We were being trained together. Or well, Winter Soldier and Beast were. It was odd and unpleasant feeling, but I tried to push it in the depths of my dark mind. Part of the saddle I was to wear was surprisingly made of metal. It was heavy, adding Soldat on it, made my wings ache like never before.

They trained us how to be most effective in a battle. Soldat was trained to shoot, and I was to be as still in the air as possible.

Which may I say, was not as easy a sit may sound.

Of course I got treats whenever I got something done well, the occasions were rare, thus the prizes I received made me nearly leap of joy.

One day when I finally figured out how to be as still in the air as possible, they did not use any electricity on me for a week, and after the day they gave me something, it was sweet and melted in my mouth. They called it chocolate, and it must have been the most pleasant thing my taste buds have ever, well, tasted.

But when I got something wrong over and over again, the punishment was severe. With sticks and stones and knives they made me understand that I was to be skilled to perfection. Every bruise on my ashened skin reminded me that I could not fail. The punishments always ended up with me bleeding, the taste and smell of my own blood became normal to me.

But the pain was always... It didn't feel right and sometimes in silence I bondered what would life be without broken bones and bleeding wounds. And sometimes I wished I had no life at all. One day when I had failed with breathing fire again, I was laying in a cell, metal heavily hanging around my neck and my wings shredded to nearly unrecognisable shape. I wished for once Death to take me like it took so many other Subjects. I could sometimes smell them, smell the Death creeping in the labs, I could sense it taking another life in somewhere near my cell. Sometimes the life it took was old, nearly ready to die, but often it was a young life, only in the beginning of its journey.

Laying there with broken wings, small whines leaving my maw I could vaguely sense people approaching hurriedly. Almost fearing they'd come to me again, but no, they ran past me. “Hurry, they are hatching!” someone announced with high pitched voice.

I shut my red and yellow eyes tightly, trying to switch my position. My wings, my poor wings. Slowly and as gently as I could, I stretched the tattered wings out, with a whine I pressed them against the hard surface. I winced, but the cold of the floor made the pain more bearable.

Wings were sensitive, I could hardly feel a bullet against my scales, but the leathery wings felt everything. Even the smallest scratch had made me hiss and want to kill whoever touched them, having gaping holes and broken wing bones was a lot worse. And somehow scientists knew it before I did, so, breaking my wings was their form of torture.

They weren't bothered by my bruised body, they had some kind of machine that would sew it all back together in no time, if they only wished to. They often didn't, letting me feel the failures of my own actions.

I shifted uncomfortably, the chains around my neck clinking against the hard floor. I huffed in pain, clawing at the floor in silent agony. Every inhale and exhale moved my body lightly, making the pain in my wings almost unbearable.

Strong and cold hand gently rested on my neck. I growled at the man, he wasn't bothered by my warning as he slowly but reassuringly skimmed his metal fingers over my shoulder in a form of massage, or a stroke He inched closer, ignoring my slightly curled lip as he stroked my scaly neck.

After some time, my growling died down and I stopped showing him my teeth, instead, small whimpers left my throat as the man caressed my neck to try and comfort me.

I hate to admit it, but his show of caring and his cool hand against my aching shoulder was rather calming. It didn't make the pain go away, not psychical at least, but it made me feel better. My wings were shaking lightly, luckily he made no move to try and snap the wing bone right, I would've probably murdered him right then and right there if he as much as touched my blooded wings.

Trying not to move much of my dark scaled body, I curled my neck and tiredly placed my head on the man's lap. He stroked my cheek and head slowly, I refused to open my eyes. Ashamed, I couldn't face him, I was being weak. But something in me searched for comfort, the pain was unbearable this time.  And willingly he was the only one to try and reassure me, even when I deserved the pain.

After all, what kind of dragon is unable to breathe fire.

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I wrote it 2am while feeling depressed. Oh well, sorry for the grammar mistakes.