I wish I could wake up with amnesia

[vivalaopenpost]

an amnesiac shipping meme


You have no idea who you are.

One day, you just woke up from the darkness, confused and alone. You barely remember your own name, much less why you're here...or where here is, even. Your own body is strange to you, and if you have some kind of power or ability, that must be frightening. Perhaps you're angry at everything so new and different, lost in this strange world you don't understand or know your own place in. Maybe you feel the need to hide away, lest you be crushed by everyone out there who is sure to hurt you.

You are so, so alone.

Only you're not. There is one person, one person who's found you and taken you in. They've shown you kindness, looking after you while you can barely look out for yourself. Out of the goodness of their heart, they've shown you things, taught you things. Most importantly, they're giving you a new sense of identity. And for that, you've begun to appreciate them. More than words can say, actually. You care for them so deeply that your heart hurts around them. Is that normal? What is this feeling? You can't imagine life without them, and leaving them- That's something you could never consider. Is this lov...

The word's on the tip of your tongue, but you can't figure it out, exactly. What you can figure out is that you want to give everything you can to the person who's done so much for them. You want to stay by their side and make them happy. You want to protect them at all costs.

So no one would blame you for getting confused when you see them with someone else or getting angry when you believe they're in danger. And certainly it's only natural for you to get frustrated when you want to tell them what you think of them, what they mean to you, and you can't figure out what to do. Perhaps following instincts will do?

One thing you know is that this bond and these emotions will never go away, not even when you learn who you are.

RULES
- This meme is for examining what happens when someone with no memories, potentially someone with powers or skills that could be dangerous at the very least, develops deep feelings for the person who's taken them in or is helping them realize their past. It can be played as awkward, adventurous, tragic, cracky, fluffy, truly romantic, or anything in between. You can play at the beginning, the part where emotions have strongly developed, or even when the amnesiac has regained their memories and must now deal with new feelings.
- Reply with your character and preferences. Mention if you'd like to play the amnesiac, the caretaker/help, or both.
- The role of caretaker does not have to always be beneficial. Maybe they caused this condition in the first place so the other character would be dependent, loving, and loyal towards them.
- Reply to others and play.

Comments

Mind if we timeskip the combat part since they're separated? To avoid npcing a lot

[missionreport]

From the slight, unconscious dip of his chin at hearing that name, it seems as if her dream's right. Natalia. Good that she's finally remembered her name. Or at least, that's the alias Red Room gave her, because even the Soldier doesn't know what her birth name may have been. He assumes it was scrubbed away before she was recruited. It isn't important, at any rate. HYDRA doesn't care who she was born as, only who she is now - the new weapon waiting to be molded by proper teachers instead of being wasted carrying out Russia's lesser work. The weapon that he should deliver -

It takes a concentrated effort to cut off those invading thoughts from taking control.

The Winter Soldier moves quickly, aware of Natalia's face walling off like it did all the other times where death was closing in. She had a talent of partitioning it off, better than her peers. She's handed the small backpack that he'd kept close, heavy with another knife, batons and tasers and a pistol.

"Here."

After a final, silent look at Natalia, he eases toward the window. The blinds were drawn and they're old - it feels like a lifetime before he can lift them without rattling. The window itself is rickety and he has to ease it open, listening to the sounds of Natalia arming herself behind him. He glances over his shoulder, as if checking to make sure Natalia is real and functioning, and then he disappears through the window like a ghost, taking the fire escape to the roof.

[brushpass]

After a slow start, the muscle memory of violence comes flooding back. It’s like she’s done this a thousand times. And though she can feel a twinge of misgiving somewhere deep in her gut, she doesn’t leave anyone alive behind her. Even with the incomplete jigsaw puzzle in her mind, she knows what this means. It’s their lives or hers. And she’s not ready to let go. Not yet.

When she finds the soldier, she’s moving a little stiffly. She’s got her hand pressed over a wound in her side and she’s splattered with blood. Not all of it is hers. With her free hand, she reaches out and touches his forearm. Her eyes skim his face, making sure he’s not injured. They’re not going to get very far if they both need to be patched up. “Let’s go.” Her wound can wait.

The car they take is a low profile sedan and she sits in the passenger seat with her eyes closed. She can see the tense, furious fight she just won painted on the inside of her eyelids. They weren’t going to stop coming for her.

“They were like me,” she says after a long moment. Deadly. Efficient. On some level, she recognized they’d been ordered here in some way. Chemicals. Hypnosis. The same thick layers that clouded her own memory.

“We have to get out of the country.” It was, perhaps, the most dangerous thing she'd said to him yet.

[missionreport]

The Winter Soldier's fared better than she had: aside from a few bruises, he looks the same as before, breathing hard as adrenaline still lights every nerve on fire. His eyes rake over Natalia, taking in the way she favors her side, the patchwork of blood against her face, hands and dark stains against her clothes. More than he would've expected. He'll want an update once they're clear of the immediate danger.

Taking the wheel, the Winter Soldier keeps his eyes on the road and doesn't speak at first. He doesn't bother with the radio to fill the silence, though the way his eyes sometimes flick sidelong to check on Natalia, his nose flaring as he picks out the penny scent of blood, betrays whatever concern he's capable of.

"Not surprising. They came from the same place you did."

That isn't a secret. He does wonder if maybe she knew them personally. Perhaps they trained or. Or maybe there was a rookie, taken under Natalia's wing, who drew the short end of the straw. Good to see that she hadn't let some latent, instinctive softness spare them. It's the closest he can feel to pride.

"That won't be easy," the Asset says, although it's not exactly a no. His eyes wander up to check the rearview mirror, then the side ones. No sign of a tail. "They'll be monitoring flights and the roads."

They might need to do some of this on foot. He takes a slow, leisurely right at the next intersection, as if the Red Room hadn't sent a retrieval team for their star pupil.

"What injuries? Can you do some of this on foot?" If they ditch the car at some point and take it on foot, avoiding the main urban center, they might have a chance. He hopes that Natalia can keep up like she used to. Otherwise the Red Room's second team may catch up or - this is the one he's most concerned about - they might send another team from HYDRA. The other Winter Soldiers' orders might be...

All he knows he doesn't want to run into the other Soldiers.

[brushpass]

They came from the same place you did.

It’s what she’d been expecting, but still, the confirmation is nice. Sometimes the puzzle pieces she’s reclaiming of her identity don’t feel entirely like her own. Like maybe she’s remembering someone else’s life from a first person point of view. Maybe it’s just wishful thinking. She doesn’t respond out loud, instead nodding her head.

“No,” she agrees after a moment when he says it won’t be easy. “But it will be smart.” The trick to survival is to zig when someone thinks you’re going to zag. Her eyes close for a moment, weary of how quickly her mind seems to know how to turn over these kinds of rocks. Someone with her skills and a fractured memory should, by all accounts, seek out the familiar. So they should go to an unfamiliar territory. There’s tactical disadvantages to not knowing the terrain, of course, but they’re counterbalanced by the anonymity it will provide.

There’s no hesitation when he asks if she can do some of this on foot. “Yes. But you’re going to have to stitch me up first. I don’t think I can do it at this angle.” Maybe if she had all of her memory intact. “It’s a knife wound. A slash. Not too deep, but the blade was sharp, so it’s bleeding. The rest is just scrapes and bruises.” She knows in her bones: it’s nothing that will slow her down.

When he eventually pulls the car over, she hands him the first aid kit and climbs out of the car. Opening the back door, she leans in its frame and waits for him to join her before she peels her shirt up to expose the wound. She’s going to have to exchange it for something that looks a little less ghoulish if they want to avoid drawing attention. Her eyes meet his for a moment and the corner of her mouth pricks up into a little smirk. “Got any lollipops, doc?” She’s not entirely sure where that came from, but it feels almost familiar in her mouth. Like maybe it’s not the first time they’ve had to do clandestine patchwork.