"I don't like it," Pietro snaps, and folds his arms with all the grace of a snubbed two-year-old.
Wanda scoffs and throws her hands up in the air. He can feel the air between them thrum, her exasperation setting the atoms hanging in the atmosphere quivering. There was a time when her agitation would send lights popping and items crashing into walls, but she has such an easy hold on her powers now he knows she won't resort to that until he becomes truly insufferable.
"Vy rebenok," she says, and Pietro knows she's speaking the truth but he won't give her the satisfaction of telling her (not that she can't read his mind anyways, should she choose).
He draws in a deep breath through his nose and counts to ten mentally. His temper is dangerously close to getting the best of him, and though Wanda could easily mend any damage his flailing fists do, he doesn't want Lila or Cooper to potentially see his irritated displays. The room is silent for a moment, Wanda studying him carefully, before he speaks again through clenched teeth.
"You shouldn't go alone."
"I'm not going to be alone," she answers.
"Who are they, huh? Oni nikogda nikto," he scoffs, and his fist flickers towards a lamp. His fingers itch to smash something and run through the shards so fast they don't even cut his feet.
Wanda laughs without humor. "You call the Avengers nobody? Perestat' byt' takim-"
"I should be there with you," he bursts out, and Wanda falls quiet. "I should be there with you," he says, quietly this time. "I should be right by you in case anything happens. I should protect you-"
"I think the only one who needs to be protected is you, brata," Wanda says, a quiet venom lacing her words.
"What is that supposed to mean?" Stop, stop, stop, he thinks desperately to himself, but his mouth moves faster than his feet.
"Let's not forget the reason you can't come today," she bites out. "Or can you not remember the fact they pull sixty-seven bullets out of your body."
"I'm fine!" he waves her away; he knows she's right, Wanda's always right, please shut up please shut up. "You worry too much-"
"Stop telling me not to worry!" she yells at him, and a light bulb in the kitchen blows. Pietro is acutely aware of the thick silence from the living room. Clint and Laura must have ushered the children away from the dispute as it rose in volume. "You know I can't do that! Don't make me do that again, Pietro, don't make me wait in a hospital for days and days and look at your body and-and feel you die!" Wanda's eyes are fire and ice simultaneously, a dangerous light flaring within them as she leans towards him. "Don't you dare make me do that again, sukin sy! Don't you dare be that selfish again! You're not ready to go out into field!" Her fingers curl and uncurl, sending a nearby pile of legs rising into the air and then down again. He knows it's subconscious, he knows she doesn't mean to, and he can sense the memories running through her brain—stop, stop. "Stop treating me like a child! I can take care of mys-"
Immediately, he backs down verbally. He steps towards her carefully, reaching for her hand. His fingers brush hers as he stares into her distressed eyes, trying his best to send out calming waves through his own tumultuous thoughts. "Wanda, Wanda," he murmurs, and as she begrudgingly relaxes he pulls her towards himself. "Calm, da? Vy narushayete veshchi. Dyshat'." He circles his arms around her and hugs her to himself, feels her fight him for a hot second, then melt into his chest. Within, all he wants to do is fight some more, but Wanda has been testy ever since Steve told Pietro he wasn't allowed on this first mission and they fought a week ago; at the rate things are going, her emotions might get the best of her.
And that can't happen in Clint's house.
Wanda presses her face into his sternum, and he rests his chin on the top of her head. Sometimes it amazes him how well they fit together—and the thought sends a flare of irritation through him, that she will be out in the battlefield without her second piece. They settle there for a moment, until Wanda speaks up.
"You're not ready."
"…Ya znayu," he whispers.
"I want you there more than anything."
"Ya znayu," he repeats in her hair.
"Please don't be mad."
"I'm not," he says. He's lying and he knows it and she knows it, but she lets it go because he's not mad at her, really; he's mad at the world and Ultron and this body that raises him from the dead as it destroys him.
"Go get ready," he murmurs, and lets her go.
oOoOo
The helicopter that will take Wanda and Clint to the main Helicarrier arrives at noon, and Pietro manages to simmer down enough to watch her leave.
He stands on the porch in his flannel and jeans, arms folded, and watches the agent escort her away, decked out in her formfitting uniform. She sends one last wave at him, and Clint gives him a nod that tells him the archer will take good care of her, and then they're boarded up and lifting into the air. The wind from the helicopter whips at his unruly hair as it rises into the sky, and for one wild moment he almost runs forward and jumps onto the nose.
He stays there long after it's gone, staring at the blank piece of sky the vehicle used to inhabit. He just stares into empty space, remembering a time he didn't feel useless and feeling guilty for wanting to go back, because that was when he was deceived and on the wrong side of things.
"You get used to it," he hears a soft voice from behind him, and turns his head. Laura leans against the doorpost, watching him.
"Huh?"
"Watching them leave." She sighs and steps forward, placing a hand on his shoulder. "It'll get a little easier."
Somehow, that remark sets the barely concealed anger in his chest absolutely boiling. The edges of his vision tinge red and black with anger, and it's all he can do not to flinch away from her touch. He needs to run—now.
"I'm not going to," he bites out, and immediately feels guilty because Laura is not who he should be taking this out on, but he turns away. Two minutes later, he's changed into his running clothes and shoes and standing in a field with plenty of space for him to run.
Well. Plenty is a relative word.
After a short warm up, he's running as fast as he can, with all the strength he can put into his legs pumping his feet. Pieces of earth spring up beneath him, mud and grass and dirt raining down, and the trees are nothing but blurs stretching into infinities. He lets his emotions power his speed, going faster and faster. He knows Wanda would tell him to slow down by now, if she were here, but sometimes when he's truly upset he can disconnect their emotional link—and she doesn't need his anger right now.
So he runs, alone and angry and wild.
After an indeterminate amount of time, he can feel a pull in his chest. He pushes it aside, trying to blame it on nothing more than a stitch and not on the very real problem—namely, that this is exactly the reason he's been kept home today. He keeps running, putting even more effort into his steps, and feeling the ache grow and grow with each passing second.
But he still doesn't stop.
His feet keep pounding, and the earth keeps falling, and the trees keep blurring, and he goes and goes and goes and goes—
Until a sharp, striking pain shoots through his chest and sends him sprawling with a sharp cry. His momentum sends him hurtling through bushes and branches, smashing him into a tree and rolling to a stop a hundred feet after.
He gasps for breath, his vision blacking out sporadically. His hands clutch at his chest, grasping for the pain that stabs him and keeps him from breathing. He can't even move but for that motion, coughing and choking and gasping can't breathe can't breathe—his hands tug at his collar, attempting to rip away the fabric, but the pain in his chest renders him weak.
"Pietro!" he faintly hears the cry through the ringing in his ears, and through the black tinging his vision a murky grey he glimpses a pregnant stomach and practiced hands grasping for him. "Breathe, Pietro, breathe."
He struggles and coughs, trying to say something but the words are lost in the oxygen he doesn't have.
"Stop," Laura says, and her face comes into his vision. "Pietro, I need you to breathe. Focus on my face and breathe with me. Ready? In: one, two; out: one two. In…"
She's frowning, and her lips are tight, and Pietro vaguely notices that her eyes are flecked with gold. He gets a grip on his lungs and struggles to keep time with her, but he does, even though his chest shrieks with every movement.
Eventually, he's able to get his breath back, and he rolls onto his hands and knees. His breathing still ragged, the pain in his chest has dulled to a low roar, now, and he can at least move. pink with embarrassment. "Sorry."
He waits a moment before looking up at Laura, his cheeks tinged
"What happened?" she asks.
"I…" What did happen? he wonders, realizing he doesn't know the answer to that question. His chest randomly exploded? His body decided to turn against him? "I…was not ready," he simply says, quietly, and stares at the ground he wishes he could disappear into. Stupid. Stupid.
Laura places a cool hand on his shoulder. "You don't have to prove anything, Pietro."
Pietro gasps out a mirthless laugh and can barely meet her eyes. "Don't lie to me."
"I promise you I'm not lying." Her eyes bore into his like drills. "Stop worrying about her. Clint will protect her-"
"Clint?!" Pietro scoffs. "Is Clint her father? Is Clint her brother? No. Her father is dead and her brother is useless." His fist slams into the ground. "Useless, useless, useless."
Laura watches him beat up the ground and says nothing for a long minute. They sit in tense silence, the air crackling with Pietro's pent-up emotions.
"Then fix it."
Pietro looks up. "Huh?"
"Fix it." Somehow, she's both cool and warm, motherly and stern.
"What…what you mean?" he pants.
"Get better. Stop running yourself ragged and work at making your body whole again."
"I don't-"
"You think I don't know when you sneak out at night and go running?" Laura's eyes dare him to contradict her—which he has no intention of doing. "You think I don't know this isn't the first time something like this has happened?"
Pietro's mouth works, trying to come up with anything to say to her, but he's got nothing.
Laura's challenging, fiery gaze softens, until she's staring at him from sad eyes. "Work at getting better, Pietro." Her hand reaches up and cups his cheek, her fingers touching the sweaty strands of hair stuck to his skin. "Get better so you can be there for her, okay?"
Pietro swallows and breathes, "Okay."
Laura watches him for a moment, then nods and releases him. "Now, help a pregnant lady up," she says, and he grips her hand. Her swollen stomach proves difficult to heave off the ground, but eventually they manage it, and make the short walk back to the house.
While they wait for their respective family members to come back, he showers so she can cut his hair. She trims it on the front porch, his fluffy, light strands floating away in the soft breeze, and that's where they are when the helicopter comes thrumming back. The kids run out to meet their father and adopted "sister", and Wanda looks like she's brimming with happiness but trying to hide it.
Pietro shakes his head free of any lingering pieces of hair from his shoulders and envelops her in a hug and silently promises he's going to get better.
oOoOo
Vy rebenok-You're a child
Oni nikogda nikto-they are nobody
Perestat' byt' takim-stop being so
Brata-brother
sukin sy-son of a bitch
da? Vy narushayete veshchi. Dyshat'-Yes? You're breaking things. Breathe.
Ya znayu-I know
You guys I am so sorry for the lack of update I'm so sorry. I promise I will try to do better in the future—no, I'm not abandoning this at all, I swear.
In the meantime, if you have anything you'd like to see or ideas, shoot 'em at me in a PM or review and they might make it in! Don't worry, I still have lots of fodder, but I'm always open.