Work Text:
I'll Tell You All About It (When I See You Again)
'(Y/F/N)(Y/L/N), will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?'
You blink. Of course, this would be when Pietro would propose. In the middle of a war, right when things are getting desperate. It's just like him. And you wouldn't have it, or him, any other way.
'Of course I will. Of course I will!' You throw your arms around his neck, lips pressing together sloppily. He smiles into the kiss, beginning to vibrate from excitement. 'My kotyonok.' He whispers into your mouth, and your hands tangle into the hair at the nape of his neck. 'I love you, Pietro.'
'I love you too, (Y/N). (Y/N) Maximoff- I like the sound of that.'
'Me, too.'
Pietro lifts you into the air and carries you, bridal style, as though you are already wed. Disappearing behind closed doors, the other Avengers know not to disturb, giving you both this time together. After all, no one can be sure of what events may transpire tomorrow. The only thing that is certain is this- after tomorrow, win or lose, nothing would ever be the same again.
**************
Bullets appear to be raining down from the sky, laden with heavy clouds. You leapt from building to building, using your super-strength to send yourself over the long distances between each crumbling block of cement. Below, the sounds of a war fill the air, children crying, civilians screaming. Lives shattering. Ending.
Lives ending.
You don't have time to reflect on the consequences Ultron's actions will have here, in this small Sokovian town. There will be time later, to sort through the casualties, to survey the damage. Time to grieve, to build from the wreckage.
Running across a splintered rooftop, you threw yourself over the lip of the building, aiming for a balcony above halfway to the ground. Your fingers can almost feel the cool metal railings, curved intricately into black flowers, petals sculpted to perfection- when a heavy weight crashes head on into your chest. A blur of red and gold circles your vision, the biting air whistling through your ears and turning them crimson, filling them with a noise not unlike television static, buzzing and cracking.
Hitting the ground at full force, all air is knocked from your lungs, leaving you winded.
You shove and push at the silver droid leaning across your fallen form, knocking it's arm to the side to avert the laser beam, preventing it from hitting you. You were stronger, but you were tired and sore, from the fall. It took all of your energy not to just go limp there and then, instead fighting back with all your strength. After a brief struggle, your knees lock around the droids head, and turning your waist sharply, it pops off with an electric hiss, leaving vein-like wires curling over and dropping across the torso. Standing, you fling what remains of the bot into a nearby house, sending it barrelling through the plaster and wood and taking everything down.
'(Y/N!)'
Someone calls your name, before you can turn, you're on the move again. Pietro has his arms loosely around your waist, forehead pressing against your shoulder.
'What-?'
You glance over your shoulder to see another droid, now being torn robotic limb by robotic limb by Thor. You hadn't even noticed it, too focused on taking the first robot down to protect yourself from behind.
'Thank you, Pietro, I can't - Pietro?'
Your voice rises a few octaves as your fiancé sways where he stands, steady drops of crimson leaking from beneath the fabric of his uniform. A gasp escapes your lips as his knees buckle without warning.
You drop with him, holding his head on your lap, and screaming for Natasha, for Clint, for anyone, to come and help.
'(Y/N), there is no time. You must finish the mission. You must get back to the others. Leave me here. It's okay.' His voice is soft and serene, like he has already made his peace with this unfair fate.
'How is it okay? It's not! It's not okay! You can't leave me, Pietro. You can't leave Wanda, you can't leave any of us, and .. And you can't leave me.' His face is slowly draining of colour as you speak, your fingers threading through the long strands of silvery white hair.
'You're all strong. And stronger, together.' Pietro's breathing becomes more laboured and he has to pause between words. 'Don't talk. Save your energy. Super metabolism, that means super healing, right?'
Tears burn like lava behind your eyes and you blink as fiercely as you can.
Your hands are shaking when Pietro finds them, curling both of his around them. He's shall g his head, weakly, eyelids becoming heavier and drooping.
'The bullets. There are too many, (Y/N), I'm so sorry..'
'No. No. Don't, please. Don't apologise, this is my fault, not yours, I should have been watching out, this is my fault. Don't say sorry. Baby..' A few rebellious teardrops roll down your cheeks and you wipe them away furiously, annoyed. You don't need to cry, because Pietro's going to get help, and he's going to live and he's going to be find.
'We're getting married, remember? Wanda's going to be my maid of honour. And Clint's gonna be your best man. I was thinking, of maybe asking him to walk me down the aisle? There's no one else, really..'
Pietro's stunning cerulean eyes are pained when they meet yours, but he props his lips up at the corners in a half smile, half grimace. 'He'd like that, a lot.'
'Yeah, yeah, he would. He'd look handsome in a suit. But you'd look better.'
A real smile graces Pietro's face, small, but real and beautiful and shining.
'You'll look the best.' You look away for a moment, to catch a glimpse of Natasha drop-kicking three different droids in the space of a second, hair like flames fanning out behind her as she jumps through the air, graceful as a ballerina.
Looking down, back to your beloved, slowly slipping away from you with each passing second, you can feel your heart breaking. You can feel where the cracks and tell where the fractures run along the surface before it splits into pieces and shatters in your chest.
'I can't wait for you to see me in my dress.' You whisper, the tears streaming freely now. He chuckles lightly. 'I'm going to look hot in my suit.' He promises, and despite the laughter his eyes are watering, too.
'Tell Wanda I love her.'
'She knows.'
He nods.
'I love you, (Y/N).'
'I love you too.'
'I know.' He smiles, before his eyes close. This time, they don't flicker open again. His chest stills and his body becomes limp in your arms.
You want to scream. You want to scream and cry, and set everything on fire, burn the ashes again and punch a wall until you feel your fingers breaking under the bruised skin. To curl up on the ground beside him, beside his empty, lifeless body and die, too. Nothing could ever be more painful than this. Not even if someone were to hack through your skin, cut through your bones and break each and every one of them before cleaving you in two pieces, would you ever feel this type of agony.
An anguished cry rings out in the distance.
Wanda knows, you think dimly, never breaking your gaze from the perfect, pale angel in your grasp. She can feel this, too.
Just that thought, is enough to remind you that you're not alone. You're not alone in this pain, nor are you alone in this life. Pietro may be gone, but the war rages on, and there are other people still stuck within its steel jaws, other people that you love.
Staggering to your feet, you scoop him up and carry him off towards a gathering of trees by the side of the road. The cruel irony hits you like Mijlnor, how he had carried you this way only last night, to your warm bed, companionable, comfortable. Gently, you lie him down beneath a large oak, the roots poking up from beneath the ground which they have taken hold of. It is not a perfectly safe place, but it's away from the fighting, away from the fire.
'I'll come back for you. I promise.' Your voice rattles as you speak, the chains of grief wrapping around and constricting your vocal chords. 'I'm not going to leave you here. I'll be back. When we've won.' Pressing a kiss to his cold, pallid forehead, you close your eyes and stay there for a moment. You cherish the sudden soothing silence and take a few seconds to imagine that Pietro is merely sleeping. That, any second now, he's going to shoot up, in a blur of blue and silver and tackle you to the cold, hard ground and kiss you like your lips were air and he was running out. That you'd open your eyes and see him, smiling and bright eyed staring up at you, smirking mischievously before asking, 'you didn't see that coming?' In the accent you could never get enough of listening to.
Of course, for something like that to happen, would require a miracle. And not everybody is lucky enough to get two miracles in their lifetime. Pietro was yours, and you, his. Your miracle was gone, and with him, the contents of your chest. You walk away, with heavy limbs but a determination to fight until the last mam standing fell, intent on winning this any way possible. By any means possible.
Locking away the feelings and emotions into a metaphorical box inside your frazzled mind, you shut yourself down, letting the tears dry up and taking deep breaths to stop the shudders running through your entire frame with each dry sob.
After all, there is no time right now, to hurt, to break, to fall apart. The time for that will come later, the time to sort through the casualties, to survey the damage. Time to grieve, to build from the wreckage.