I woke from a horrible nightmare, a blood curdling scream ripping its way out of my throat. I sat bolt upright in bed, breathing heavily drenched in a cold sweat. A twinge of pain shoots through my right shoulder and I immediately clap your hand over it. My hands contact with my shoulder is met by dull the clang of flesh against metal.

At first I'm surprised at the sight of my arm, but I slowly remember the events that brought about the necessity of its replacement. It was what I was having a nightmare about, though my current recollection is much more calm. Soon the memories cloud my vision.

Nearly a week ago I had gone on my second assignment with the Avengers. We were sent to infiltrate a H.Y.D.R.A base in the dead of night. The buildings had been thought to be abandoned after the Winter Soldier disappeared. Those thoughts, of course, were wrong. We had reached the middle of the complex when a rather large group of H.Y.D.R.A agents ambushed the team from the shadows. I was the only powered person with the team that night (Wanda and Pietro had been asked to stay behind in New York to look after the tower.) and because I can pull fire out of thin air I lit the place up, setting wooden desks and now obsolete files ablaze. With the extra light the team was able to go about picking H.Y.D.R.A agents off one by one. (Well the Black Widow worked much faster than everyone else taking out four agents at a time.)

I remember taking out two men and soon after a searing pain in my right bicep. A bullet had torn it's way through. I whipped around to find the H.Y.D.R.A agent still standing there and with a loud animalistic screech I charged him and manage to snap his neck with one hand, but not before they had managed to fire another round into my right shoulder. They used a larger caliber bullet this time, which mostly just pissed me off at the time because it put my right arm out of commission for the rest of the fight. It wasn't until after the group of H.Y.D.R.A agents had been taken care of that anyone, including myself, noticed that your arm was practically being held to my body by threads.

The team rushed me back to the quinjet and laid me in the middle of the floor of the aircraft. I had lost a lot of blood and was having trouble breathing. Dr. Banner made the decision to remove my arm right then and there. The process was painful and involved a lot of screaming and sad wipering on my end. There was whispering from Tony and Bruce once my arm was removed but I could barely hear it. My head was in Steve's' lap, Nat was running her hand across my hair and face and Thor was clutching my left hand. Their attempts and comfort were greatly appreciated, though I was trying really hard to not cry.

Once the science twins had stopped whispering to themselves they turned back to me and everyone else. Bruce quietly told me that the wound had to be cauterized, but the only source of heat available that was gentle enough was me. My breath hitched slightly and I had started to sweat a little.

All eyes were on me. Everyones faces held the same look of strained sympathy and it made me absolutely sick to know that they were hurting for me. Steve asked me if I was sure that I could do it. I had gritted my teeth and nodded. This was something I had to do if I wanted to be accepted as an Avenger. I had to be sure that I could.

Thor let go of my hand and I flicked my wrist to cover my hand in a flame. I breathed deeply in and out a few times to pump myself up and then slapped my hand over the nub that used to be my right arm. Normally fire had no effect on me, but against that flesh wound it hurt. It hurt a lot. I had let loose a screech that set everyone on edge, but I kept my hand in place. After about thirty seconds I removed it to find a hand shaped burn. I sighed loudly at the angry red mark. At least the bleeding had stopped.

"Is (Y/N)h gonna be alright?" Clint called from the cockpit.

Everyone answered with a chorus of "yes's" and "yeah's". It wasn't long until we had made it back to the tower. With my sad little stump bandaged up thoroughly Thor offered his arm for support, and I gladly took it. With help from the others I had stumbled into the living room to find that Wanda and Pietro had stayed up to greet us. Their eyes grew wide when they noticed the absence of my dominant arm. Pietro sped over to me and took my weight onto his shoulders, relieving Thor from the duty.

"What happened?" He'd asked, his voice had run deep with concern.

"Nothing good." I'd answered. "I'm fine though, P, don't worry."

"Yeah, don't worry kid." Clint had said, slapping Pietro on the back making the both of us lurch forward. "We've got the best drugs right downstairs. She'll be fine."

And I was. That is to say, I am. Tony and BRuce developed a highly advanced robotic prosthetic to make up for the loss of my flesh arm. It was made from the excess vibranium that Tony decided to scrounge up after the Sokovia incident. The vibranium is somewhat less pure than the vibranium used to make caps shield but it works. It's conveniently fire-proof and heat resistant. I was worried to use my skills at first because I had been scared to melt my arm, but after the first time of engulfing my entire body in fire (though regrettably I had been wearing clothes at the time.) nothing melted.

Even so it's still hard to believe it's my arm. I still haven't gotten used to it's power, and the cybernetics still have a little ways to go on fully connecting to my nerves. Until the machinery connects fully I have to hold my arm to my body with a couple leather straps. Its rather uncomfortable.

My visions of the past fade and I try to rub the sleep from my eyes. It's about three am, but there's no way I'm going to be able to get back to sleep any time soon. Throwing the covers off of my body, I swing my legs over the edge of the bed, stand up and make my way to the door. Upon opening it I look up to find the one and only Captain America there with his hand raised above his head as if he were just about to knock.

"Hey." I say, somewhat surprised. Steve was never the one to check on me.

"(Y/N), Hey. Are you alright?" He asks, genuine concern leaking into his voice and facial features. "I heard your scream just a moment ago. Is everything okay?"

"Yeah," I answer simply. "It was just a nightmare."

"Okay." He says quietly. He wraps his arms around my shoulders and pulls me into a hug. I lace my arms around his waist in return, thanking him silently. It's not every day you get to hug Steve Rogers.

"I think I just need to punch some stuff." I say. "That'll probably make me feel better. Plus Bruce said that exercise would help with the integration of my new arm, so theres that."

"Alright." He says with a small laugh, releasing me from the hug. "I'll see you and everyone else in a few days. Sam and I are following up on a lead. It's a long shot, but we might actually have something this time."

"I hope you guys find him this time." I say in response. "Bring him home, Steve."

He nods at me with that smile he pastes onto his face when he's sad and wants to hide it. Everyone knows the smile. I think even he knows to some degree. He ruffles my hair and the two of us part ways. Him off to find Sam, and I myself to change and then search for a punching bag.

I immediately found what I was looking for a few floors below in the training room. I grabbed one of the biggest bags we had and hooked it up. I didn't bother wrapping my hands. Sometimes bloodying my knuckles helps bring my focus back to the present. I started just hammering away on the bag getting lost in my thoughts.

I thought about H.Y.D.R.A and the sandbox and S.H.I.E.L.D. Before H.Y.D.R.A held a prominent presence in S.H.I.E.L.D the sandbox was the safest place for a powered person like me. It was essentially a sanctuary built by S.H.I.E.L.D to help powered people learn to control their powers. Once H.Y.D.R.A really took hold it was like a living nightmare. The sandbox, which had become my home, seemed to turn into one massive sadistic science experiment. Because of my abilities they tortured me to "see how they worked". I was one of the few who survived their little "experiments", if you could even call them that, and H.Y.D.R.A forced me to fight and kill my friends and the allies whom I had worked for years to accumulate. They tried to wipe me multiple times, but I always lit myself up when they tried to get close. The few times they were able to sedate me it only lasted a quarter of the time length that they had wanted because of my high body temperature. Nevertheless, they beat me and broke me and turned me into a shell of the person that had gone in there. At one point it was so bad that the pain nearly acted as a memory wipe almost making me forget my name. H.Y.D.R.A hurt me, and made it nearly impossible to put my pieces back together again.

Someone interrupted my train of thought by tapping on my shoulder. Without thinking I reached back with my right arm, grabbed them by the neck and flipped them over into their back. Clamping my right hand over their throat my left hand forms a fist that is soon engulfed in fire. After the fact I see that the person that I've got pinned to the floor is Pietro with a feeble grin stuck to his features. I was surprised that I had managed to take the Sokovian speedster down and immediately released him from my death grip and shook my left hand to extinguish the flame. He sat up rubbing his throat, looking at me all the time making me feel extremely guilty for taking him down.

"Damn, that arm is fast." He says rather smoothly for someone who'd just had the wind knocked out of them.

"What the hell pietro! I could have killed you!" I hissed. I offered him a hand up, and he took it hauling himself to his feet.

"But you didn't!" He responded, much too cheerily.

"Alright Maximoff, cut the crap. Why are you here?" I ask somewhat harshly. His demeanor changed rather quickly at my change in tone.

"I had heard you scream earlier and I went to go check on you, but when I got to your room you were talking to Rogers. I wasn't fast enough to get there before him." He answers.

"What?" I say sarcastically. "The one and only Quicksilver didn't rush into action? Unheard of."

He looks down at his feet visibly crestfallen. Maybe my comment actually got to him. Did I hurt his feelings? No, that's unacceptable.

"Hey, don't worry about it P. I'm fine." I say putting my hand on his upper arm and attempting to make eye contact with him. "Thank you for worrying about me. It means a lot to me, really it does."

He puts his hand on the back of my neck and slowly pulls my head forward. he touches his forehead to mine, and sighs.

"I hate it when I cannot protect you (Y/N)." He says quietly. "I hate to see you hurting and even more when I cannot help. I just feel... useless."

"Pietro..." I trail off slightly, my eyes widening incredulously. How could he ever feel useless? He's an Avenger. He saved Clint and a little boy in Sokovia and lived despite having been turned into swiss cheese. "You could never be useless.Never. You're too important to the team. To Wanda. To me... I don't know what we-what I would do without you."

He pulls away from me and locks in on my face. His eyes bore into mine as if searching for some trace of a lie behind what I've just said. He sighs quietly and I assume he'd found none.

Taking up his right hand in my left I kiss his palm. He, in turn, does the same to mine. The two of us often did this as a goodbye, "good luck", or congratulations. Sometimes it was a reassurance that each of us was real and alive, and safe. This time it was a mixture of the latter and a goodbye.

"Goodnight, Pietro." I say, and head back to my room.

"Goodnight, (Y/N)." He whispers in return.