Drabble: Wanda

Rating: K+

Word Count: 460

Prompt: Wanda trying to cope with Pietro's death


Wanda Maximoff had been through a lot. From losing her parents to being trapped next to a bomb for three days in a collapsed building with her brother to being experimented on. None of those things made her lose hope, even in the worst situations there was always a sliver of hope. After the distraction of Sokovia and the death of her brother, Wanda had lost all hope.

How could someone go on when only half of them is alive? How can someone drive half a car? Or live in half a house? Or only wear half of their clothing? They can't. It's unnatural and impossible. As the months dragged on living was slowly becoming impossible for Wanda.

At the beginning she wouldn't leave her room for days. Wouldn't eat. Didn't want to see anyone that tried to help her. They knew that if they even tried going into her room they would be blasted out. Wanda would simply sit on the bed in the dark, holding Pietro's shirt, as she cried. She would cry until she couldn't cry anymore or until sleep claimed her for a few hours.

That had somewhat changed as the months went on. During the day she would comply and train whenever they asked her to. On weekends she would join them for movie nights and she would occasionally poke at whatever they were making to eat. If they were able to see through the fake smile and fake laugh they didn't say anything. Clint would occasionally ask her how she was doing, she's nod and give him a reassuring smile saying that she was better than a few months ago.

What they didn't know was that as soon as the door to her floor closed behind her, tears would be pouring down her cheeks. Sometimes she would slide down onto the floor and silently cry for hours. Other times she would make it to her bed and curl up in a ball crying into her pillow.

Tonight was no different. The sorceress found herself sitting in the foot claw tub, her arms wrapped around her knees as she cried. The hot water had turned cold hours ago, but she didn't care. Feeling cold was better than feeling hollow inside. Her voice just above a whisper as she sang a lullaby that her mother used to sing, the emotion as thick as a lump quickly formed in her throat. Hot tears poured down her cheeks as she shivered in the water.

There are wounds that never show on the body that are deeper and more hurtful than anything that bleeds.