AN: Umm... so just to clarify, I did say there would be AUs in this story, right? Well, this here's one of 'em. This isn't a fun story. Basically I took Pietro, who's already pretty bad, and thought "How could I plausibly make him worse?" And thus this was born. This drabble contains blood, just so you guys know, and major character death. Be prepared.
"Pietro!" Wanda's voice rang out over everything else; the smoke, the bombs, the screams of the wounded and dying. Pietro spun around immediately to meet her, and he caught her as she dove into his arms.
"I didn't think- I thought-" she murmured into his chest, and he could feel the warmth of her skin, the steady pounding beat of her heart. She was so alive, always so alive, and as usual it only made him feel hollow inside. She turned her chin up to look him in the face, her deep blue eyes warm and bright with tears of relief. "We thought you'd been killed in the first attack."
"Of course not, Wanda," he muttered, still focused on the light filling her eyes and the utter relief written all over her face. "I'm too fast for anyone to kill me, remember?"
She rolled her eyes, inhaling a deep breath. "And too smart," she added dryly.
"For my own good, right?"
Seemingly embarrassed at her blatant display of affection for her younger brother, Wanda's face colored slightly, but the joy remained in her eyes as she took a step back- only to be immediately replaced by shock and confusion as Pietro suddenly stabbed a large, jagged-bladed knife deep into her stomach.
She gasped, her eyes widening as she slowly glanced down at the knife and then looked back at her brother again. "P-Pietro?" she breathed, her voice low and disbelieving.
Pietro smirked, his eyes cold as he gave the knife a sharp twist and then suddenly pulled it out again. Another spurt of blood gurgled out of the wound, and Pietro pulled his arms back as Wanda crumpled to the ground.
"I- I don't-" Her body was shaking; she was trembling like a leaf, like the scared child that used to climb into Pietro's bed whenever she had a nightmare. But that was years ago- it seemed to Pietro like lifetimes separated that little boy whom he used to be from the person he was today. That little boy would never have dreamed of murdering his sister; and if by some twist of fate he did end up doing so, the pain he would have felt would have been unimaginable. Pietro didn't feel. Not anymore. Not even staring down at his sister, bleeding and dying on the pavement at his hands.
"Sorry sis," he shrugged, crouching down next to her. A tiny stream of blood was slowly trickling out of her mouth; as her hand twitched slightly, he took it in his own. It was still warm; a warmth he knew would last only a few minutes more. "But you were getting too dangerous to keep around. With your powers and everything you know- now that you and the rest of the Brotherhood are working with the X-Men, something just had to be done."
Wanda's eyes were leaking now; tears dripped down her dirt-stained face, leaving little tracks on her skin. "You…?"
"Sorry," he repeated again, tilting his head. "I guess you should have known better than to trust me. Even I don't trust me. But one thing I know for sure?" He pulled out his knife again, brandishing it in front of his sister's face. "I always win in the end."
He never lost. For so long he'd spent life as a loser; a loser as a child, a loser growing up. And he'd always know, deep down, that it all traced back to his ability to feel- happiness and fear and pain, all of which only succeeded in making him weak. It had taken him so long, so many years of isolation and convincing himself that he didn't care, but he'd finally done it. Finally, at last, Pietro didn't feel anything anymore. He was free.
"But hey," he muttered, still smirking at her as he raised the knife to her neck. "I'm still your brother, right? So I'll make this quick." In one clean, swift cut he sliced his sister's throat open. There was a brief moment where he watched as his sister's body trembled against the pavement, Wanda choking on her own blood and her eyes rapidly slipping open and shut- and then, finally, stillness.
"I really am sorry, Wanda," he muttered as he rose to his feet again, dropping his blade to the ground next to her. It made a satisfying clatter against stone, and he didn't look back as he walked away. Maybe he was sorry, somewhere, deep in his heart- but if he was, it was in a part that had long since been numbed. After all, Pietro was free now. He didn't have to feel anything- and he didn't want to.