A/N - I saw Civil War. I'm not okay. Also, this is not the only story I'm writing for the movie. I have more ships to write about (mainly Romanogers but other pairings too).
Title taken from "I'm A Mess" by Ed Sheeran
when you're on my road walking me home
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.
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She had to do it. Steve was going to die. Citizens were going to die. They were all going to die if she didn't control her powers.
She doesn't remember when the red flare had burst or when she slipped up and an explosion pierced the air.
It's a blur and she's hurt but she knows the pain coiled in her heart and it's bleeding more than any wound ever has. It's a blur and she's crying but she yearns to scream.
It's a blur when the medics come and attend to her needs and she's shaking them off and telling them that she's not the one who needs medical attention.
She's stuck in a haze that stays with her until the flight back to the compound in upstate New York. On the plane, she shut the world out and got lost in the classical music she knew Steve liked. Whenever she found him on his days off, he'd be sitting on his bed in his room, the blinds open, and music blasting through his speakers.
The thought distracts her, if only for a minute, before the guilt washes over her in waves. Once they land, she's filled with an immense amount of self hatred.
Why couldn't she be faster? Why couldn't she be stronger? And why does she feel like such a monster?
That night she cries herself to sleep.
Wanda finds no comfort in her daily activities anymore. The acts are petty and self indulgent. Why play guitar when there are people dying in another country? Dying because of her? The idea makes her stomach churn and throat burn from silent screams.
Because there's always going to be a why. Why sleep? Why sleep when others are sleeping for the rest of their life? Why cry? Why cry when crying isn't going to bring somebody dead back? Why try? Why try when trying leads to nothing good in the end?
She's swallowed whole in her own thoughts. She thinks, but it's out of necessity. She feels, but it's to not feel numb. She listens, but she doesn't hear.
Steve attempts to get her outside her head.
"It's all my fault," she says.
"It's not," he replies, but she gets the feeling that he hates her.
She would too if she were him.
He closes the door behind him as he moves to sit beside her on her bed.
She's not looking at him. She can't. She won't do it. If she looks, she'll break down.
Steve is persistent. "It's not, okay? I'm the one to blame here. If I hadn't listened to Rumlo and his ramblings about Bucky, those people wouldn't of gotten hurt. You know that."
"But it wasn't only you. I didn't do what I practiced. I thought I understood the extent of my powers, but I didn't." Wanda finds herself staring at him, searching for a look of disgust on his face. There is none. Even when she says, "I'm a monster."
Steve doesn't believe her, waves it off. In his eyes, she is more than just her mistakes. Maybe he would understand that feeling better than her. He's done so much while being a soldier. The choices aren't easy and neither is the life they choose to live. Maybe that's okay. Everyone's story is different.
She comes to realize that he's taking the fall for this. Oh, it wasn't the weird girl's fault. Oh no, it was the super soldier. He didn't train her correctly or polish her form. And when they debrief, he'll be nothing short of remorse.
She leans hesitantly into his side. He didn't flinch so she settles closer. She turns her head to bury her face in his neck. He places a kiss on top of her head.
"You did all you could, Wanda."
She shuts her eyes and whispers, "But it'll never be enough, will it?"
He held her. She was crying. The tears rolled down her cheeks and stained his shirt. Steve didn't seem to care and gently rubbed her back in soothing circles.
"I killed those people—"
"But that wasn't on purpose. It was an accident. Accidents happen, Wanda."
She lifts her face to get a good look at him. He looks tired and exhausted and just plain old done. It's like nothing can affect him anymore and the passion he had is slowly fading away. She wonders where his heart went, why it isn't on his sleeve, because she could sure use a pep talk right now.
But he's silently bathing in his own guilt, his own problems, and his eyes tell her more than she ever wanted to know.
"Yeah," she says. "They do."
He smiles at her.
She doesn't believe its genuineness.