A/N: Maybe a bit dark? Tell me what you think, and what you would like to see from here. Please and thank you. Also, I would like to address a couple of reviews. First of all, I love EACH and everyone one of you. I love hearing what you have to say, and I read all and feel all warm and fuzzy from each one.

10 of Spades - I'm glad you noticed! I love Halsey, and I think her songs really fit Wanda :) Kudos for the pick up!

TortoisetheStoryteller - I never mentioned where he would be getting dropped off ;) You make a very valid point. I think Scott is sneaky enough to manage to get home... OR... he would completely ruin it and get caught in seconds. There is no in between for him. That's just my opinion haha.

Wanda is silent, and so is Steve - but they are not. A million thoughts are flying through their heads, each entwining with the other's, and doubling it. The tension is loud, and it takes everything that Wanda has to not try and disappear into her hands.

To not push and probe at her temples in what would be a futile attempt to stop the noise. God knows that the mighty Steve - Captain America, because he cannot be one without the other - would stop her. So she sits, and endures.

In her weakness, this is her strength, and she has too much pride to give over what she can control.

It is Steve who speaks first.

"Is this a habit of yours?" There is no mocking, but genuine curiosity. Perhaps concern, but he hides it well. Wanda already knows the answer, but she takes a moment to reply. She has to word this right - the memory deserves it.

"You would think that I would hate small spaces. But, when the bomb struck, and Pietro and I waited it out, we came together as one. We made each other small, together. We could not move. Even our breath could have set it off. So now that he is not here, this helps."

She does not want his pity. Besides, Steve is better than that.

"That makes sense. For some, it would be a trigger. But because to you, being small didn't trigger something, it does the opposite."

"Yes." Wanda's confirmation is flat. "So, you see that I am fine. You should go, Steve. I know that Natasha has been calling you. You should go call her back."

He is silent for a long time, so long, in fact, that Wanda turns her head towards him. She tries to read his face, before she decides to dive into his mind. Inside, she finds chaos, and she quickly flings herself out, lest she became lost in there with him.

Besides, she is already lost enough.

"There's a lot of things that I should have done. More things that I shouldn't have. But this? There is no confusion, no blurry lines. I'm not going anywhere. You should close your eyes, and try to get some sleep. Do you want to hear a story?"

Wanda glares at him - but, she is surprised to find that she is curious. What story would Steve tell her? She knows the one that she would like to hear, but she is undeserving of it.

She is not Natasha or Falcon - she is not anyone close to him. She forgets though, that he would do anything to help someone, even if that means sharing his past.

Even if by sharing it, brings it to the future. It is alive in his eyes, in the way that he holds himself. She sees it's rebirth as he readies himself to tell it, the inhale in which he gathers everything he has.

She is almost too selfish to stop him. Almost.

Wanda puts a hand on his.

"Stop. We both need sleep. You need not go into your nightmares, Steve. Not yet, at least. If I can't make you move, then just sit by me."

"You could make me move if you really wanted to." He tells her, and she knows he's testing her. She turns to give him her full attention, and his eyes crinkle at her expression. She wonders if there's red in them. She's not seeing it right now, but that's because she's so tired. Anger takes energy, and hers is shared with Steve.

She has nothing to give to it.

"I could. But there has been enough fighting. Let us have peace."

"The sad thing about peace, is that it never lasts for long."

Wanda smiles.

"Does that mean we shouldn't enjoy it while it lasts?"

Bless his heart, he falls asleep.

She "drifted off" an hour ago. He started dozing ten minutes ago, before finally succumbing to it. She whispers into his mind, giving him good dreams. It's definitely so she can sneak away, and not to see the smile that she leaves in her absence.

Her feet are quiet taps against the floor, and her movements are sighs. The stillness is nice, and she absorbs it, letting it fill her. It drowns everything out, and she feels as if she is underwater. She is so light that she floats above it, and her eyes slip shut as she lets it take her. To be alone, to not have to pretend, is the real peace. She can be honest with herself, with her body and mind, and she doesn't have to worry about upsetting anyone. Maybe she's selfish for thinking that way. Why is it always about her and how she makes others feel? Hasn't Steve lost Bucky, when he's only found him again? Doesn't Clint have to stay with them, because if he goes to his family he puts them at greater risk, and he himself will be caught? If she was them, she would have told herself that at least she is alone, and doesn't have to worry about the repercussions that her actions will have for those she cares about.

Perhaps a cruel thing to say, but it would be the truth, and Wanda is nothing but honest.

Her eyes snap open, and she suddenly wants to punch something, throw something. She wants to hear things break under her hands. She wants to hear the power simmering within her, feel it shoot through her nerves, bringing her to life. She wants to feel revived and most of all, she wants to stop feeling angry. And to stop feeling angry, first she has to let herself feel.

She wants the shame and the guilt to stop, the gnawing and clawing of it. It eats her alive, and she lets it, because although she wants it to stop, she doesn't deserve that. She is a killer, and she deserves to die, too. She'll make it painful, and in the end, maybe it'll strip her clean. It's not a bad way to go, for the likes of her.

Her hand snaps out, and the bowl of fruit innocently sitting on the table splits. Death isn't pretty for anyone, not even objects, and it goes with a screech, sending wood and bits of banana and apples towards the floors. Inside that scream, she hears the cries of those that were victim to her mistakes - and there is so many of them. She wonders if Pietro is in there too, because even though he was older, he followed her around. If she hadn't been so caught up in revenge for Tony Stark, then many could have been saved. She was the one to let Tony go, and she can claim blame for the brith of Ultron, and all that happened after.

There was no denying it, no getting around it. She couldn't excuse it, could not justify it. All she could do was live, because they would not let her die.

"You still blame me, then." Wanda flings around, her hands in front of her, energy waiting for her instruction.

Vision hovers before her, and on his face was an expression she had already faced. It was tortured, vulnerable - the exact same when she had stripped him of his power, and then sent him through floor after floor.

She shakily lowers her hands.

"Hello, Vision. How did you breach premises? How did you even know? Is Tony Stark-"

"I would not have brought Tony here. Not when you're this distressed. I will answer your question if you sit down. Could I...is it possible for me to make you some tea? I hear that helps."

A turmoil of emotions flashes through Wanda - confusion, amusement, anger, fear. She cannot grasp onto one; they spiral, and she finds herself pitching forwards under the weigh too them. She cannot even hold one - how is she expected to hold all of them -

Vision is by her side in seconds, his earlier precaution forgotten. He reaches out, and she flinches. Vision pauses, and his eyes flick up to hers, intent and calculating now.

"Wanda. You have to know - I cannot harm you. Did you not even see in the battle, I-"

"Don't take it personally. It seems to be a natural reaction now when someone reaches for me." The words slip, bitter and unchecked, and she quickly mashes her teeth together. But it does not undo what she has said, or the damage that comes after it. She seems to excel in that - speaking of things, doing things, and in the wake hurting those that are in the face of them.

Vision is silent. He studies her, and quickly processes what she has said - and what she will not say. She watches with a thrill of fear - and something else, almost familiarity - as his expression darkens, and the brightness in his eyes dim. She remembers this is what he looks like when he is protective, and the one person he's ever been protective of is her, and she wishes - she wishes -

Well, she's not sure what she wishes. That they could go back? It has never beens simple, never for her, and especially never for them.

"I see. Well, perhaps speaking of my intentions will help. I'm going to take your arm now, and help you to the couch." He very slowly extends his hand again, and his fingers curl so gently around her arm that she barely feels it.

And she wishes that he would hold her harder. What is the worse that can happen? He breaks her? She is already broken.

He looks down at her, and she wonders what he is seeing. Vision pauses, eyes still on her face.

"I see you. As always, Wanda, I see you."