***SPOILER ALERT: This starts around the end of the film "The Avengers: Age of Ultron" when Pietro is shot.

Chapter I "To Let Go"

It's funny, he thinks, how easy it is. Letting go always seemed so hard. He never imagined himself capable of it. He never thought of a future beyond the two of them. Suddenly that possibility becomes painfully clear and, more than anything, just out of reach. If he would stretch out his arms to it now he would scrape it with the tips of his fingers. Closer than it has ever been before.
He remembers them sitting in a small room with nothing more than the glow of a candle that kissed their beaten faces with gold, and the sound of their laughter to cover up those bruises. And it was good. Those times he remembers with fondness. But it strikes him that something bigger and greater is just ahead of them. Why does he think of that now? Why do his memories merge together with a hope for the future? A future that is, maybe for the first time, inviting, or even desirable.
He wonders whether that is how all things end. How fallen soldiers find solace, before being completely swallowed by the earth.

Now, with bullets planted into his body like seeds in the earth, he realises little is left to his imagination. He hits the ground. The taste of dirt stings in his mouth, and it's not unfamiliar. The shouting over his head grows further away; the gunfire peters out. It's light. It's so very light. The pain is blunt; present but not frightening. There's no running from it, no speed in the world with which he can escape. They were not raised to escape. They, they would no longer be. His eyes sting and he closes them. Beneath him he can already feel the earth shifting, moving on without him. He had never imagined it would be this easy.

"I need a doctor here immediately," Clint kneels down. Bright blood stains his pants, and he can feel how hot and sticky it is against his skin. Before speaking again he draws a short breath, and keeps his voice steady as he speaks. "Does anyone copy?"

Carefully, he presses a finger underneath Pietro's jaw, and brushes a few white blond locks away with his other hand. A shiver runs down his spine. He clenches his jaw.

"What happened?" Natasha's voice is clear and sharp in his ear, snapping him out of it. She speaks short and quickly.

"Pietro has been shot multiple times," A sickness is building in his stomach, one he learnt a healthy mind doesn't ever get used to. He tries to swallow it away. With strips of cloth that he rips off of Pietro's torn shirt he tries to bandage some injuries. He was trained for this. For never giving up. For fighting. And also, for death. "He is bleeding out. It's, it's critical."

"How much time do we have?" He can hear her footsteps. She is running now, away from something. Or towards it.

Pietro's heartbeat grows weaker underneath his fingertip. "Not much." With his arms spread across the boy's torso he tries to apply as much pressure to certain wounds as he can. He feels worthless even as he does it. He's but a little boy, he can't help but think to himself, he has no mother and no father but God knows he is loved and God knows he does not deserve this.

His voice is sharp and urgent when he speaks. "Listen, we need a medical team right now, or we lose him."

"Unfortunately we don't have that yet in our assortment," Tony joins the conversation but cuts off his own sentence with a painful groan. It sounds like he is caught in the heat of a battle. "Sorry, turbulence."

"No time for jokes now Tony," Clint stares to the sky, hoping to see one of them, but no such luck. When he looks down again he can feel his eyes sinking back into the young man. "I think he's dying," There seem to be no other words coming together in his mind. "He's dying." The tightness in his chest makes it a little harder to breathe for a moment. It physically hurts to push the words over his lips, but Clint has seen enough dying men to recognise one.

"Up here the rescue helicopters only have a handful of first aid kits and nurses. Some doctors too though you're there Clint, you can see for yourself where they are or what they're doing. The real medical teams are, well, on the ground floor." Tony says what Clint knows, or rather, what he fears to be the truth. Whatever is up in the sky with them is not enough. There are tens, maybe hundreds of other emergencies that the few medics here have to take care of right now.

"I know a doctor," There is hesitation in Natasha's voice.

"The only thing Big-green-and-angry would be good for now is a quick and painless death," Tony says, "Unless you can," There is a short pause in which he breathes in deeply. "Should I give you a lift?"

"You wanted hulk," Two fists are thrown up threateningly in the air. "You have hulk!"

She flinches, remembers what he said during their training. If you make yourself a target, you will be seen as one. For a moment she remains motionless, and has to remind herself to breathe. When she meets his eye she sees pure madness, compressed into an enormous beast. And she is trying to reason with him? Tell him they need Bruce when she was the one to push him into the dark abyss of his own biggest fear? She clenches her fists and then relaxes her hands, but her eyes are glued to his massive body. Underneath his green skin she can see white hot rage pulsing through his veins like lava.

It was a while ago since seeing the hulk remembered her of their first meeting so vividly. She doubts it will let go of her, try as she might. A fright so pure and simple struck her then, and is still there, like needles in her bones. He is destruction and she is intelligence. Like fire and water they seem but capable of hurting themselves and each other with each contact.

In these moments she is reminded of how small and fragile she is. The Black Widow, the internationally feared superspy with no skill as well-trained and perfected as murder, is feeling her bones turn glass and her skin paper. Sometimes she believes he could rip her apart with only his voice, piercing fear into the hearts of whole cities with his roar. She is hyperaware of how close to death she is, and how indestructible he will always remain.

And yet when she remembers the man inside there, the lab coat wearing softie who thinks she doesn't catch his shy stares, she can't see them as opposites anymore. Even as a kind-hearted scientist against a cold killer like her, it becomes clear who they really are. They are Avengers. No fire and water can compare to whom they have become. If anything, they are invincible.

Invincible, and a little broken. She licks her lips and inhales slowly. She has learnt very well by now that anger is but a secondary emotion. It is the effect, and she needs to get to the cause of it. "I'm sorry." His eyes find her, hidden in a face of green fury, and she hopes that if not intelligence can convince him, sentiment will. "I'm sorry for not running with you."

He growls, a deep rumble from within his chest. If it angers him, she tells herself, it hurts him.

"I wanted to run with you. I still want to," In a half-hearted automatism she raises her hand to him, erasing her doubts skilfully out of her voice. She is an actress after all, and she gets to decide whether he will ever know that she does not want to flee and leave behind all of this. But there is no grace in lying to him. Not even to the Other Guy. "I still want to be with you." Her eyes stick to his every movement. She knows could lie to him. She could coax him out of this. It would probably be quite effective. Yet right now the truth is much more difficult to say, and the easy way was not made for her. "But not at the cost of others. We can save people. You too, both you and Bruce."

He lashes out at the ground next to her and she closes her eyes. She stands, like a statue, and waits. All thoughts of death and fear are swept to the back of her head, where they feast on old memories and make promises of sleepless nights.

"We need you," She breathes, hardly audible for herself. No sound slips past the hulk. He is focused on everything, overwhelmed by senses too sharp for himself. It drives him insane, but even monsters get used to certain levels of insanity.

He presses his other fist against the ground as well, going down on all fours and letting out a weaker groan. Before her, the beast falls down in surrender. Gradually he becomes paler, smaller, and starts too look just as fragile as her. Deceivingly so, but it kindles hope in her chest. He gasps for air, his skin too tight and body suddenly almost weightless. Coated in dirt and sweat he finally collapses onto the ground. The pride and strength that usually creep onto her after this kind of victory stay absent now. They have not won yet. She reaches for him, but he turns his head away and pushes himself up on his shaky arms.

"Bruce-"

"What happened?" He chokes on his words.

"Pietro is dying," She whips the words at him, and they shake him, too strong for him to grasp them. Confused and in pain, he struggles to his feet before trying to listen. She waits, silently, without helping him. She hurt him, she knows, and he hasn't forgiven her for it. He doesn't seem to understand his purpose, but she has always been patient. Pietro however does not have that kind of time.

"What?" He asks when he is able to stand on both feet.

Tony makes a swift landing next to them. "Pietro is dying, that's what," He repeats whilst wrapping both of his arms around Bruce. "Hold onto me tightly now, we're going for a ride."

As soon as they land Bruce falls to his knees and presses his head to the ground. A long, weak moan leaves his mouth. The ruins of the city spin around him and he shivers violently.

"Our doctor has arrived," Tony states, gesturing proudly towards Bruce.

Clint turns his head and raises an eyebrow. "Our doctor looks like he needs a doctor."

"Well, yes," Tony agrees and points to some place behind them, "Also, I saw a hospital down the street, and guess what? It's only half blown up."

"Aren't we lucky?" Clint comments dryly.

"You carry Legally Blonde there and I'll go ahead with Bruce to see what we can use," Tony says before grabbing his friend by the arm and helping him up.

Clint turns back to Pietro and picks him up with as delicacy as he can muster. The glow of life seeps out of his face and his eyes stare hazily into the distance. His winces become fainter with each step they make. "You are an Avenger now, Pietro," The world around them seems to slow down. The boy he holds against his chest slips away slowly. A brother, an ally, and once a son, once held safely in someone's arms. "Just walk it off."

Thank you for reading. Please review, it makes my day and keeps me motivated.