WARNING: MENTION OF SELF HARM AND PANIC ATTACK. Starts at Ronan's POV and ends with "Ronan!". Dissociation then happens, in a sense of feeling disconnected from current events. Stay safe, guys xx

XoOoX

Pietro was not used to bargaining. He was good at using his charm to get what was needed, usually a flash of teeth and a wink was enough to lower someone's guard down so he could grab what those in Sokovia needed.

It was not easy with Klaue, and Pietro hadn't expected it to be. Wanda had been more optimistic, but then again she could play tricks on people's minds. The metal man - Ultron, he had called himself - said that Pietro could hurt them, people, but Pietro hadn't really wanted to hurt anyone. He wanted to help people, hand out supplies to the people of Sokovia who needed them. He still felt bad about flinging the boy off of him days ago, hearing him curse and something snap. He needed to stop feeling bad about everything.

Ultron said they were going to take down the Avengers. If he started feeling bad, he would stop seeing what they had done to his home, the bomb hitting his home, he and Wanda hiding in the rubble for two days. Maybe it wasn't rational, the hatred towards Stark, but the name was burned into his mind, on the side of a bomb that was sent after the one that had killed his parents. It was all he could think about, somedays, and he wallowed in it.

The deal with Klaue had gotten nowhere until Ultron had come into the picture, they got the vibranium. And then Klaue had mentioned Stark, and the robot had lost it, slicing off the man's arm with one move.

"Do not compare me to Stark!" He had spat, fury coming through easily in his metallic voice. "He is a sickness -"

"Ah, Junior." A sickeningly familiar voice said. "You'll break your old man's heart."

And that led to the now, Pietro and his sister and this strange metal man facing off against three of the most powerful Avengers, and that boy again. He was standing behind the three, looking exceedingly bored, but Pietro knew he could turn into an eagle, could fly circles around them as a distraction. He'd gotten the best of him once, and he couldn't...he couldn't let it happen again. Not when he saw what Ultron could do when someone displeased him.

Letting the boy get the better of him would make the metal man angry, and Pietro liked having four limbs.

"If I have to."

"We don't have to break anything."

"Clearly you've never made an omelette." The back and forth was not at all what Pietro suspected when it came to...whatever this was. A standoff? Sure, he'd hurled things in protests, but never actually fought anyone face to face since he had been tackled by a bird that turned into the boy with eyes dark as night -

No. Focus. Do not get distracted by a pretty face.

"You two can still walk away from this." That was Captain America, and Pietro felt himself bristle almost instinctively.

"Oh, we will." Wanda's voice was patronising, funny considering Roger's was her elder. Pietro knew his sister didn't have to so much as move to bring the icon to his knees, have him shaking. It would have been a terrifying thought, if it weren't his sister he was talking about.

"If you believe in peace, let us keep it." The god said.

"I believe you're confusing peace with quiet." Ultron retorted and the boy snorted.

"Is this the part where you explain your evil plan?" He asked, tilting his head to the side. His hair was pulled back out of his face in a ponytail, much like Wanda's, and it exposed that lovely long neck and - no, Pietro. Focus. The boy was not on his side, even if he had tried to call off the attacks on him and Wanda days ago. It didn't matter, he was standing with Stark. "I mean, it would be useful - but I'm sure we can figure it out soon enough. We found you here, after all - though the twins were unexpected." He flashed a cold gaze over them, and Pietro felt himself shiver.

"Yeah." Stark said. "What's the vibranium for?" And with that, Ultron lashed out.

"Eli!" Roger's yell cut through, and Pietro stared as the boy - Eli, he had a name to the face, Eli - jumped off the bridge and turned into a fucking wolf mid fall, making a dash for the exit. The others weren't here, or so he thought, until he caught sight of glowing blue, of arrows, of a flash of reflective light from a dagger.

Not the Hulk. Not the big part of the plan. Eli was a defensive measure, but they hadn't accounted for Pietro being fast enough to take them down and charge into the wolf who had once been a human.

A wolf was bigger than Pietro thought, and his advantage of speed was the only thing that managed to get the wolf pinned. The transformation began again, this time fur shifting into skin, delicate wrists forming beneath his fingers as Eli took shape before him, teeth bared in a snarl. It would have looked better on him as a wolf, he thought absently.

"Should've stayed furry." Pietro said, leaning down, backing up when Eli snapped, making to bite at him.

"You fractured my fucking wrist." He snarled, but made no attempt to wriggle out of his hold.

"Not so nice being the one pinned, is it, Eli?" Pietro said, and Eli froze at the use of his name, before he snarled again.

"Fuck you."

"Maybe after." Pietro decided, which made Eli freeze up again. "Let me take you to dinner first, iubito."

"I'm gonna kill him." Eli sounded so very matter of fact. "Get the fuck off me so I can kill you."

"That's a reason for me to stay put, I think." Pietro countered, and Wanda appeared at his side. Eli's eyes grew wide, suddenly afraid. What did he fear, Pietro wondered, as his struggles grew anew, desperation bleeding into them. "Wanda -"

"Don't you fucking get inside my head." Eli spat, his words more desperate than anything. "I'm not getting dysphoric again, fuck you. I'm not getting low again." The red swirling around Wanda's fingers faltered, before she released it. Eli's eyes flickered red, before they closed, the boy out cold.

"What did you do?" Pietro had to ask.

"Knocked him out." Wanda said, and her voice was surprisingly shaky. "No visions. Repayment for...for before. Because you like him."

"He wanted to kill me." Pietro said, ignoring how Wanda's look turned pitying. "Hurry up, we have some mind games to play." Wanda merely nodded, and the two vanished, leaving Eli out cold on the metal floor of a wrecked ship.

XoooX

The witch caught Thor off guard, he was ashamed to admit. All he saw was the white of a self satisfied smile and a flash of red, before she was gone. He didn't even get a chance to retaliate.

"Thor?" The Captain's voice came through the comms. "Status."

"The girl tried to warp my mind." He paused briefly to fling a mortal combatant over his shoulder, smashing the gun beneath his heel,"Take care - it may be more for a mortal to handle. Do not worry, it will take more than her tricks to take me down." Thor stated. "For I am mighty."

And then, suddenly, he was no longer walking the halls of a shipwreck.

Thor recognised the place as he had ran through the halls in his youth, Loki alongside him, laughing in a way they hadn't done in an age. It made something in him ache, the mere thought of Loki's once carefree laugh that he hadn't heard in such a long time. Now wasn't the time to dwell on childhood, though, watching what appeared to be a party. Only...it felt off. It wasn't the lighthearted, victorious parties that Thor was used to when he was growing up.

There was none of the music he was used to, the dancing not the elegant, spinning ballroom ones Thor had never taken to but Loki had. It was too dark, even with braziers lit with fire. The dancing was writhing, beautiful but unsettling and Thor found himself longing for the dances he had never truly liked. At least he knew them. At least they didn't look unnatural.

His eyes scanned the room, his brain screaming at him that this was unnatural and wrong wrong wrong, but he pushed it aside. Or more like it was a fuzzy thought, noise filtered through water. He knew something was off, it just...didn't seem to matter. Not in the grand scheme of things.

"Is that the first son of Odin?" Thor turned at the call of his title, recognising the voice, but his blood turned cold at the sight of Heimdall.

"Heimdall, your eyes." He could only stare at the milky white of sightless eyes that greeted him. Heimdall's eyes had always been gold, bright and brilliant, a source of comfort, and he vaguely wanted to be sick at the sight of blank eyes.

"Oh, they see everything now!" Hands latched at Thor's face, uncomfortable and clawing. "They see you leading us into Hel! Wake up!" The hands moved to his throat, and Thor had the brief thought that he shouldn't have done that to Stark, before he was scrabbling against Heimdall's hands, thrashing until he pulled back, gasping for breath. "You're a destroyer, Odinson."

Lighting darted off his skin without Thor's consent, without his control, lashing out and turning Asgardians to dust in its wake. Then, he saw a flicker.

Stones, vibrant colours - yellow and blue and green. Orange and purple and red. Eyes, a stunning set of blue, set off oddly against unnatural colours, but they were human eyes. They were odd in this vision of Hel, but soon enough his lightning came, and he could only watch as it sparked off him violently, sending his people once again to their death.

XoooX

The dance hall made Steve want to crawl out of his skin.

It was wrong, wrong, wrong - to a point where even the man who never ran from a fight wanted, desperately, to turn around and make a dash for it.

The bright flashes of camera lights made him flinch, each flash punctuated by what sounded like shells hitting the ground, the red wine staining a man's shirt too much like a bloody gunshot wound, even the laughter felt wrong and off, the smiles too wide and bright and fake.

It was wrong.

"Are you ready for our dance?" The voice made his blood run cold, and he turned to see Peggy, young and bright eyed, offering a hand. Against his will, almost, he found himself pulled into a dance amidst the shell fire and the false smiles, so out of place, so wrong. So...not possible, it wasn't, it couldn't -

"What -"

"The war is over, Steve. We can go home." Peggy's voice was bright, her expression open and fond and false. "Imagine it!" In a twirl, she was gone, and Steve was left standing alone in an empty dance hall. He could try to find it again in his present, in his strange future, but it would never look like this.

It would look wrong.

It would feel wrong, just like how Steve felt sometimes, walking in this strange new future, fumbling to find a place. Where would he go when there was no war to fight, a voice in his head asked. He was a man out of time, misplaced, not able to slot himself seamlessly here. He would always be missing something - even in his dance with Peggy, he found himself looking for Bucky, wondering about his teammates. Distantly, he felt his knees hit the wooden dance floor.

He was a man out of time.

He was wrong.

XoooX

Natasha found herself watching the ballerinas again, the 28 Bolshoi ballerinas, covers for the training of assassins in the Red Room.

Her mind flashed back to watching Marie practice, with pirouettes and arabesques all performed perfectly. Marie had done so with a smile and had laughed when Natasha had told her that ballet had to hurt even a bit. Marie had said that, if asked to, she could dance as if her life depended on it and enjoy every second.

Now, watching Marie amongst the other recruits, Natasha knew that she would be dancing for her life. Marie couldn't afford to break, to fall and show that she was weak, otherwise that would be it. Natasha didn't want her to die, the girl with the bright smile and brilliant laugh, who smelt of rosemary and sometimes like Parisian perfume. She also didn't want Marie to live, but without the smile and the laugh, and the smells changing from pleasant ones into that of gunpowder and blood. Whatever happened, it wouldn't be good, the outcome always ended up with her heart squeezing itself, like it would pop, or shatter like glass.

"You'll break them."

"Only the breakable ones." The older woman said. "You are made of marble." Then she smiled, not a friendly one - like a shark, deadly and obviously so. "We will celebrate after the graduation ceremony."

"But what if I fail?" Natasha's voice sounded distant to her own ears, and she could see herself, younger and blank faced, shooting and killing without hesitation.

"You never fail." The woman replied, and Natasha was back, watching the ballerina's. Her hand reached out, touching the glass, eyes fixed on Marie's face, blank and so utterly unlike her.

"But what about her?"

"She does not matter."

The image flickered, the top of a roof, the sky splattered with stars. Natasha was facing Marie, her skin splattered with red and her smile wide and toothy. Terrifying. She raised her hands, arms wide, and Natasha noted that they were covered in blood.

"Look at what we've done, Natalia!" She exclaimed, and the air was suddenly cloying, smelling of death and rust. Natasha glanced down, and scrambled back, a yell stuck in her throat as the dead eyes of Clint Barton greeted her. His head was twisted, like someone had snapped his neck, and his midsection was cut open. She noticed the other bodies littering the roof. Faces she recognised, people she knew. Steve with his mouth bloodied, Tony's suit shattered, piercing his skin. Even Thor lay dead at her feet, hammer shattered, and she could only see curls that had to be Ronan's, and she couldn't look at his face, knowing that seeing dead eyes that once were bright would break her more than she already was.

"What -"

"Shh, sweetheart." Marie had stepped over Clint's body like it meant nothing, and that image scared her more than anything. Her fingers ran down her pale skin, leaving blood against her cheeks, sticky and hot. The girl smiled. "This is who you are." Marie kissed her, hard and rough and Natasha wished for the softness of the one on the elevator, with Marie's hands at her hips. This kiss tasted of blood. When Marie pulled back, she looked down and horror filled her. The knife was in her hand, had been plunged into Marie's stomach. Natasha's eyes met Marie's, and the toothy smile returned to their face, mouth red with blood bubbling up between her lips. "You are a monster."

XoooX

Ronan hadn't felt like this in years, which was a tip off that something wasn't...quite right. Wrong. It felt real enough that he didn't question too much, but the niggling in the back of his brain kept him somewhat grounded.

Only somewhat.

It wasn't a location, a memory, a vision or anything of the sort - it was a full fledged depressive episode, and he hadn't felt this unwell since that time he'd put a knife to his wrist years ago in his tiny little bathroom, unable to get the blade sharp enough to break skin, before breaking down and calling Marie in such a state that she'd offered to fly down to make sure he had someone, anyone, with him. Recently, it had just been bouts of exhaustion, but not this time.

Can't even die right, a voice sneered and he wanted to clamp his hands over his ears, but he was frozen, staring at figures that were vaguely familiar, but shadowy, blurry. He realised, dimly, that his chest ached, that he couldn't breathe. Usually when that happened, he couldn't hear, but it was just his luck that he could.

You're not even lucky, that sounded like Thor, his voice harsh in a way that Ronan had never heard before, at least directed at him. How more useless can you get, you can't even fight.

I can't believe I put up with you this long, what was the point?

"Shut up." Ronan's voice was quiet, shaky, barely audible. He was amazed he could even get that out, when his chest was pounding and his heart ached. He wanted to curl up in bed and never emerge, fall asleep and not wake up. Where the fuck were his meds? Had he not taken them this morning?

Failure. You couldn't even save your mother. With every statement, the voice changed, someone he cared about. Someone he liked, spitting vitriol at him. Sometimes it was his friends, sometimes it was Loki. Sometimes it was himself. That last one had been him, and Ronan wanted to vomit.

Your father's never going to wake up, and it's all your fault.

You're a waste of space.

Ro -

Pathetic.

Useless.

Ron-

Worthless.

"Ronan!"

Ronan jolted, nearly tripping over as his comm burst into life. He wasn't in the dark anymore, was still in an abandoned shipwreck in Africa, his breathing coming too quick, too panicky. "God, Ronan, we need you to work your Hulk magic! Now, please!"

"Tony?" His voice was small and shaky, and he glanced around, noting the others in disarray still, staring into nothing. Only Clint seemed unaffected, checking on Natasha with his lips pursed in worry. "What -?"

"I'll come grab you." Tony's voice was solid, firm, but soft, too. It managed to settle in Ronan's stomach, the soft voice, and soothed the nausea that had settled in with his thoughts earlier. "The witch - mutant - whatever, got to Bruce."

"Shit." Ronan said, which was appropriate. Tony got there fast, but stuttered his landing.

"You're crying." He said, and Ronan raised a hand to his cheek, surprised to find it wet.

"Oh." He said, and proceeded to not register the flight over to the city, where the Hulk was roaring, fighting a machine that was equal to his size. Veronica, if Ronan recalled correctly, feeling strangely disconnected from the whole thing. But he could be of use, now. He was good at talking the Hulk down. That was something that made him worth...something. Not much, but better than being useless. "Need me to talk him down?"

"If you can." Tony's voice sounded...strange. Concerned. Worried. No, no need for him to be worried, Ronan was useful. He was good at this. He could help.

"Put me down." Ronan did not stumble when his feet hit solid ground, and he could feel Tony hovering, but pushed it aside. "Hey, big guy." His voice came out quiet, but the Hulk seemed to hear him anyway, stopping his pounding to glare at Ronan. That was odd. Usually the Hulk was delighted to see him. Maximoff must've been stronger than they thought. Maybe that's why his head felt stuffed with cotton, why he felt so...drifty. Or maybe he had forgotten to take his meds, he couldn't quite remember. "Mind sizing down a bit?"

The Hulk roared, and Ronan barely flinched, even when he heard the whirring of Tony's repulsors powering up. For a second, he contemplated just letting the Hulk squash him, before realising that was a Bad Thought and he was not allowed Bad Thoughts. They made him useless in any situation and he couldn't afford to be like that. "Please? I...I could really use a hug." And his voice definitely cracked there, and he heard two sharp intakes of breath through the comm (oh, was that Clint? He'd forgotten that he could hear that) and the Hulk paused mid roar, and the red of his eyes seemed to fade. Powerful mutation, indeed, but...it seemed Ronan was lucky, somewhat, at least where it mattered.

"Hug?" The Hulk's voice sounded confused, like Ronan had yanked and pulled the strain of...whatever it was out of him, and Ronan nodded once.

"Please?" His voice was small, and he watched, still feeling disorientated as the Hulk shrunk and Bruce Banner stumbled forward, only to wrap his arms around Ronan, shuddering. Or maybe it was Ronan shuddering? He wasn't too sure, he just wrapped his arms around Bruce in return, uncaring of his current state of undress, and buried his face into his shoulder.

XoooX

Eli came to before the others, surprisingly not aching considering he'd been knocked out. How embarrassing.

The others looked rough, except from maybe Tony and Clint, who were arguing quietly at the front of the quinjet.

The others looked...shaken. It was disturbing. Ronan was acting like the youngest of the group, a position he usually hated, his hand fisted tightly in the blanket that Banner was wrapped in, face pushed against his shoulder like he was hiding from the world. The doctor had his own face buried in Ronan's dark curls, eyes closed like if he couldn't see anyone else, he could just hide from the world.

Rogers was staring into the middle distance, looking shattered, broken, no encouraging words coming from him. Usually Eli hated it, not a fan of the usual optimistic, feel good speeches - the ones in school were the worst, the 'turn that frown upside down' drivel. Right now, though, he would give anything to hear one from Rogers, even if at first the man left a sour taste in his mouth.

Thor was wringing his hands like an anxious teenager, pacing back and forth in tiny increments, looking at everyone with wide, nervous eyes now and again, as though they would disappear. Natasha was similar to Steve, though she couldn't seem to look anyone in the eye. She had her phone clasped in her hands, tilting it back and forth as though weighing a decision.

Wanda, the girl, had messed with their minds. Eli knew that's what she was going to do, break them down into tiny pieces, leave them ruffled. He knew what he should have seen - dysphoria was the worst feeling in the world, but when he'd learned about colonisation, had researched it for a report in school, he had dreams of his house burning down, his family screaming as people had laughed. Danced on the ashes. Unmarked graves of his ancestors around the bonfire, his heritage burnt and lost, having no place amongst this new America. He had no place amongst this new America.

It was a ridiculous thought, but he had heard Theo ask him one too many times why people sneered when her mama spoke another language when they were shopping. It was why he had a mantra - we were here first - to remind him he had just as much right to be here as the hispanic girl who worked in his favourite coffee shop. Or Tyler, Korean, working late into the night on assignments for his cookery course. Or even the white politicians who sneered at the very existence of someone who was 'other'.

Eli suddenly wanted to see his family, desperately. Just to...to be certain.

"Where are we heading?" His voice sounded raw, and Tony turned to him.

"No idea, kid." He sounded tired, and Eli hummed, before rattling off some co-ordinates. "You got a secret safe house?"

"My mum owns a family heirloom." He muttered in return, resting his head against the side of the jet and closing his eyes, trying to pretend he didn't see fire behind his closed eyelids. "It's a country house, big, out of the way. It's about time you met my family, considering I'm in this for the long run." He sighed heavily. "Now fly. I'm going to sleep."

XoOoX

I am dealing with my mental illness in a great way, I say as I shove all of my insecurities onto Ronan for maximum angst.

So. While attempting to make sense of Steve's vision, I found an article which took into account Ultron's words of 'tearing them apart' and how the visions did so and my mind was blown. Like I was so focused on them being fears, especially after Tony's, that I never took into account that they highlighted the aspects of the characters that would make them feel other (Natasha and her training, Steve being a man out of time) or give them something that would split them from the team (Tony hiding the creation of Ultron, Thor going off on his own for a good long while). So, that's the link I'm going for.

But I am SO SORRY this took as long as it did. Ronan's and Nat's sections were easy to write, everything else was pretty tricky. I also need to try and gain skills in writing from POV other than Ronan, though the series will remain primarily in his POV, others will get a role in the spotlight (mostly OCs if I'm being completely honest, but writing Loki is fun, and Natasha is a joy to play with). Once again, I hate AoU but we should be nearing the end soon-ish.

I also recently just slept for 24 hours uninterrupted which I should...probably be concerned about.

Anyway, read, enjoy, and drop a review! - Jazz xx