Chapter Text
"You know, I'm twelve minutes older than you."
She couldn't help the smirk that crossed her features, the thread of understanding and bemusement spreading from his mind to hers. Their deep connection was one of the only reasons she was so willing to be apart from him for the time being. "Go," she urged him with a chuckle, focusing back on the task at hand. He smiled, before taking off in a streak of silver. Had she known it was the last time she would see him alive, she might have taken a moment longer to note that his blue eyes reminded her of Mama, or that his smile was the same as Papa's or begged him to hug her one last time so that she might not feel so broken once he was gone.
No, that wasn't right. If she had known it was the last she would have seen him alive, she would've begged him not to go. But Pietro wasn't selfish - he never would have abandoned their people. She only wished that he had not been alone.
It felt as if the Ultron sentries came forever, with her using her scarlet webs to tear them apart. She allowed the image of annihilation to replay in her mind, fueling her rage and the anger she felt at herself. How could they have been so foolish as to trust him? How could they have helped him do this? Novi Grad was no longer a city, but a shooting star on a course for destruction. She didn't want to die.
Not until she felt a sudden shooting pain in her head and a throbbing ache in her chest. There was no way to describe the pain she felt reverberating throughout her chest, her arms, her abdomen, her legs; her entire body was full of pure agony. Then nothing at all. The feeling of severance of their connection only meant one thing and the decimation within her was enough to elicit a shaken gasp from her lips. There was no way to contain the building horror in her; as if she were slowly falling, coming apart piece by piece, she found that she could no longer support her own body. She felt to her knees with a devastated scream. Her powers erupted from her in a burst of red, disintegrating the robots all around her. She hardly noticed, her pain too great as it overtook her in an endless scream and a sudden wish for death.
Her heart was in tattered, bleeding pieces and she was certain it would never be whole again.
She allowed her rage to build a wall, containing her grief and her pain and she sobbed as she waited for the strength to kill the cause of this. He took everything from her. He would feel her pain.
And then, she would fall.
Wanda trembled in her seat, twisting the rings that adorned her fingers instead of picking at the skin around her nails. It had been an idea of her brother's once when they were young. He had scraped up enough money to buy her a small silver ring (she didn't have it anymore - it had turned her skin green) after seeing her chew her nails and pick apart her cuticles out of anxiety. Living in an orphanage in Sokovia was not an ideal situation and she had easily developed a sort of anxiety that left her attached to Pietro by the hip. Not to mention that it had probably been borne within her the moment that a bomb ripped apart their flat and killed their parents right before them. That they had been trapped for two days, trying not to shake out of fear that it would set off the bomb that laid before them. So, she started to collect the rings on her fingers, finding it much less painful to twist the metal and play with them rather than cause herself to bleed.
She looked down at her own hands now; her fingernails were painted black, her rings shining against the too-long black sleeves of her sweater. Her hands had become the main source of her power now and even as she sat quietly, she could feel the tension that ran just beneath the surface. It was useful, when she had first been given the powers. They were both angry and eager to change the world. It served its purpose in that mission. Afterwards, it helped her destroy her own mistakes with Ultron. But now, in the uncertainty of her life, she was frightened of it.
Wanda was no longer the rebellious miscreant she believed herself to be when Pietro was alive. He had been her other half; she was only complete when he was alive or so she believed. She had been fully prepared and ready to die in Novi Grad as it fell. She hadn't even made efforts to try and save herself, merely allowing herself to freefall.
There was in fact a distinct lack of purpose in her now. Her life was up in the air - she knew that the Avengers were vying for her in their country. She supposed that meant she was to join the team. They had been staying in the helicarrier that had arrived with SHIELDS' help, but their stay was becoming past due for them to move on. The Sokovian refugees were sent to an American embassy in some country near Sokovia. It hurt her immensely to think of them - she had no idea what was to become of them. Novi Grad may have only been their capital city, but it was nearly the only city in the entirety of their country. Their homes had been destroyed, their government and their lives along with it. There was nothing left for them. Nothing left for her.
The Quinjet rumbled and she dropped her hands, gripping her seat. From the front of the jet, a quiet voice said, "We are experiencing turbulence, but there is no cause for concern."
They called him the Vision, after Thor's own experience of oracle. Wanda had not spent much time with any of the Avengers, save for perhaps Clint Barton, who had held her at her brother's funeral and allowed her to mourn quietly into his chest. The arrangement of the ceremony itself was hard and against any tradition she might have hoped for. His body was buried by unfamiliar people, on the edge of the crater. She believed he was in the woods someplace, near the quiet mountains. The funeral was held in the sky, on the helicarrier itself and she had silently fumed inside, angered by the lack of people who knew him as she did.
Finally, finally, she was going to see his grave. The Captain, Steve Rogers, had approached her and told her that the Vision was instructed to take her to where her brother was buried, to pay her respects properly. He was the only they could spare at the moment. Thor was indisposed visiting his significant other and his earthly friends. The Captain himself and Natasha Romanoff were busy with legal matters between them, SHIELD and the UN after the destruction caused by Ultron. Tony Stark was somewhere in the United States, putting together a place for them to stay until the new "Compound" they had planned was fully built and functional. Of course, the man and the monster had disappeared with no trace and Clint Barton had returned to be with his family.
The Vision was new, with no strings, and as far as she knew, had been wandering the helicarrier like some sort of colorful ghost. She was wary of him when he had been born - she had seen inside him when he was being woven together and known the destruction that was waiting there. But as he had asked of her, she had looked again when he had caught her in the fall. He had taken her up into his arms and the air was cold and biting and she wanted to rage against his chest as he took the only solace from her, but she had seeped into his mind instead. Where she had once seen death and fire, she was nearly blinded by the light within him. He was utterly pure, the purest mind she had ever witnessed. He held such a vast array of understanding and knowledge and yet there was a childlike newness that gave him a fierce sense of wonder and loyalty and duty to humanity.
It was startling and wonderful and she hid away there accidentally to prevent herself from fighting him for the peace of death.
HIs soft, accented voice drew her out of her thoughts again as the jet shook once more, before slowing and gently touching down on land once more. "Miss Maximoff, we have arrived. I stored away a SHIELD issued jacket in the compartment under your feet. The location is quite cold."
She knew it was. This was her home. She had been cold since she was ten years old. Wanda had an initial urge to deny him and leave in nothing but her sweater. But she was tired of fighting and her body was not in its best shape. She had not been eating well and her grief was ravaging her. She could see it in the sallowness of her cheeks and the yellowing tinge of her skin. She knew she was going to get into trouble for neglecting herself - it seemed that whatever her opinion was of the Avengers, they cared for each other. She had already been visited once by Natasha, who brought her soup and sat with her without a single word until she finished it.
So, she put on the long, warm jacket and Vision opened the Quinjet. The cold air was familiar as it rushed in. She walked down the ramp, staring up at the mountains. They were a sight to behold, tall and powerful and silent. She had always wanted to be at the base of one when she was a child, only getting a glimpse of them when they would go for a hike with their parents in the woods. Her father would tell them stories of great creatures and beasts that hid away in the snow - Pietro would snarl and chase her around the trees, pretending to be a snow-furred cat.
He had landed them in a field, yellow grass sparsely pushing through the crusted snow beneath it. A gentle stream wove its way across the land, bubbling a soft song. The sun was hidden by gray clouds and small flurries of snow were coming down. She felt numb far before the cold reached her open skin when she spotted the cabin. There wasn't any smoke coming from the stack - it was well abandoned she'd been told. She glanced back as Vision wordlessly stood beside her.
"Do you wish to be alone?" He asked. He seemed devoid of a proper understanding, but she didn't take any offense to his newness.
"Yes," she answered, her eyes not leaving the desolate sight.
"I will remain here then. There is a storm coming, we should not linger long," She blamed his detachment once more on his inexperience. Typically, people didn't rush other people visiting their dead loved ones. Maybe she would lie down alongside his grave and let him leave her here to be buried under the snow. He stepped back into the safety of the Quinjet and she moved forward. She couldn't feel her legs moving, but she was getting closer to the cabin. Remembering what Steve Rogers had explained to her, she diverted from the path and made her way behind the wooden structure. She nearly paused in her walking at the sight of the headstone, the freshly upturned dirt. But she was on auto-pilot and she kept moving until she stood nearly on top of it.
Pietro Oleg Maximoff
1989 - 2015
Beloved Son, Brother, Avenger
Seeing his name didn't make it feel any more real, but the tears that were quickly forming in her eyes said otherwise. She dropped to her knees, wincing when her joints clashed with hard stone, surely bruising her skin. She dropped her head, her hands limp in front of her. She cried long and terribly, her broken heart unable to muster the strength to hold herself up straight. She hunched herself over his grave, resisting the urge to stretch out her powers and attempt to feel his mind. She knew it would do no good; she wouldn't be able to feel him.
Instead, she closed her eyes and she could nearly imagine him sitting behind her, a hand on her shoulder, his voice reassuring.
"Not the grandest location, I have to admit. But peaceful."
She turned to face him, and his eyes were blue and alive. "You deserved more. You should have lived, not me."
Pietro shook his head, raising a brow. "You should not think like this. It will only kill you with guilt."
"Maybe I want it to."
His hand shifted from her shoulder to her cheek, cupping her face fiercely as he made her look at him. He looked less haunted than she remembered, less haggard and burnt out. "You are the last of the Maximoffs, Wanda. It must count for something. You can help people as an Avenger. You can do now what we never could under Hydra."
She felt the tears rushing again and he gently brushed them from her cheeks with his thumb. "Our people don't have a home anymore, Pietro. I can't help them."
"Maybe it is beyond our people now," Pietro told her honestly. She snapped her eyes to him, shock rippling through her cold veins. "You can help the world, Wanda. I know you can. It is in you."
She shook her head, sniffling sadly. "I don't want it. I am all alone. I can't do it all alone."
"Am I not here now?" Pietro replied with amusement. "We have not left you."
She leaned into his touch momentarily, knowing she would trade all the world to let it be real. "You're not here."
She opened her eyes to see it was growing dark now. She hadn't realized she had sat so long. Her joints were screaming in protest, stiff and frozen. Tears were frozen to her cheeks and she wiped away the thin layer, her teeth chattering as she realized she was so cold. She also realized in that moment that she was no longer alone. She turned to see the Vision hovering close. She thought she could see apology on his face, but it was hard to tell in the flurrying snow. All she could see clearly was the Mindstone glowing like a beacon from his forehead.
"Miss Maximoff, I didn't wish to interrupt, but your temperature is quite low and I am concerned you will develop hypothermia if you do not return to the jet."
She turned her back from him, staring at the headstone one last time. Her tears threatened to spill, but she wasn't alone and something inside her hardened. "Goodbye Pietro," she whispered shakily. Swallowing hard, she stood up, her knees feeling like rusted gears. She knew if she did not leave now, she would never want to. The synthezoid man stood patiently, clearly unaffected by the cold as the wind tugged at his long yellow cape.
He hovered after her, giving her space and though she felt as though she was leaving an entire half of herself in the ground behind her, she appreciated his quiet nature and distance. She wasn't sure she could've handled the pity that the other Avengers would've surely portrayed. She sniffed and wiped at her eyes. She hadn't realized how cold she was until she stepped into the Quinjet, which was quite warm. Vision entered behind her and he bent to another compartment. He withdrew a thermal blanket, holding it out to her kindly.
Her earlier pride swallowed, she took the blanket and wrapped it around herself, beginning to shiver with how cold she was.
"If you are ready, Miss Maximoff, we shall return to the helicarrier."
She nodded absently. Vision started the jet and carefully began to ascend. She sat alone with her thoughts, tucked away in her blanket. Despite the fact that she had dismissed the thought of Pietro from her mind, she couldn't help but feel as though he was right beside her, a phantom warmth that both reassured her and devastated her. She just wanted to run away with him again, lost in the courage of rebellion and youth. She wasn't ready to be without him. She never would be.