[pietro awakens from a deep sleep abruptly. his eyes squeeze shut tightly, blinking away the bright lights he's unused to; noise comes to his ears, of whirring machines and lines beeping the status of his vitals, a constant yet affirming sound that he isn't slumbering anymore. he feels fatigued, pushing himself to sit up, pain in his atrophied muscles making the action more difficult than what it needs to be, groaning in annoyance as his sudden awareness of his surroundings calls forth the attention of what seems to be nurses and doctors.
he tries swatting them away, but he isn't strong enough yet to voluntarily throw himself out of the way.]
Wanda. [the question comes easy, almost expected, his sokovian accent deep and his voice hoarse] Where is Wanda?
[little does he realize that he is not the only one who seems to have awakened from a deep sleep. he's pulled away from the world of the unconscious at the same time as wanda's magic rescinds from westview—the pulse of herself in this reality seeming to reach out to him, a quickening in his heart: concern and loss, a desperation to find her.
no answers; only questions about himself, how he feels, an attempt to fully ignore the fact that he's asking about his sister.
weeks pass.
he is not entirely better, but he's good enough to handle his powers in short spurts. the avengers are no more, far as he can tell, and even tony stark is dead. the world he has awoken to, this post-blip reality, carries a stench of inconformity and undeniable uncertainty for pietro. it is like he doesn't exist, a ghost following his gut, his intuition, in finding his sister. no one seems to know where she is, and though it all took him as far as new jersey, he didn't really find anything useful there. and, so, he continued on, slow and steady, frustrated at his own incompetence, but knowing that sooner or later he would find her.]
Hopefully sooner rather than later.
[a mantra he grumbles to himself before he picks himself up from the forest floor (taking a breather, resting) and continues with a rapid stream of movement between the trees towards what he thinks is a lake just in the outskirts of it; in the nearest village (two days from where he stands), the children and elderly spoke of a hermit in a cabin by the lake. it is a reach, certainly, but he can't let any rock unturned, not when he feels his sister. the mountains taunt him, like old giants watching over his progress (or lack of?), and pietro can't help but want to curse every single thing in his path, if only to shove his frustrations somewhere and onto something.
a fallen log catches his feet, and pietro finds himself unable to stop the tumble he takes forward—all the built-up momentum of speed throwing him forward into open field, rolling until he stops by the shore of the aforementioned lake, some ways off from the cabin.]
Shit. [it's brought him closer to the cabin, but at what cost? his entire side hurts, his legs weak and wobbly, cracking at the knees from the exertion. he turns onto his back, looks up at the bluest of skies, gulps air, his throat constricting at the same time as his fists clench.] Wanda...
[The point of being out in the middle of nowhere is to be safe. She's protecting herself and everyone else. She can't hurt anyone out here while she tries to figure out what she is now, and what else she's capable of. While Agatha's words felt like those of a desperate woman, Wanda really doesn't want to end up being some harbinger of destruction. She's done enough.
So, when she hears a commotion that isn't the occasional deer or flock of birds, her daily walk around the lake is disrupted. She didn't see the arrival of that body in the distance, preoccupied with the growth of some new flowers she'd never seen, but a wave of her hands has her appearing beside it.
No one comes out here. A few of the local youth had ventured out to see the witch, once, and Wanda had frightened them off with some harmless tricks. The wilderness is dangerous--better they go home scared witless than get lost out in the woods, or end up like this person. But she's not heartless. She can help if they're injured, and she leans down to see.]
Are you--
[The words die in her throat. The concern is replaced by anger and suspicion.]
[despite closed eyes, he hears the sound of footsteps approaching. it must be the hermit, right? and yet, he can't bring himself to open his eyes—not while they sting, and not while he's trying to gather up some courage in his aching limbs to sit up. all of this not quite working out in his favor, but there's just a shadow cast by the individual's leaning to oversee him that allows pietro respite from the bright skies, to look, instead, at the indistinguishable shape of—]
Wanda?
[—of his sister.
did he hit his head? it doesn't seem to be throbbing or hurting in any way. he pushes forward, leans up on an elbow, trying to reach for her with his other hand.]
[there is almost cruelty in the manner of her words, the way her eyes harden when their eyes meet—momentary as that may have been for. pietro isn't sure how to go about this business; it feels murky, and like the connection he's always had with his sister is somehow off.]
No one sent me here. I—
[finally, he manages sitting up, pitching out gasps of pain as he strains under the movement.]
I looked for you everywhere. Following my gut.
[he stares, swallows hard; wonders if the glow of red in her hand is fueled by some amount of hatred or not. he motions to the woods with an arm.]
Stupid fallen tree was on my way. I tripped and crashed. Please, Wanda.
[Cruel is this trick. Cruel is how desperately she wants it to be real, but wanting things to be real has gotten her into a lot of trouble, lately. Those little noises of pain and discomfort makes her lose her footing when it comes to that guarded expression on her face. Too many memories of being children, of being alone, of only having one another. Of taking care of her big brother when he got into a fight at the orphanage, or even when they were older, joining protests.
The glow dims, and it's only the fact that the realizes it that has it glowing brighter again. There's the slightest tremble to her when she speaks.]
I don't understand.
[Following his gut. If she allows herself to drop her guard, she thinks maybe she'd have more clarity. She'd feel that bond she thought gone.
[it's not anyone's fault that pietro had been somewhat estranged from a family that was growing, thanks to her sister's efforts to make up for the solitude that governs her so utterly ever since their beloved home of novi grad got blasted out of existence. pietro's own idea of betterment—outside of the whole hero work—was to help his people, pushed to all corners of the european continent, find some semblance of normalcy and hope for the future.
no, he's not trying to be a peace advocate or anything. the world is much more complicated than that, he knows.
regardless, getting an invitation for the fifth birthday party of his nephews, tommy and billy, was... well — the usual speedster had to stop and take a break, reading the message on his phone and feeling a bit inadequate. five years old already. the avengers were no more, the world left in disarray after the blip, and pietro was left trying to make the pieces fit the best way possible, not really stopping once in all this time.]
Yes, yes, I'll be there. I am actually on my way. [into his phone, juggling a few gift-wrapped boxes in his arms; he's gone a touch too far on compensating for his absence.] It is not like I am slow on my feet.
[that much at least should be a reassurance for wanda that pietro is to arrive, wasting no time to take advantage of his superhuman speed to reach a house that looks... too suburban, too american, too perfect, with children's screeches from the back, cars parked out front, and balloons tied tightly on the door handle. it's easy enough to walk through the entrance, attracting attention to himself by what he assumes are busybody neighbors, only allowed through because of the amount of gifts he carries—rightfully for a birthday party.
outside in the garden, he sets down the presents by the gift table and simply — stands by it, looking around, wondering which of these laughing and running children are his nephews, looking up once in a while to look for his sister, certainly bearing the attributes of a lost stray: hair all messy from his running, long sleeves just about covering bandaged hands, an outfit that give the impression that he just ran a marathon and decided to swing by last minute.
he coughs awkwardly, lips downward and eyes straying to the side, feeling incredibly out of place.]
[She doesn't actually expect him to stop by. She feels a little bad, using the birthday party of her boys as an incentive, but it works, doesn't it? So she doesn't feel too bad at all, actually, and she knows Pietro has arrived even before Vision can catch her elbow and nod in the direction of the gift table.
Wanda tells him to keep an eye on the boys--only because there are far too many children crawling up that treehouse like little ants--and goes to greet Pietro.
She doesn't seem to give a damn about his messy hair or clothes or how much time it's been, because the moment she's within arm's reach, she's flinging herself at him.]
[pietro would have to be an actual fool to not notice his sister approaching him, much less what she planned doing the moment she was within arm's reach—which is why he steps forward, hands at the ready to catch her, and allows himself to suffer her embrace.
(he's home.)
with a roll of his eyes and a twist of his lips, he scoffs and is unable to remove the smile urging to grow on his face.]
Are you trying to hurt my feelings?
[it would be deserved, he knows. still, he presses a kiss on each of her cheeks and hugs her tightly.]
Sorry, I got lost in how much the same every house looked.
["cool mom," alright. if pietro ever hears of that notion, he'll have such a hard time not choosing violence in the teasing department. it's eventually that he allows himself to slink out of her arms, keeping instead at a comfortable distance.
apart as they may have been, they are still twins — comfort is immediate. automatic, even. he puts an arm around her shoulders, looking out into the garden.]
Good thing I brought a bag with my things. [—he leans his weight against her.] I am not sure your robot husband has anything I could borrow. [...] Twin boys, Wanda?
[Wanda prides herself on being the hottest coolest mom in the neighborhood. It's why there's a giant bowl of Hot Cheetos and some water balloons and a contained ball pit.
She's hosing down the twins before they're allowed inside. Children are gross.
Easily, she leans into her brother, smiling up at him.]
in his time with the avengers, after his sister's untimely death, pietro's known nothing but the urge to keep going forward—even if it is at his own expense. when tony stark and steve rogers split up the avengers, the decision was easy for him. his hatred for tony was always fervent and open, unapologetic, even after pietro had taken responsibility for his and his sister's actions in sokovia.
earth was attacked by aliens, the universe in disarray as half its living beings disappeared from existence. it did not bother pietro as much, as he watched others get dusted, because nothing could carve a hole as deep as the loss of his sister years before.
still, human ingenuity prevailed, the stones assembled, thanos' plan undone. the problem is that with tony stark's sacrifice came feelings he wasn't (and still isn't) ready to parse; with natasha gone, he can't really look at clint in the eye anymore—he visits the family once in a while, but the man is clearly a shell of his former self; with steve disappearing, it left pietro with nowhere to go. there is nothing that ties him to others, nothing that gives him a sense of purpose, other than helping his people in what land remains of sokovia.
disconnected from the world as he is, he was not prepared for a feeling he had thought lost to return to him. wanda, is the first thing his mind goes to, and he speeds across the land, mountains, and cities trying to find her. it is amidst the rubble, and despite the impossibility of it all, that he finds her—a crown on her head, fingertips washed out in black paint, life seeming to have been squeezed right out of her.
but she breathed still.
pietro has since brought her to one of the camps in the outskirts of what used to be sokovia, where people know him well. she will awaken inside one of the tents; shadows loom across it, painted onto the fabric by the crackling bonfire outside, trinkets and boxes surrounding the makeshift bed. bed covers, duvets, all with the intention of replicating a mattress proper. he would go and look for something better for her, more pillows perhaps, but he sits instead, a hand holding tightly onto hers, lingering on the pulse he feels under her skin. pietro feels that he can breathe again after ten ugly years, but his thoughts are in disarray. his eyes keep glancing back at the crown he's removed from her head and put on top of a crate, and he wonders about the bags under her eyes, her dry lips. how much older she looks (he does, too), at how drained she looks.
it's been a few weeks now, and though doctors have come to see her, all they've said is wait.
pietro, the worst person at being patient in the world, has done just that: wait. he squeezes her hand tighter in his, kisses at her knuckles, and whispers a plea in the form of her name, warmth on her skin as he keeps his forehead against her hand, hunched over in this small space.]
Shame, because she's seen monsters. Worked alongside monsters. Killed monsters. To become one, to let the Darkhold take hold of those dark parts of her and make them fester, feels like an insult to everyone she's lost. Her parents. Her brother. Vision. The boys. Why would she want to come back from that and face the living who don't know her and lack any sympathy? Some, rightly so.
The second, stronger thing she feels is pressure around her hand. It's warm and familiar and she'd know it anywhere. Pietro. It's dull, at first. A light on the horizon. But as she comes to, returns to herself, she can feel him. She can hear him.
Her fingers move within his grasp before her eyes move behind her closed eyelids, brow furrowed before she slowly cracks her eyes open. Her vision is blurred, mouth dry, but there's some sort of attempt to speak that comes out as a confused noise.]
[it takes pietro a moment to realize that what he feels is not his imagination, a figment of wistful thinking. he raises his head and stares in wonder for a moment, sees the telltale signs of someone waking up. his hand tightens around wanda's, while another absconds entirely to press against her face.
pietro draws closer, on his knees and over his sister, his thumb gentle against her cheek.]
Wanda?
[his chest feels heavy, like there's a dam about to burst. his sister had died in the altercation with ultron—she was killed, and for years he carried the burden of being the only remaining maximoff in this world. he doesn't understand how she is here, now, or what it all means, but this is his sister. he feels it, in the way he doesn't feel so hollow, so empty, anymore.
it's been a while since he's talked in english, which is why his words come out in sokovian.]
Open your eyes, Wanda. It's me, your insufferable brother. Please.
[She almost turns her face away from the touch, not expecting a hand against her face, but she can't. She doesn't want to turn away from the warmth of the sun. But her mind can barely put two and two together. So, hearing Sokovian, hearing what sounds like her brother and then seeing some blurred features above her that look so familiar just--]
Am I dead?
[A small, dry whisper manages to creep out between her lips. She doesn't know if it's in English or Sokovian or some mash up of both.
Insufferable brother. It sounds like the way he'd greet her in the afterlife.]
[the years that have gone by have robbed pietro of something that used to be such a trait of his: his humor. wanda was always the reasonable one, the responsible one. he had to very quickly learn to be all those things that went against his personality.
so to state something as downtrodden as the fact that his sister should be dead goes hand-in-hand with that growth.
he sits back on his haunches, and he allows himself but a second to leave her side to quickly grab a water bottle, situated back at her side in the blink of an eye.]
Come, sit up a bit. You need to drink this.
[a hand wraps around the back of her neck, careful, urging her to pull herself upright.]
—you were killed by Ultron. So many years ago. [his voice is quiet, his tone grim, as he moves the lip of the bottle close to her mouth.] You appeared so suddenly, and I had to find you.
[Nothing makes sense, even if she were dead. Pietro, Ultron--she died? Then? It doesn't ring as right, none of it, and she simply stares at him even as she's forced to sit up. Her body feels full of lead. She ignores the water bottle in favor of trying to come to terms with what she's seeing.]
I didn't. Not then, not--
[Not in this universe. Wanda feels her stomach flip. In the end, she was just so ashamed, so tired, so finished. All she wanted was home. Home was a thing she lost so long ago.
But here he is.
Cautiously, she lifts a hand to touch his cheek. The stains on her fingertips almost make her pull back and away, but there's just a tremble to her hand before making contact with his skin.]
[the circumstances of their found-family coming together are details that pietro doesn't quite bother to think too much about. wanda kept in touch with lorna over the years, the twins managed to get enough money to buy their way into the states, their visas were accepted (from thousands others that got denied in the same batch), and life— well, life's been something.
there is something that draws them together, he's sure, and there's no denying that these powers that all three of them have isn't just a coincidence. best to keep it quiet; no need to have scientists knocking on their doors.
speaking of doors— pietro stands at the front door, barricading it with his body, arms crossed. wanda's sleeping because it's late, and yet lorna insists she should head out to her place.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
▶ redchaos
he tries swatting them away, but he isn't strong enough yet to voluntarily throw himself out of the way.]
Wanda. [the question comes easy, almost expected, his sokovian accent deep and his voice hoarse] Where is Wanda?
[little does he realize that he is not the only one who seems to have awakened from a deep sleep. he's pulled away from the world of the unconscious at the same time as wanda's magic rescinds from westview—the pulse of herself in this reality seeming to reach out to him, a quickening in his heart: concern and loss, a desperation to find her.
no answers; only questions about himself, how he feels, an attempt to fully ignore the fact that he's asking about his sister.
weeks pass.
he is not entirely better, but he's good enough to handle his powers in short spurts. the avengers are no more, far as he can tell, and even tony stark is dead. the world he has awoken to, this post-blip reality, carries a stench of inconformity and undeniable uncertainty for pietro. it is like he doesn't exist, a ghost following his gut, his intuition, in finding his sister. no one seems to know where she is, and though it all took him as far as new jersey, he didn't really find anything useful there. and, so, he continued on, slow and steady, frustrated at his own incompetence, but knowing that sooner or later he would find her.]
Hopefully sooner rather than later.
[a mantra he grumbles to himself before he picks himself up from the forest floor (taking a breather, resting) and continues with a rapid stream of movement between the trees towards what he thinks is a lake just in the outskirts of it; in the nearest village (two days from where he stands), the children and elderly spoke of a hermit in a cabin by the lake. it is a reach, certainly, but he can't let any rock unturned, not when he feels his sister. the mountains taunt him, like old giants watching over his progress (or lack of?), and pietro can't help but want to curse every single thing in his path, if only to shove his frustrations somewhere and onto something.
a fallen log catches his feet, and pietro finds himself unable to stop the tumble he takes forward—all the built-up momentum of speed throwing him forward into open field, rolling until he stops by the shore of the aforementioned lake, some ways off from the cabin.]
Shit. [it's brought him closer to the cabin, but at what cost? his entire side hurts, his legs weak and wobbly, cracking at the knees from the exertion. he turns onto his back, looks up at the bluest of skies, gulps air, his throat constricting at the same time as his fists clench.] Wanda...
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So, when she hears a commotion that isn't the occasional deer or flock of birds, her daily walk around the lake is disrupted. She didn't see the arrival of that body in the distance, preoccupied with the growth of some new flowers she'd never seen, but a wave of her hands has her appearing beside it.
No one comes out here. A few of the local youth had ventured out to see the witch, once, and Wanda had frightened them off with some harmless tricks. The wilderness is dangerous--better they go home scared witless than get lost out in the woods, or end up like this person. But she's not heartless. She can help if they're injured, and she leans down to see.]
Are you--
[The words die in her throat. The concern is replaced by anger and suspicion.]
Who the hell are you?
[She's been fooled before. Not again.]
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Wanda?
[—of his sister.
did he hit his head? it doesn't seem to be throbbing or hurting in any way. he pushes forward, leans up on an elbow, trying to reach for her with his other hand.]
Wanda. It is me, Pietro. Who else would I be?
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She's out her to not hurt anyone, but if someone tries to mess with her--especially with her brother's likeness--she can't be help accountable.]
I'll ask one more time: who are you? Did someone send you here?
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No one sent me here. I—
[finally, he manages sitting up, pitching out gasps of pain as he strains under the movement.]
I looked for you everywhere. Following my gut.
[he stares, swallows hard; wonders if the glow of red in her hand is fueled by some amount of hatred or not. he motions to the woods with an arm.]
Stupid fallen tree was on my way. I tripped and crashed. Please, Wanda.
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The glow dims, and it's only the fact that the realizes it that has it glowing brighter again. There's the slightest tremble to her when she speaks.]
I don't understand.
[Following his gut. If she allows herself to drop her guard, she thinks maybe she'd have more clarity. She'd feel that bond she thought gone.
But she can't stomach being tricked again.]
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me: let's have silly maximoff twin things. reality: 😔
Cries for ten years
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▶ dispensed
will it be better than sandwich?
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you took my sandwich so i want a sandwich
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a kitchen
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▶ redchaos (a nice-ish au, for once)
no, he's not trying to be a peace advocate or anything. the world is much more complicated than that, he knows.
regardless, getting an invitation for the fifth birthday party of his nephews, tommy and billy, was... well — the usual speedster had to stop and take a break, reading the message on his phone and feeling a bit inadequate. five years old already. the avengers were no more, the world left in disarray after the blip, and pietro was left trying to make the pieces fit the best way possible, not really stopping once in all this time.]
Yes, yes, I'll be there. I am actually on my way. [into his phone, juggling a few gift-wrapped boxes in his arms; he's gone a touch too far on compensating for his absence.] It is not like I am slow on my feet.
[that much at least should be a reassurance for wanda that pietro is to arrive, wasting no time to take advantage of his superhuman speed to reach a house that looks... too suburban, too american, too perfect, with children's screeches from the back, cars parked out front, and balloons tied tightly on the door handle. it's easy enough to walk through the entrance, attracting attention to himself by what he assumes are busybody neighbors, only allowed through because of the amount of gifts he carries—rightfully for a birthday party.
outside in the garden, he sets down the presents by the gift table and simply — stands by it, looking around, wondering which of these laughing and running children are his nephews, looking up once in a while to look for his sister, certainly bearing the attributes of a lost stray: hair all messy from his running, long sleeves just about covering bandaged hands, an outfit that give the impression that he just ran a marathon and decided to swing by last minute.
he coughs awkwardly, lips downward and eyes straying to the side, feeling incredibly out of place.]
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Wanda tells him to keep an eye on the boys--only because there are far too many children crawling up that treehouse like little ants--and goes to greet Pietro.
She doesn't seem to give a damn about his messy hair or clothes or how much time it's been, because the moment she's within arm's reach, she's flinging herself at him.]
Pietro!
[And, because she can be an asshole:]
You're late.
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(he's home.)
with a roll of his eyes and a twist of his lips, he scoffs and is unable to remove the smile urging to grow on his face.]
Are you trying to hurt my feelings?
[it would be deserved, he knows. still, he presses a kiss on each of her cheeks and hugs her tightly.]
Sorry, I got lost in how much the same every house looked.
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She laughs, returning the kisses to his cheeks, and hugs him as hard as she can manage.]
Shut up. Just for that, you're spending the night.
[All the houses look the same, but none have a guest room as cozy as the one she totally prepared in hopes of guilting him into staying.]
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apart as they may have been, they are still twins — comfort is immediate. automatic, even. he puts an arm around her shoulders, looking out into the garden.]
Good thing I brought a bag with my things. [—he leans his weight against her.] I am not sure your robot husband has anything I could borrow. [...] Twin boys, Wanda?
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hottestcoolest mom in the neighborhood. It's why there's a giant bowl of Hot Cheetos and some water balloons and a contained ball pit.She's hosing down the twins before they're allowed inside. Children are gross.
Easily, she leans into her brother, smiling up at him.]
Guess it runs in the family.
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▶ redchaos
in his time with the avengers, after his sister's untimely death, pietro's known nothing but the urge to keep going forward—even if it is at his own expense. when tony stark and steve rogers split up the avengers, the decision was easy for him. his hatred for tony was always fervent and open, unapologetic, even after pietro had taken responsibility for his and his sister's actions in sokovia.
earth was attacked by aliens, the universe in disarray as half its living beings disappeared from existence. it did not bother pietro as much, as he watched others get dusted, because nothing could carve a hole as deep as the loss of his sister years before.
still, human ingenuity prevailed, the stones assembled, thanos' plan undone. the problem is that with tony stark's sacrifice came feelings he wasn't (and still isn't) ready to parse; with natasha gone, he can't really look at clint in the eye anymore—he visits the family once in a while, but the man is clearly a shell of his former self; with steve disappearing, it left pietro with nowhere to go. there is nothing that ties him to others, nothing that gives him a sense of purpose, other than helping his people in what land remains of sokovia.
disconnected from the world as he is, he was not prepared for a feeling he had thought lost to return to him. wanda, is the first thing his mind goes to, and he speeds across the land, mountains, and cities trying to find her. it is amidst the rubble, and despite the impossibility of it all, that he finds her—a crown on her head, fingertips washed out in black paint, life seeming to have been squeezed right out of her.
but she breathed still.
pietro has since brought her to one of the camps in the outskirts of what used to be sokovia, where people know him well. she will awaken inside one of the tents; shadows loom across it, painted onto the fabric by the crackling bonfire outside, trinkets and boxes surrounding the makeshift bed. bed covers, duvets, all with the intention of replicating a mattress proper. he would go and look for something better for her, more pillows perhaps, but he sits instead, a hand holding tightly onto hers, lingering on the pulse he feels under her skin. pietro feels that he can breathe again after ten ugly years, but his thoughts are in disarray. his eyes keep glancing back at the crown he's removed from her head and put on top of a crate, and he wonders about the bags under her eyes, her dry lips. how much older she looks (he does, too), at how drained she looks.
it's been a few weeks now, and though doctors have come to see her, all they've said is wait.
pietro, the worst person at being patient in the world, has done just that: wait. he squeezes her hand tighter in his, kisses at her knuckles, and whispers a plea in the form of her name, warmth on her skin as he keeps his forehead against her hand, hunched over in this small space.]
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Shame, because she's seen monsters. Worked alongside monsters. Killed monsters. To become one, to let the Darkhold take hold of those dark parts of her and make them fester, feels like an insult to everyone she's lost. Her parents. Her brother. Vision. The boys. Why would she want to come back from that and face the living who don't know her and lack any sympathy? Some, rightly so.
The second, stronger thing she feels is pressure around her hand. It's warm and familiar and she'd know it anywhere. Pietro. It's dull, at first. A light on the horizon. But as she comes to, returns to herself, she can feel him. She can hear him.
Her fingers move within his grasp before her eyes move behind her closed eyelids, brow furrowed before she slowly cracks her eyes open. Her vision is blurred, mouth dry, but there's some sort of attempt to speak that comes out as a confused noise.]
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pietro draws closer, on his knees and over his sister, his thumb gentle against her cheek.]
Wanda?
[his chest feels heavy, like there's a dam about to burst. his sister had died in the altercation with ultron—she was killed, and for years he carried the burden of being the only remaining maximoff in this world. he doesn't understand how she is here, now, or what it all means, but this is his sister. he feels it, in the way he doesn't feel so hollow, so empty, anymore.
it's been a while since he's talked in english, which is why his words come out in sokovian.]
Open your eyes, Wanda. It's me, your insufferable brother. Please.
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Am I dead?
[A small, dry whisper manages to creep out between her lips. She doesn't know if it's in English or Sokovian or some mash up of both.
Insufferable brother. It sounds like the way he'd greet her in the afterlife.]
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[the years that have gone by have robbed pietro of something that used to be such a trait of his: his humor. wanda was always the reasonable one, the responsible one. he had to very quickly learn to be all those things that went against his personality.
so to state something as downtrodden as the fact that his sister should be dead goes hand-in-hand with that growth.
he sits back on his haunches, and he allows himself but a second to leave her side to quickly grab a water bottle, situated back at her side in the blink of an eye.]
Come, sit up a bit. You need to drink this.
[a hand wraps around the back of her neck, careful, urging her to pull herself upright.]
—you were killed by Ultron. So many years ago. [his voice is quiet, his tone grim, as he moves the lip of the bottle close to her mouth.] You appeared so suddenly, and I had to find you.
[his throat tightens]
I found you, sister.
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I didn't. Not then, not--
[Not in this universe. Wanda feels her stomach flip. In the end, she was just so ashamed, so tired, so finished. All she wanted was home. Home was a thing she lost so long ago.
But here he is.
Cautiously, she lifts a hand to touch his cheek. The stains on her fingertips almost make her pull back and away, but there's just a tremble to her hand before making contact with his skin.]
Pietro.
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not her insulting him for not being a witch
maybe he wouldn't have died if he were, just sayin
cold, but true
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▶chromiums
there is something that draws them together, he's sure, and there's no denying that these powers that all three of them have isn't just a coincidence. best to keep it quiet; no need to have scientists knocking on their doors.
speaking of doors— pietro stands at the front door, barricading it with his body, arms crossed. wanda's sleeping because it's late, and yet lorna insists she should head out to her place.]
No. Why? You can just stay here.
[he's protective to a fault.]