[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.
[pietro makes an effort to stand, hearing the crack of his knees at the strain, stretching his neck to remove the discomfort from the fall from his spine. it's all a poor effort in trying to soothe himself from his injuries, but he hasn't got the time nor luxury to worry about that right now.
most important is the way wanda keeps looking at him, like she's seeing a stranger.
he keeps an arm wrapped around his middle, his other hand held on his front, fingers splayed out, as if asking her to not unleash whatever fury she's spilling onto the red glow she's nurturing.]
I was asleep a long time. In hospital.
[trying to explain in a fractured way what happened seems the way to go right now; pietro isn't sure he knows what will work to convince her. it almost seems like she's waiting on an enemy to appear. though he wants to move, he remains standing where he is.]
Are you in danger? Did someone do something to you?
[She can't. After losing so much over and over again, she can't handle seeing her brother hurt. If this is a ploy, it's a good one.
She just can't. He's hurt.
The red disappears and Wanda steps forward to take him in her arms and support him as best she can. He feels real. Smells real. She squeezes her eyes shut and hopes he is.
If he's not, she'll kill whoever did this.]
It's okay. I have you. I'm sorry. I'm--
[Not right in the head. Confused. Lost. But in that, this feels right. She didn't feel that in Westview. Not truly, not in her heart.]
[the moment wanda stops and she moves towards him, pietro's breath catches in his throat. relief floods him, and he certainly wants to laugh; it feels silly that wanda—smaller than him—tries to keep him in her arms. pain doesn't matter right now as he wraps his arms around her, tightly.
it's hard to breathe, because it has been so long since he was with her.
because he has spent so long looking for her.]
Who hurt you? [he whispers against her hair.] I'll kill them. Don't apologize.
[pietro doesn't understand what's happened to her—how could he?—in all this time. he brings his hands to hold her head, to pull back to look her in the eyes, thumbs gentle against her cheeks, hair pooling between his fingers.]
[Wanda thought she was done crying in Westview. The life she wanted was laid to rest. She cried, picked herself up, and left.
But in the hands of her twin, she's a little girl again, and tears roll down her cheeks.]
It's you.
[Good luck getting any responses to your questions, Pietro. Something in her heart is screaming at her that this is true. That part of the stone that's left in her is longing for familiarity.]
[a fact that he collected from the hospital he had been confined to was that years had passed since ultron. the details he didn't exactly care for. he's never been separated from his sister for so long; it was imperative that he find her.
which is why her i've missed you hits him like a ton of bricks. she's been alone, all this time?]
You know, it is not a good look for me if I make my little sister cry.
[he offers, coming off as a joke. he brushes the tears from her cheeks and hugs her tightly again, his chin atop her head.]
I'm so sorry it took me so long, but I've found you now, Wanda.
[Being hugged like that is the closest to home she'll ever get. Wanda is powerless to stop the pitiful sobs, which is quite ironic considering she's supposedly one of the most powerful beings, now.
He probably hasn't heard her cry like this since they lost their parents. It's why she tries to stop and pull herself together but just ends up having a hard time breathing on top of it all.]
me: let's have silly maximoff twin things. reality: 😔
[pietro is at a loss, having her sister like this, in his arms. in fact, it makes him not want to let go of her even more; he never wants to see her hurt, and he can tell, from the intrinsic bond between them—and because he knows her so well—that there is something amiss and deeply pained.
he rubs at her back, circles, trying to be comforting.
as it were, pietro is not immune to tears welling up in his eyes. he sniffles, kisses her temple.]
Wanda shudders as she breathes out, fighting for some sort of composure. It comes when she pulls back but not away. Just enough to reach up and hold his face in her hands and get a good look at him.
All she sees is her brother. Not a corpse or someone not quite right.
How?]
You're...
[Alive. Okay. Hurt, she remembers, and her hands move down to his shoulders and arms, trying to assess the damage.
[he makes a face at her scrutiny. no matter the circumstances, pietro has always protested at being coddled, but it doesn't take long for him to bring up his hand to hold on to one of hers.
it is unsurprising that there may be questions, disbelief.]
It was a lot of bullets, I know. I was saved. Doctors and nurses. I don't know, it just happened. I woke up not too many weeks ago.
[it is hard to explain especially when he's skipping details.]
I'm not as strong as before. Can we—?
[he nods towards the house. he's feeling the weight of his exhaustion settling in, now that's he arrived home.]
[There's a clear moment of hesitation before Wanda lifts his hand in hers and presses a kiss to it. Her own silent promise. She doesn't understand this, but she believes it. And she'll make sure he's okay.
A few weeks ago might as well be a lifetime. It doesn't add up. Not that long ago she was nothing, and he'd been nothing for so much longer, but she came back.
Maybe more than just the people snapped came back. It's not like she's been paying attention since then. He must be confused.
Maybe it doesn't even matter.]
Yeah. I've got you.
[It's an easy thing to keep an arm around him and float them over to the cabin.]
[his feet leave the ground and that is an entirely strange, new feeling altogether. where does this come from? he can't remember she was ever able to use her powers like this.
(a little comically, maybe, pietro brings his arms to curl around her shoulders to hold on. what? it's not like he was prepared for an express flight!)
but when they're back on the blessed ground—the floorboards of the cabin's front porch—pietro stumbles and holds on to one of the wooden pillars to keep his balance.]
Did you learn new tricks? [a hint of a smile, a grin.] You have to show me.
[but perhaps another time; right now, pietro lands shoulder against a solid surface. he's a little tired.]
[a sofa sounds entirely too tempting, and so pietro uses his sister as support (arm over her shoulder) as he makes his way in through the door and towards the piece of furniture. he glances around the place, noting how it looks very different from the comfort of modern homes.
[She's developing a bad habit of not answering his questions. Once he's on the couch, she starts to look him over now for injuries sustained from his tumble, not being shot.]
[he's noticing, and he's a little annoyed by that—he's the oldest of the two, you know! but he's tired, and willing to give her the time she needs to answer. it seems to pietro that they're both in a position of confusion, one way or the other.
adjusting on the couch, it's easy to remember. it's the last thing he does remember, before waking up. everything else is a bit of a blur.]
You told me you could handle things on your own, and that I should help get people off the city. You know, I'm still twelve minutes older than you, but you keep avoiding my questions.
[A lifetime ago. Wanda's hands pause over his ribs, eyes on his face. He must feel it, too. Something is wrong. What she feels might be a trick is--time, perhaps. Time's never been her friend.]
[he tries not to think too hard about it. years is a long time, and the last thing he wants on his mind is the excruciating reality that he's missed out on said time.
[She learned how to get by without her big brother. She didn't move on, but she had to carry on, and the thought just has the tears welling up in her eyes again despite her efforts to not cry all over again.]
![[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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most important is the way wanda keeps looking at him, like she's seeing a stranger.
he keeps an arm wrapped around his middle, his other hand held on his front, fingers splayed out, as if asking her to not unleash whatever fury she's spilling onto the red glow she's nurturing.]
I was asleep a long time. In hospital.
[trying to explain in a fractured way what happened seems the way to go right now; pietro isn't sure he knows what will work to convince her. it almost seems like she's waiting on an enemy to appear. though he wants to move, he remains standing where he is.]
Are you in danger? Did someone do something to you?
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She just can't. He's hurt.
The red disappears and Wanda steps forward to take him in her arms and support him as best she can. He feels real. Smells real. She squeezes her eyes shut and hopes he is.
If he's not, she'll kill whoever did this.]
It's okay. I have you. I'm sorry. I'm--
[Not right in the head. Confused. Lost. But in that, this feels right. She didn't feel that in Westview. Not truly, not in her heart.]
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it's hard to breathe, because it has been so long since he was with her.
because he has spent so long looking for her.]
Who hurt you? [he whispers against her hair.] I'll kill them. Don't apologize.
[pietro doesn't understand what's happened to her—how could he?—in all this time. he brings his hands to hold her head, to pull back to look her in the eyes, thumbs gentle against her cheeks, hair pooling between his fingers.]
What's wrong?
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But in the hands of her twin, she's a little girl again, and tears roll down her cheeks.]
It's you.
[Good luck getting any responses to your questions, Pietro. Something in her heart is screaming at her that this is true. That part of the stone that's left in her is longing for familiarity.]
I've missed you.
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which is why her i've missed you hits him like a ton of bricks. she's been alone, all this time?]
You know, it is not a good look for me if I make my little sister cry.
[he offers, coming off as a joke. he brushes the tears from her cheeks and hugs her tightly again, his chin atop her head.]
I'm so sorry it took me so long, but I've found you now, Wanda.
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He probably hasn't heard her cry like this since they lost their parents. It's why she tries to stop and pull herself together but just ends up having a hard time breathing on top of it all.]
me: let's have silly maximoff twin things. reality: 😔
[pietro is at a loss, having her sister like this, in his arms. in fact, it makes him not want to let go of her even more; he never wants to see her hurt, and he can tell, from the intrinsic bond between them—and because he knows her so well—that there is something amiss and deeply pained.
he rubs at her back, circles, trying to be comforting.
as it were, pietro is not immune to tears welling up in his eyes. he sniffles, kisses her temple.]
Take it easy.
Cries for ten years
But he is.
Wanda shudders as she breathes out, fighting for some sort of composure. It comes when she pulls back but not away. Just enough to reach up and hold his face in her hands and get a good look at him.
All she sees is her brother. Not a corpse or someone not quite right.
How?]
You're...
[Alive. Okay. Hurt, she remembers, and her hands move down to his shoulders and arms, trying to assess the damage.
No bullet holes.]
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it is unsurprising that there may be questions, disbelief.]
It was a lot of bullets, I know. I was saved. Doctors and nurses. I don't know, it just happened. I woke up not too many weeks ago.
[it is hard to explain especially when he's skipping details.]
I'm not as strong as before. Can we—?
[he nods towards the house. he's feeling the weight of his exhaustion settling in, now that's he arrived home.]
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A few weeks ago might as well be a lifetime. It doesn't add up. Not that long ago she was nothing, and he'd been nothing for so much longer, but she came back.
Maybe more than just the people snapped came back. It's not like she's been paying attention since then. He must be confused.
Maybe it doesn't even matter.]
Yeah. I've got you.
[It's an easy thing to keep an arm around him and float them over to the cabin.]
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(a little comically, maybe, pietro brings his arms to curl around her shoulders to hold on. what? it's not like he was prepared for an express flight!)
but when they're back on the blessed ground—the floorboards of the cabin's front porch—pietro stumbles and holds on to one of the wooden pillars to keep his balance.]
Did you learn new tricks? [a hint of a smile, a grin.] You have to show me.
[but perhaps another time; right now, pietro lands shoulder against a solid surface. he's a little tired.]
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[She feels like entirely different person now compared to who she was. She feels, looks, talks differently. Hell--is she older than him, now?]
Here, come on. There's a sofa just inside.
[As of like, one minute ago. Very nice, soft, and comfortable for any tired and/or injured brothers.]
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well, at least the couch is comfortable.
he lands on it, relieved, and huffs out a laugh.]
It took me so long to find you. Why here?
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When did you last see me?
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adjusting on the couch, it's easy to remember. it's the last thing he does remember, before waking up. everything else is a bit of a blur.]
You told me you could handle things on your own, and that I should help get people off the city. You know, I'm still twelve minutes older than you, but you keep avoiding my questions.
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Pietro, that was... a long time ago. Years.
[Closer to ten, if you factor in the snap.]
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[he tries not to think too hard about it. years is a long time, and the last thing he wants on his mind is the excruciating reality that he's missed out on said time.
...]
How much time was it?
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[She learned how to get by without her big brother. She didn't move on, but she had to carry on, and the thought just has the tears welling up in her eyes again despite her efforts to not cry all over again.]
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[he sits up carefully, his hand on her face, bringing her close for another tight embrace.]
I'm so sorry. [in sokovian,] I love you. I'm home. I won't go anywhere, I promise.
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sorry for the general slow, had a few situations with pets! back to normality in the weekend!
no worries, I will tag you forever and ever c:
🥺same tbh!!
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cries!!!!!!!!!
who needs enemies when we make ourselves suffer!!!
clutches chest
may i interest you in playing out some days/weeks into their reunion, too?
OF COURSE keep this train rollin
choo choo :>
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beautiful
i'm laughing at these two iuahhhf
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1/?
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3/3 ig
pietro!!!!
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