The air was thick with dust. It clouded around Pietro as he skidded to a halt, spotting a figure in the dirty fog. Pietro gasped as, when the dust cleared, he saw that it was Clint. The archer was running towards the crowd of people already clustered at the edge of the rising city. A child, no older than 6, was cradled in his arms, a woman, who could only be the boy's mother, was yelling at them from her seat. Pietro could see the danger, Clint couldn't. Not yet.
The bullets started.
They crashed onto the ground like lightning, advancing towards Clint and the boy. Clint froze as the bullets advanced on him. His expression hardened and he half crouched, turning his face away from the bullets, attempting to shield the boy with his body. Pietro started to run towards him, a silver blur across the ground. Time slowed as he noticed a partly smashed car, balanced on its side.
Would Clint and the boy be protected by it? Pietro asked himself as he sprinted forwards.
It's a chance. I'll do whatever it takes.
He zoomed up to Clint, grabbing the archer around the waist and pushing him behind the car. Pietro's mouth opened in a soundless wail of pain as numerous bullets pierced his skin, leaving large holes in his flesh where red liquid flowed out, staining his shirt. His chest heaved and he stared at the ground, shock and unbearable pain jolting through him. His arms were still half raised towards Clint; they trembled visibly. Clint turned round and his eyes widened in shock and horror as he saw Pietro.
Pietro looked up at him and managed to struggle out a few words. "Bet you didn't see that coming."
His whole body shook with the effort of standing and his legs buckled. He fell to the ground on his side; trying to stop himself with his arms but he collapsed ungracefully, his head hitting the ground, hard. Clint and the boy were staring at him, their eyes big as moons. As Pietro took in a shaky breath, his ears were filled with the chilling scream of his sister, Wanda.
No, he thought stubbornly. No, I'm not going to leave her.
He felt blood trickle out of his body; it dripped onto the dusty ground. It felt hot and sticky against his skin. He fought for breath a moment longer; Clint came and crouched beside him, the boy on his knees near the car, a look of sorrow and desperation painted on the archer's grimy face. Agony threatened to overwhelm Pietro and he swallowed painfully, gasping in a last, struggling breath.
I'm sorry Wanda. I'm sorry.
His limbs went limp, a small sigh escaped him and his eyes flickered shut, falling into darkness.