugging.
"Been here a few weeks. Been lucky, I guess."
"Lucky?" This time it was Dum Dum who spoke. He leaned against the bars, mustache furrowing as he frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means most people don't last three days," the man replied. "They work us to death. Sometimes, a prisoner just disappears. Sometimes, they make a show about it, dragging an unlucky soul off to who-knows-where."
"What happens to them?" Bucky's voice was hushed.
Falsworth only shrugged. But in the cell next to where he sat, a new voice filled the darkness. It was French and Falsworth tilted his head sideways to listen.
Then, he glanced back at Sam. "Jacques says you look like a girl."
Her heart nearly stopped. "W-- what?"
"Jacques," he motioned with his head. There was another figure slouched in the corner of his cell, gazing intently at her. "Says you look like a girl."
She didn't know how to answer that, flailing for an answer that wouldn't reveal her panic. "Uh--"
"He didn't mean to insult," Falsworth said quickly. "Just an observation, I think. He speaks French, so..." He shrugged. "He speaks, I translate."
"Right," she smiled weakly, scooting back toward the wall. Glancing over, she noticed the others studying her face. "Do you mind?"
Dugan grinned apologetically. "You got a feminine face, freshie. No offense."
"How is that not offensive?" Her voice wavered. But he seemed to just take it as indignation and grinned wider, shrugging.
Bucky was studying her eyes. She narrowed them sharply and he looked down, huffing a laugh. Sam smiled, despite herself, and despite their situation. But then the gloom of where they were set back in and the grin melted. She gazed around the cells.
"We need to get out of here."
Behind her, Falsworth huffed. "There's only two ways you leave here. Either they take you... or you die."
No one answered that.
Sam gazed down at the stone floor. There were droplets of what looked like blood splattered outside her cell, grime and dust coating where she sat. A sudden wave of hopelessness washed over her. What had she been thinking? This was a war. She didn't belong in a war.
She never had.
Wrapping her arms around her legs, she stared at the floor. Dum Dum slumped down against the cell bars next to her with a sigh. Glancing over, she saw Bucky in the other corner. He was watching her face, her eyes.
She met his gaze, wondering if her hopelessness was revealed on her face. Or if he could see behind her mask. If she was going to die here, she wondered if she cared anymore if anyone did.
Maybe not. Not anymore.
She looked back and he attempted a smile. Biting her lip, Sam looked away. She clutched her brother's dog tags, glaring at the darkness.
Not anymore.
~ ~ ~
Sam was awoken from a restless sleep by sharp shouting in German. Men in black uniforms stalked past the bars, banging on them and kicking at those in close enough range. Scrambling up, she edged forward, blinking against the gloom.
One man, hands pressed behind his back and eyes narrowed, eyed them up and down. He walked down the hall slowly and deliberately. It was a scare tactic, she realized. She drew herself up.
My name is Samantha Clarence and I am not afraid.
When he looked into her cell, she met his gaze. There was a cold air around the man; of pain and cruelty. She imagined her brother at her side, one hand on her shoulder, keeping her from flinching. He wouldn't back down.
Neither would she.
The man paused on front of her cell, turning to face her. Sam glared back, raising her chin.
He tilted his head and smiled.
There was nothing human in his smile. Nothing lifelike except a cold glimmer in his eyes. A shiver crept up her spine and he murmured something in German to the soldiers behind him, then turned away. They laughed and she clenched her jaw.
"Smalls," Bucky hissed to her side. Sam ignored him, glaring at the man's back.
He walked all the way to the end, then turned, shoulders squared. "My name is Colonel Lohmer," his German accent was thick. It made her want to punch him in the face. "You will work as you are told. If you do not, you will be made. If you decide to fight, you will die." His gaze found hers. "Is that understood?"
Sam's blood boiled. Nobody answered, but he smirked anyway.
"Wonderful. Let's get started, shall we?"
The men around him made work to unlocking the cells, yanking them out and pushing them in line. Sam stumbled, but a hand grabbed her arm, helping her steady.
"Don't do that again," Bucky whispered, searching her face. She frowned.
"Do what?"
"Don't seek a fight," his tone made it sound like he'd had a similar conversation before. Probably Steve, she realized wryly. Her heart twisted a little at memory of her friend.
"I wasn't seeking anything," she tugged away. It was a lie and they both knew it, but Bucky didn't press. He only gave her a sharp look.
She gazed toward where Lohmer stood. He was still watching her.
She glanced down.
"Don't touch my hat," Dugan growled as he was shoved in front of her. The soldier pushing him said something in German, lifting his stick.
Dugan growled back.
"You know how Falsworth said we weren't going to make it out of here alive?" Sam gazed back at Bucky. He raised a questioning eyebrow. "Well, if we do, I'm getting a milkshake. Somewhere far, far from here. Maybe even at that place you claim has the best."
"It wasn't a claim," he laughed softly. She rolled her eyes, facing back forward.
"I guess we'll see. If we get back."
"When we get back."
Sam didn't answer that. She didn't think she could; watching as one of the prisoners near the front was struck to the ground. Because honestly, she didn't think they would.
But eyeing Lohmer, she knew she wouldn't die working for the Nazis. One way or another, she wasn't going to die helping them kill more innocents.
William wouldn't have. Steve wouldn't have.
One of the men barked something in German and they all shuffled forward. Sam forced herself to move.
She wouldn't either.
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Hey, lovelies. Chapter eleven, what did you guys think? Comments, concerns? Don't forget to drop a vote if you enjoyed! I adore you all <3