To know what a person has done, and to know who a person is, are very different things.

Hannah Kent

She laughed, the rare sound tinkling through the broken air, as they scrambled playfully over the debris. Another bomb had hit last night, leaving fragments of rock scattered all over the ruined street. If one looked closely enough, they would be able to see the twisted, maze like beauty in their new backyard, but Pietro wasn't one for seeing the beauty in destruction. Especially when it came at such an irreversible price. His fingers clenched at his sides and he felt the soft corners of the photograph that he had hidden inside his shirt press against his skin.

"Bet you can't catch me!" his sister giggled, her battered dress catching on one of the sharp edges of concrete.

Pietro rolled his eyes in response and dodged a large hole as he chased reluctantly after her. He was cautious to leave the puddles of dried blood untouched. "Not so fast," he joked, clambering after her. "Otherwise, I'll never be able to catch you."

Wanda turned to look at him, her tangled hair flowing in the wind. There was a dimness in her eyes and a sallowness in her skin that made Pietro swallow hard. He had tried to make sure that she always got the food first, that she had access to clean water before him. He had tried to make sure that the bitterness that was constantly surging through him didn't affect her to the extent that it did him. But she was still suffering regardless.

I'll do better, he promised himself silently. Mum and dad, I promise that I'll do better.

"But you'll catch me anyway," Wanda grinned and Pietro blinked. "You always do, no matter how fast I run."

"Too true," he said, allowing his old smirk to touch his lips as he followed her.

He wondered why she was smiling today. It was nearly a year since their parents had been murdered in their own home. Why was she smiling? He told himself not to think too much about it; he didn't get to see his sister smiling very often these days.

A whistling sound. Pietro turned his gaze to the sky in curiosity, the sound becoming even higher pitched. It was so familiar. What was it? His eyes landed on the puzzling, black shape falling from the sky and his eyes widened in realisation. Horror flooded his body. His heart clenched anxiously in his chest, adrenaline suddenly thrumming through his veins, and for a moment, it was like time stopped. A bomb. It was a bomb and he could see it falling, falling, falling, to the ground. He could hear the wind shriek around the corners of the shattered buildings, could hear the lingering remains of Wanda's rare laugh. He heard a scream fill the air and he absently realised that it was him, crying for Wanda to get down.

It hit the ground and the brief happiness, the short-lived peace that had hung over the stone graveyard, was destroyed.

He felt the ground ripple, felt himself get lifted up, felt himself hit the ground and roll at the force of the explosion. Hot air blasted above him and he heard the tell-tale, ear-piercing sound of concrete splitting. Blackness flickered at the edges of his vision, dust and smoke pushing its way into his lungs, but he forced himself to stay awake, as he pushed himself to his knees. Wanda. He had to get to Wanda. If Wanda had…

He didn't allow himself to even think the words.

He staggered to his feet, his vision swirling, his ears ringing and he rubbed them irritably. Blood littered his fingers when he withdrew his hand. He coughed as he stumbled through the haze, not knowing where he was going, not knowing where his sister was.

"Wanda!" he wheezed. "Wanda!"

Pietro's eyes snapped open and he was aware of a voice speaking next to him. A loud, beeping sound pierced the air and he winced. A bomb. There was a bomb. He had to get out, he had to warn the others, he had to find Wanda. His hands were shaking. He didn't know where he was. He must have fallen asleep.

"Mr Maximoff."

There was someone saying his name and his head swung around blindly, looking for the source of the voice.

"Mr Maximoff. I need for you to calm down."

Calm down? How could he calm down? "No," he heard himself murmur. "Wanda. Where's Wanda?"

"You're safe, Mr Maximoff."

"Wanda. I have to find-"

"Wanda is fine. I promise. She's just across the hall from you, but I really need for you to calm down. Otherwise, we're going to have to sedate you and no one wants to do that."

Pietro felt himself nod and he blinked hard, his vision beginning to clear. White lights. Blurring faces. A woman was standing to his right. "Okay." His voice was harsh to his own ears. "Okay. But I need to see her. I have to see her."

The woman sighed. "I understand, Mr Maximoff, but-"

"I need to see her!" He felt his fingers vibrate nervously against the stark sheets. Hospital. He was in a hospital. He heard his heart rate spike on the monitor at the realisation. He hated hospitals.

Hospitals meant… Strucker. The image of the man passed through his mind and he squinted his eyes tightly shut. Bullets. Pain. Loss.

He hated hospitals.

"Mr Maximoff," the woman warned and he felt her touch the skin of his wrist. He twitched away from her fingers. "Calm down."

"I…" The world was spinning and he shifted in the bed. He had to leave. He had to make sure that Wanda was in safe hands. If he was in a hospital, then he had no reason to trust any people in this entire building.

"Melanie, would you grab me…"

He shifted again. Wanda. He had to see Wanda. A second later, he was on the floor, his legs collapsing underneath him. What had happened to him? What had they done?

"Mr Maximoff. Please. I don't want to have to sedate you."

Pietro glared up at the dark haired woman standing above him, a syringe sitting awkwardly in her left hand.

"Then don't. Don't sedate me." The English words were uncomfortable, thick on his tongue. He stumbled to his feet and he breathed in deeply, trying to keep the dizziness at bay. "Where is Wanda? I need to know that she's safe."

The woman stared at him. "Fine," she said curtly. "Melanie? Would you get that wheelchair over there for me?"

Pietro heard himself sigh in relief. They weren't going to sedate him. They were going to bring him to Wanda. Thank God.

"Mr Maximoff, do you know where you are?"

"Hospital," he murmured.

"Which hospital?" the woman stressed.

"I… Just a hospital."

"Do you remember what happened?"

He shook his head and he heard the dark haired woman mutter something to her friend, as they lifted him off the ground and into the chair. He wanted to feel embarrassed, humiliated for not being able to manage such a simple task by himself, but he couldn't bring himself to feel nothing but worry for his sister. They kept muttered to one another as they wheeled him across the hallway and into another small room. His fingers kept bouncing on his thigh.

"Wanda," he whispered, his eyes landing on the small lump on the bed. A man the colour of blood was sitting in an armchair that had been placed by her bed. He knew this man, he recognised suddenly. His name was Vision. Vision could be trusted – he was a part of the… Avengers.

The Avengers. That's right. He had been on a mission for them when this had happened. Everything had been going to plan, until one of their teammates had died. He remembered feeling concern for his friends, but anticipation as he ran, all but untouchable, through the corridors. And then he had felt cold all over, completely lost, alone, abandoned. A white light had managed to break through the darkness and then…

"Wanda?" the woman asked his sister softly and Pietro forced himself out of the memory. He would try and remember more later. "You're brother's here."

The figure on the bed shifted and he found himself looking into Wanda's bleary, empty eyes. Her face was pale, her eyes wide with unsavoury memories. She looked unnaturally frail, not at all like the powerful woman that he knew that she now was.

"Wanda."

"Pietro."

"I was so worried." He heard his voice catch over the words.

"So was I. So was I." And he pushed himself out of the chair before the woman could stop him and he threw himself onto the bed, wrapping his arms around his sister. She was alive. She was going to be okay.

"Do you remember what happened?" she murmured, slipping into their mother tongue.

He shook his head. "Bits and pieces," he replied softly. "Do you?"

She swallowed. "Bits and pieces. I know that we were on a mission and that… something happened. According to Vision, Ginny saved us."

"Ginny?" The image of the redhead came to mind and he felt a sudden concern for her. Her teammate had died on the mission. Was she okay?

Wanda nodded. "She did something. She created a spell, a light of some kind that made the darkness go away. She's in custody."

"In custody?"

The thoughts in Pietro's head were swirling like a relentless, brutal whirlpool. If she had saved their lives, then why was she being locked away?

"Why?" he voiced the question.

Wanda shook her head helplessly. "I don't know." But there was something in Wanda's eyes that convinced Pietro that his sister wasn't telling him the entire truth.

"Why?" he asked again. "You know something."

She pursed her lips. "It isn't my story to tell."

"Where is she?"

Nick Fury stepped into the New York Foo Centre and resisted the urge to throw up. He glared Kingsley Shacklebolt exited calmly from the grate behind him, followed by the three young adults that he had brought into the Prime Minister's office. He eyed them all suspiciously.

"What the hell was that?" he spat, still not exactly sure that what was currently happening was the real deal. Magic? He was finally going mad. All of this dabbling in the paranormal and associating with gods ad finally made him lose his marbles.

"You, my friend," Shacklebolt said, a twinkle in his dark eyes, "are one of the few Muggles to have travelled by Floo. How did you like it?"

Fury simply glared, his response evident in the tightening of his eyes. Behind Shacklebolt, the blonde man snickered.

"So, Miss Weas- Miss Prewett, I mean, where is she?" Shacklebolt wanted to know. "I would be much obliged if you could take us there."

Fury didn't say anything as he turned on his heel, his black cloak fluttering behind him. He reached for his phone in his pocket and pressed in a number.

"Hill," he demanded. "I'm in New York and I need a car. You got any spare?"

There was a small pause and Fury almost barked a laugh. His second in command was no doubt questioning his methods of entering the country on such short notice. "Sure," she said finally. "Where do I need to send it to?"

Fury stalked through the doors of the Floo Centre and glanced around the loud street, recognising it all but instantly. He rattled off the address to Hill a second later and hung up.

"They'll be here in a few minutes," he said shortly to the small group.

Ginny's head was slumped on the cold desk and she withheld a yawn as she stared at the large, white clock sitting just above the door. It had been hours since she had stepped into the confining room and the ticking sound was beginning to drive her insane. She wondered if they put those things in a room like this one to cause the criminal to go crazy before questioning.

Because it was definitely getting on her nerves.

No one, besides a nurse, had come to see her, though she had no doubt that they were evaluating her every breath from behind the glass, and she wondered how much longer she would have to wait. Surely they were curious. Surely they wanted to make sure that she wasn't a terrorist as soon as possible. Surely they had more questions than she would be able to provide answers for.

The lock on the door clicked and Ginny turned her head tiredly.

"Miss Prewett."

Well, that was new. Maria Hill had decided to indulge her with a visit and Ginny sat up slowly. "Yes?"

"Director Nick Fury is on his way. In the meanwhile, I thought that you would want to know that the Maximoffs and Clint are making a full recovery in medical."

"Oh." That was… almost considerate. "That's good to hear. Thank you."

Maria nodded and exited the room once again, leaving Ginny to her thoughts.

Sorry for the shorter chapter, my lovely readers! I was hoping to write a little bit more than this. Nonetheless, I hope that you enjoyed it. Maybe it's all of the problems that the recent Brexit has currently caused me and I'm not even British! (I'm a German in Germany who is/was going to go and study in the UK. Trust me, the last few days have not been fun at all, especially as I am now considering going back to Australia, which I didn't really want to do, because it's so far away).

Anyway, thanks to all my reviewers, favouriters, followers, and silent readers! You're all awesome! To my four 'guest' reviewers, randomnoname, and Becca: Thank you so much for all of your support! It's very, very appreciated.

I hope that you all have a lovely week!

HC