The Mimic (HE/HIM VERSION)

110

Y/n was right. It was hell.

Wanda was long gone. She'd taken out the men that were trying to attack her, and had left to help the rest of the team. Rumlow's men had tried to escape into a busy market nearby, which just caused more risks for the mission. At least one hundred civilians all packed into a small area. What could go wrong? It wasn't like there were guns and bioweapons being actively used. That was why Wanda had to leave y/n on his own. She had to help the team prevent any injury to the public. A whole building had already been taken out, they couldn't risk any further damage.

So, y/n was left on his own. Alone, in pain, and angry.

He was leant against a pillar, both hands held up in the air as he controlled the cloud of poisonous gas above. Now that he wasn't mimicking super soldier strength, everything hurt. His body finally had time to react to the crash, and it wasn't a pleasant experience. His hands felt as if they had been torn to pieces, but the copious amounts of dirt caking his skin seemed to cover up any sign of injury. His ribs felt as if he'd been hit over and over again with a metal bat, and his throat stung from the heavy intake of dust. Every breath felt as if there were a thousand tiny daggers cutting him up from the inside-out. The red staining on his jeans let y/n know that his knees were in bad shape, and his right ankle felt as if it had been hit with a sledgehammer. There wasn't an area on her body that didn't hurt. Now, if he'd been wearing his mission suit, he'd definitely still be injured, but not as bad as this. Stark's designs were almost always some sort of shock-proof. Civilian clothes weren't. Y/n had taken the full force of that crash. He should've been in an ambulance.

But, y/n had no choice but to deal with it. There were no medical teams around, no ambulances, and no Bruce. He had to deal with the pain until they got back to the compound. They had a mission to do, and stopping a bioweapon was far more important than a few cuts and some possibly broken bones. Or at least that was the Avengers mentality - if you're not dead, walk it off.

The pillar was the only keeping him on his feet. Y/n had no other choice but to lean all of his weight onto it, if he didn't he'd be on the floor in seconds. He took slow breaths in attempt to fight through the pain, but every breath just seemed to make it worse. All y/n wanted was to sit or lay down somewhere. He'd been out in the city with Bucky for two days straight, there'd been barely any rest time. He had even debated sitting down on the ground, but as much as he wanted to, he couldn't. What would the team say if they saw him sat on the ground? What if they needed him? What if some of Rumlow's team tried to attack him? He'd leave himself even more vulnerable than he already was.

However, the pain wasn't the only thing causing y/n to struggle.

His thoughts were destroying him. The anger, the frustration, everything. Y/n's nightmares had already been getting worse and worse, and the resurgence of his nickname just seemed to be the cherry on top. He had failed to kill Rumlow, and yet he wasn't sure if that was a good or bad thing. In one half, all he could hear was the man in suit scolding him for failing a mission, but the other half was praising him. It helped to prove that y/n wasn't a killer anymore. Even though his nightmares told a different story. It was all a mess. A complete turmoil that he couldn't solve on his own. But of course he hadn't told anyone about his nightmares getting worse. Y/n had just opted for the route of ignorance instead. Maybe if he ignored the horrible thoughts in his mind, they'd go away. So he stayed silent over it all, painted a smile and pretended as if everything was fine.

But everything was far from fine. And the thin thread keeping y/n together suddenly seemed to snap.

A horrible, sharp pain suddenly came over y/n's head. Almost as if something had exploded. The pressure forced upon his head was strong and just seemed to be getting worse by the second. A warm, thick liquid dripped over his lips and down his chin at an aggressive rate. His nose was bleeding. It hadn't bled like that since Wakanda. Something was wrong. Something was really wrong.

The pain in his head just seemed to be getting worse and worse. It was nothing like anything he'd felt before. Excruciating and unbearable. It made the rest of the pain in his body seem like nothing.

Y/n cried out at the sudden explosion in his mind, both hands shooting down to hold his head. He'd completely let go of Wanda's powers, but he didn't care. The pain in his head was unbearable. His vision slowly begun to blur, objects beginning to mix into a single colourful blob, and no amount of blinking seemed to clear it up. Every sound except his breathing begun to fade into the background. Almost every single sense had been destroyed, and he didn't even know why. All he knew was that he couldn't handle this pain for much longer.

He had to find the team.

Y/n forced himself off of the pillar, blinking heavily as he struggled to see where he was going. Blood was still steadily dripping from his nose, leaving a nice trail on the ground. He stumbled and tripped over rubble with every step, yet he continued to walk. He had to. Y/n had to keep moving. He had to get help. He'd never felt something as excruciating as this before, and it was terrifying.

Something was really really wrong.