Five minutes.
Five minutes, seventeen seconds.
Eighteen.
Nineteen.
Twenty-
She blinks as her airborne rescuer descends suddenly, the abrupt switch of direction enough to awaken her slightly.
The android/living robot/hybrid/thing which bears only the name of his voice – Jarvis? – says nothing as he sets her gently on her feet on the flying fortress of metal that is SHIELD.
She looks up, catches his eye for a moment, blank brown meeting neon cerulean, before he disappears as quickly as he appeared to pluck her from the train car where she had yanked the mechanical heart out of his sibling.
She stands, and stares, not really paying attention to the chaos of the falling city she had grown up in any longer. Her eyes trail listlessly to the ground, and she can't move.
Five minutes, forty-two seconds.
Forty-three.
Forty-four.
Forty-five-
"Wanda!"
She just barely starts at the sound of her name, but her eyes can't move from the ground – it's grey; why does everything seem grey now, even the sky? – until a hand lands on her shoulder, and she stiffens up – he would have shoved them away, never allowed them so near; but he cannot do that anymore, can he?
Ire flickering through her at the thought, she glares menacingly upward. It's someone new, a woman with dark hair she doesn't recognize but wearing the SHIELD insignia, which means she is not a threat – for now.
She says nothing – cannot say anything, not if she wishes to keep the sobs at bay – but the taller woman seems to understand the irritation in her stance.
"Come with me," she says, and it is not exactly an order, nor a request, but Wanda is too spent to even contemplate what other options there are, so she shakily steps after the SHIELD agent, one foot after the other.
She doesn't wobble, simply trails slowly after the woman, not even paying attention to the grey walls and grey floors and grey ceiling and all the grey-clad people they pass by as they go deeper into the ship.
Eight minutes, eight seconds.
Nine.
Ten.
Eleven.
Twelve-
"Y'know, I'm twelve minutes older than you."
Tears sting her eyes, and nausea barrels into her like a wrecking ball; stumbling away from the agent, she gags, half-collapsing against a wall as the feeling peaks and she is emptying her stomach onto the floor.
She half-sobs brokenly, remembering a hand running through her hair and a ghost of a kiss on her forehead; if he were here, he'd cradle her like a newborn and sing the old Latverian lullaby father had loved so much, and where is he oh God I can't feel him anywhere
And she won't be feeling him, ever, because she'd felt the devastated world around her collapse completely as pain tore through her heart and breath leave her body as life left his.
He's gone, he is nowhere and never will be anywhere again and no no don't leave me here alone mom and dad and everyone else is gone Pietro please don't leave.
Nine minutes, forty-six seconds.
A hand on her shoulder, foreign but not unwelcome, gently pulls her away from the mess she's made. She looks up through blurring eyes, expecting the agent.
But it's the man, the Avenger, the archer who spoke to her in the house, of saving the world and being a hero. The one who shocked her in the head. The one Pie- her brother didn't like very much.
She stares at him, because that's all she can do now, just stare and wonder and wait for whatever is next, because she sure as hell doesn't know.
"I'm sorry," he whispers, squeezing her shoulder, and she does not understand. He stands, lightly tugging until she follows, and silently escorts her past the agents and refugees rushing about with absolutely no hassle.
Ten minutes, Fifty seconds.
Fifty-one.
Fifty-two.
Fifty-three.
She blinks tiredly, wishes for nothing more than the world to stop – perhaps Ultron had the right idea after all; death cannot be such a bad rest, yes? – but it keeps spinning, and suddenly there he is.
Lying there like a rock.
So still and silent where a bundle of energy and sassy remarks is supposed to be.
It seems to only be a blink, but then she is sitting beside him, clutching one cold hand to her chest, staring so intently at his blank face that it is a miracle her powers haven't acted up yet.
Eleven minutes, four seconds.
She doesn't move.
Doesn't blink.
Doesn't breathe.
Nothing, for a solid minute.
Twelve minutes, one second.
He doesn't wake up.
She cries.
A/N: This movie emotionally compromised me on a whole new level. Holy fuck. Joss Whedon just went and slaughtered my favorite character for no damn reason. I just- *screams at the sky*
~Persephone