Dreams Made Real

Clint was dreaming, he had to be dreaming. But there he sat in a place he should not be at all. And yet he couldnt shake the feeling that he had been there for a while. Years even. His body felt tired in a way that he couldnt describe. He was cold, hungry, and yet he knew that he couldnt give up.  The bars behind his back felt cold and unrelenting against the strain that everyone in there with him just couldnt break. And they had tried many times before. But there they were, stuck....trapped. And everyone they hauled off never returned.  The more he stared off into the distance the more at home in his body he felt. This was his reality, as bleak as it was, and he was probably going to die here in this place so far from home. He hadnt told his folks where he was going, just took off and signed up. He was placed in the 107th Infantry Regiment, and had fought throught many battles. He had watched so many of these men fall into the group, bright eyed and scared. So many had this ridiculous notion of honor and glory....he had begun to turn a blind eye to the replacements. He was tired of watching them die, watching them cry for their mothers at the end. Tired of it all.

Now here he sat, captured and likely left for dead by the army. Trying to ignore the silent tears of the men around him. He knew the odds of them getting out were slim. He had lied to the ones around them, telling them help was coming. But he knew the score pretty well. Help just wasnt coming. He leaned against the bars and tried to count just how long they had been there in this hell, but he couldnt. The days and nights felt the same here and time had truly lost all meaning as they sat there. He wondered if his folks would ever know what happened to him....if missing in action would ever turn to just killed in action. He sighed and closed his eyes. Might as well sleep while he could. They had taken Barnes back a while ago and the only reason they knew he was still alive were the screams. He wondered if he would be next, they seemed to favor the Non Comms here. He didnt know Barnes all that well, but he was a decent sort of folk. Smart, could shoot like no ones business. Yes, Frank wasn't surprised that he had came up the ranks like he did.

Suddenly there was noise...a lot of it. Frank opened his eyes and a look of shock fell over his place. Was that.....Captain America?  He had seen the movies and adds of him circling about before. He was meant to give the troops hope and keep their spirits up....Frank had always kind of rolled his eyes at the movies. If only the war had been so glamorous. But he had apprectiated the mans effort at least. Kept most of the new guys from sh*tting their pants at the sight of war at least. But there he stood now, and Frank knew he wasnt dreaming, he was still too cold and hungry for that. Their cages were being opened and Frank was the first to get out of his. Standing had never felt so good. But now wasnt the time to stand around. He signaled for his men to follow him as he took the direction as the others were going. He wanted to stay and help the Captain, but he had too many green boys under his command. They needed direction and he would be damned if he watched them die today after all they had just survived.

Frank, along with a few others walked about getting the wounded loaded on stolen trucks. He made sure to get his boys settled and ready to move. He moved with renewed purpose, they had a fighting chance now and Frank was all about a fighting chance. Soon the Captain joined them on the outskirts of the place they had been held, the whole place aflame. They all seemed to take direction from him automatically, moving out as a group, moving fast but slow enough for their walking wounded. Frank didnt care where they were going, just so long as it wasnt there anymore.

They walked long into the night and early morning. It was a brutal march for some, others moved like zombies through the cold and the fog of the morning as it settled upon them. Frank kept to the rear so as to make sure no one was left behind. He didnt want to take any chances at this point. Soon they were treading into the camps and he heard the cheer go up, but he simply kept going. He was glad they made it, but there was more work to be done. People to report to. Frank always kept to the chain of command and so he reported in to his superiors and gave a roster he had been building since they had left that place. He was happy to say that Barnes had made it out. Who knew the guy was best friends with the Captain? He handed in all the dogtags he had collected of the dead as well....those boys deserved that much at least.

The thing about war is that it goes on. They barely had time to recoup before they were shipping out again. God Frank was so tired, his sleep no longer brought him peace, just the screams of those who never made it out of that nightmarish place. Frank promised himself that if he made it out of here, he would buy a farm and live out his life in peace. He never wanted to another blood stained battlefield in his life. But until then here he was in another city as they tried to overtake it in the advancement. He was screaming orders over the sounds of gunfire, "Clear out, clear out, theyve got us zeroed!!!"  It was then when it hit him, literally. He went flying through the air, hitting a wall from the explosion. He had been hit, and lay bleeding in the streets. He tried to access the damage but he couldnt hear anything but a ringing in his ears and choked on the brick and mortar that fell around him. One of his unit came running up and grabbed him and then he knew only pain as they moved him. His leg was on fire, he could feel the blood now pouring down. Suddenly he was on the ground again as medics rushed towards him and it was then he looked down. His leg was gone at the knee. He had lost his leg and he suddenly started laughing as they worked on him. Well he wasnt going to be doing the jitterbug anymore. They stabbed him with morphine and thats when it happened.

Clint shot up in a pure sweat. His lungs were burning from the scream that admitted from his lips as he shot up. He automatically reached down for his leg and let out a sob to find it still there. He stumbled out of bed and headed straight for the bathroom to throw up. Leaning against his tub he made himself calm down. It was just a dream, it wasnt real....and yet Clint suddenly recalled the tombstones at the old family farm. The farm he had saved for and bought back as an adult and had been working for Shield for a couple of years. Frank Barton was what one of the headstones read, his POW status listed as well as his receiving the Silver Star medal. Clint felt a chill run down his spine.....how could he have dreamed that? Was it real and if it was, how did he know any of it at all?