Chapter 4: Cleansing

A/N: Hola, and thank you for reading! Just a quick note to let you know that the Wakandan language spoken is Xhosa, the South African language used in the MCU. All translations are from Google, so, sorry if they're garbage. This is a short chapter, but the next one is decent-sized, so forgive me. The plan is to try to upload 2 chapters a week, while I have the time, but that may change if need be. And, do yourself a favor and head over to Ao3 and check out the incredible beta and writer, crotchety_old_emu; they're currently working on a fantastic steve/bucky story called 'water out of wine' and it's just so fantastic, y'all gotta read it.

"What is happening?" Vision gets no response when he asks in English. He steps forward, raising his auditory levels, and tries again in Wakandan. "Wenza ntoni?!"

It has the desired effect. The girl in white startles, apparently unaware of his presence until then. She recovers quickly, collecting herself and working on as she replies, "What am I doing? What does it look like I'm doing? My brother told me to help her, so I'm-"

Whatever she does, it stops Wanda's screaming. He unclenches his fingers from his palms, not realizing they'd formed fists, ignoring the little half-moon indents left in their wake.

"Helping. She's got enough sedatives in her system to take down someone three times her size. And she was given a narcotic on top of it."

"The last one, the narcotic, that was my doing. I administered it en route, to alleviate the pain from her injuries." He frowns, a vain attempt to hide the guilt he feels from reaching his face. "Did doing so worsen her condition?"

"If she wasn't already pumped full of drugs, it wouldn't have. That not being the case, it certainly didn't do her any favors." The girl looks up to see the horror etched in his features and takes pity on him. "You didn't know. And I'm cleansing her blood of impurities as we speak, look."

The Vision approaches the table where he can see a thin tube in each of Wanda's forearms. Both trail off under the table, where they connect to some kind of machine. Her eyes are closed, but her mouth is pulled into a thin grimace.

"Once the process is finished, I can start healing the rest of her wounds properly." The girl in white pauses, waiting for him to tear his gaze from her patient. He lets his hand rest below Wanda's on the table, his knuckles brushing up against her fingertips when he shifts. "I'm Shuri. You're one of her teammates?"

"I am Vision. Yes, we're... friends. I only wanted to help, to stop her pain."

"You said that. Don't beat yourself up over it. If you really are her friend, she's going to need you to help her recover."

"I thought you said you could heal her injuries?"

"I can, I will. But, I'm not a witch. Her body needs time to strengthen. Her spirit needs nurturing. Otherwise, her mind could fracture from the trauma alone. There isn't going to be any room for you to feel sorry for yourself. There will be no time to waste on regrets and hypotheticals. Do you understand?"

Vision nods; logic dictates that Shuri is correct. There is no benefit to dwelling on one's mistakes beyond reviewing them to prevent a similar error in the future. And yet...

Shuri taps a bead on her bracelet and begins interacting with a holographic interface. "You should go get some rest. I can have someone alert you and your teammates when she awakens."

"I do not require sleep. I am a synthetic being."

Shuri looks him up and down at that, curiosity piqued. She gives him a small, sad smile, "Go get cleaned up then. You're covered in blood."

Pure, white-hot agony. Like her blood's being replaced with battery acid. Screaming, her own, Wanda realizes. But she can't stop, not when she can feel every broken bone, every contusion, every abrasion like it's happening all over again, all at once. And then it's over, as quick as it started, and she's plunged down. Down, down, down into the inky black of her dreams.

Vision could have protested, refused to leave Shuri's lab, and phased himself clean right then and there. Under the steaming spray of the shower, though, he decides that not doing so is the one good decision he's made in several hours. Watching the dirt, blood, and grime from his skin swirl down the drain, his mind wanders to the places he'd so far managed to avoid.

The distraction that made him lose focus and ruin the mission. The unbridled anger and hollow desperation that made him give pain medications before running a toxicology screen. The deep sense of dread and fear that's hung like an iron cloak on the Vision's shoulders.

His memory banks ensure he'll never forget, never make the same mistakes, never allow it to get to this point once more. It sends him reeling, falling to his knees on the unforgiving tile floor. Vision feels it all for all its worth and is left facing the one scarlet thread running center through it all: Wanda Maximoff.