…

How's this: the world ends.

Well. Not The World, capital letters, seven-point-five billion people (give or take). Almost, but not quite. You helped stop that.

You've killed as many people as you've saved, you think. It should all even out in the end.

So the world ends, but it doesn't. That's what they tell you. They say, The World is saved! Thank you for your help! What do you want to write on your brother's headstone?

You save the world, but you don't, because the rest of the world doesn't matter.

You'll keep saving the world because you owe these people, because this is recompense for the evil you have done against them. You feel remorse. You're still human enough for remorse, right?

(it's also the right thing to do, but that doesn't matter so much, now).

…

You remember a time when you wanted the world to burn, burn, burn. And you did. You set it on fire, and it burned, burned, burned you.

You show people what they're most afraid of. You press your fingers against them and dig under their skin, draw as much blood as you can. Look, you say, You are a hero without a future, without a past, without anything.

Look, you say, And see how you've destroyed the world.

Look at how badly the world has destroyed you.

Look at what a monster you are.

Look, look, look –

You don't tell lies. You show them the truth.

Pietro always liked that, liked the way you could show people how ugly they really were. "They're lying to themselves," he'd say, nose bloody from having careened into a wall (or two, or three). "They're all lying. Wanda, little sister, we're going to show them how ugly they really –"

(then he was off again, muscles twitching, slamming into another wall).

…

You press your hands against the glass and will it to fracture under your fingers. It splits obediently, and you breathe in (and out, and out, and out) the cool morning air.

"You know," an assassin says from behind her, "Those windows open."

You freeze. "Ms Romanoff…" you say, and then stop. You don't know what else to say to this woman.

"Ms Maximoff," the assassin says. Her reflection lazily tilts her head in the mirror, and you meet her eyes dead-on. "Steve wants you."

"Of course," you say.

"Try opening it next time," the assassin says, lips curling into a sleepy smile. Her eyes are half-lidded and half-awake. She can kill you so very, very easily. "That's the fourth time this month."

"Ms Romanoff," you say again, nodding.

"See you, kid," the assassin says, pushing off the doorway and disappearing into the hall. You don't start breathing again until you're sure she's gone.

You burn the world down. You save it.

You don't particularly care anymore.

…

Pietro gets a nice gravestone, surrounded by trees. You hate it, but you go there anyway, because you don't know how to stop talking to the only person you love. Present tense, not past, because you don't know how to stop that, either. He's your brother. He's your brother, and he's dead, and you may as well have killed him.

You save The World, and you burn down yours.

You say, "I have a debt", and the assassin smirks and lines up her sights. You say, "I want to help people", and the hero gives you his hand.

You say (small, quiet, frightened): "I don't want this anymore", but you set this fire and its burning, burning, burning all around you. You set this fire and it's going to burn down more than you're willing to give up.

(you were willing to give up so, so much).

"I," Pietro would say, "Am angry."

And you would sit and nod, sit and nod, sit and nod and say, "So am I."

(you're still angry. it just doesn't matter anymore).

"Save these people," says the hero, and you save the people. "Kill these people," says the assassin, "And I will kill you."

You don't exactly blame her.

…

Killing is easier than you thought it would be.

Pietro doesn't see it that way. He comes back shaking and pale, hands bloodied, the side of his mouth dry with vomit. He clutches at her and rocks back and forth, back and forth.

You cry. When he leaves, you stop.

You wonder what that means.

…

Two days after the end of the world, the assassin sits you down and stares at you. She is unarmed. You know she is unarmed, because she came into the room and stripped down her weapons onto the table behind her. She sits in front of you, palms flat on the table, and she says, "I can still kill you and get away with it."

"You won't," you say. You're too tired for this. You wonder if you'd even fight back.

(of course you'd fight back. of course. you've gone too far not to, anymore).

"I won't," the assassin says, and she's smiling. She's smiling, and she looks harmless. She feels harmless. She's sitting in front of you plotting to murder, and there's not an ounce of bloodlust in her aura.

You've seen into her dark, dark soul, and you're more frightened of her than you've ever been of anyone.

"What do you want?" you say. You've never dealt well with being frightened.

"I want to make one thing perfectly clear," the assassin says, and then leans forward and lets the monster show on her face. "If you hurt these people, I will hurt you."

You meet her eyes and you say, "I owe these people a debt."

The assassin laughs at you. "Yes," she says. "You owe these people more than you could ever dream of paying back. But that's not why you're here."

"I have nowhere else to go."

"I talked to Clint," the assassin says. "You made a choice."

You look away and say, "I'd take it all back, if I could have my brother."

Her smile softens. "Too late." Somehow, she's not mocking you.

You throw back your head and laugh, and laugh, and laugh. When you finally rest your head against the palms of your hands, the assassin is gone. You never heard her leave.

…

So here's the thing: Us and Them.

Us: Pietro, you.

Them: Every-fucking-one else.

"Every-fucking-one else," Pietro says, arms trembling around you. You're curled up with him in the corner of the street, wrapped in a thin blanket. "Just you and me, Wanda."

You shiver and nod and say, "You and me."

You never thought you'd break that promise.

(you swear, Pietro, you never intended to break that promise, Pietro, Pietro, you swear –)

…

fin.

…

…so that happened. Haven't seen Civil War (yet) and I don't know if this sort of mindset holds up or not, but whatever. Hope you enjoyed!

Disclaimer: I don't own Marvel! Or things would be different in canon. Very, very different.