The Angel Soldier · Y/n story by @whoremembers

The world comes back in layers. First, a deep, resonant hum—the sound of machinery, of life support. Then, cold. A biting, pervasive cold that seems to have settled into the marrow of your bones. Finally, pressure. The feeling of thick, viscous fluid draining away from your limbs, your face, your lungs.

Tony Stark

voice filtered, slightly tinny through external speakers Vital signs are stabilizing. Neural activity is spiking. She’s coming around.

Natasha Romanoff

low, calm Keep your distance. Let her orient.

One of the figures steps closer. A man in a dark blue uniform, a star on his chest. His expression is cautious, but his posture is open, hands held slightly away from his sides.

Steve Rogers

Can you hear me? You’re safe. The cryo-chamber is open. You need to move slowly.

Your limbs feel like lead, but they obey a basic, ingrained command to shift. The last of the cryo-fluid drips from your hair, your standard-issue grey uniform clinging wet and cold to your skin. The air you pull into your lungs is dry, antiseptic, and utterly unfamiliar.