Wanda put her hands on the glass, and watched with fascination as the mouse ran across the grass. It was quick, its little pink feet allowing it to dart across the ground with lightning like speed.
Then, out of nowhere, a hawk swooped down with a cry. Its claws reached and sunk into that little mouse's stomach. Blood splattered everywhere, painting the grass with red.
Wanda drew back from the window, eyes wide with horror, eyes filling with tears. That mouse had been quick. Just like Pietro. She put a trembling hand on her mouth, her face crumbling.
Suddenly, Wanda felt a cold hand fall onto her shoulder, steadying her.
"The mouse is lost," Bucky said softly, eyes looking at her from behind unkept bangs as tears fell down her face. "But the chicks will live."
Still, he stood in front of her like a wall, sheltering her from the stares of people who just didn't understand.
He understood too well, what the ache of grief felt like.