Pietro funeral one shot- I don't know how sorry I am
"I'm not leaving you here."
"I can handle this."
When Pietro made promises, he always worked to keep them. Perhaps that was another quality that wove him into being the elder brother, protective figure that had always been in his sister's life. His presence was constant, like that of the sun, or the moon. Wanda never had to look to know he was there- he just was.
Until the day that she couldn't sense him anymore. That heart fluttering moment when the one you love most borders the line between the light of life, and the shadowy abyss of death. That heart wrenching moment when the shadows claim them as their own.
The grief that nestles its' way inside your heart and weaves into your soul would always be there to stay. In the first few days, it is like a smothering presence that contracts around your heart whenever your brain summons up a memory of the departed. It should ease in time, time wearing down the presence of that horrible reminder of loss.
With a twin- when part of you had died along with them- it could take forever.
Laying them to rest is an occasion that provokes all the pent up feelings that have bottled since their death. How ironic- laying the ever-active Pietro to what they called 'rest.' One could almost feels the exasperated aura that he'd exude if you were to even insinuate that he may need rest.
That, like anything else to do with Pietro, hurt.
How would you respond during the ceremony? Was it a time for joy? Would the blatant reminders of the recent death tease the tears out from where they lay behind such a forcibly stoic mass? With the constant condolences the constant spin of how Pietro was always a good young man, the latter was most probable.
In some cases, you get one last look at the person before you confine them to spend eternity in whatever form you have chosen for them. It could either be ashes, and set them loose, or a rest down in the soil. On this day, looking at Pietro was just the worst part. No longer bloody, and typically dressed in fresh new sports gear, as Pietro would have insisted. His hair still shone silver, but if you were to brush it away from his eyes, he wouldn't respond to the touch.
His name was Pietro Maximoff.
"We commit his body to the ground,-"
He was constantly speeding around and running rather than walking.
"In the name of the father, the son,-"
A protective figure in his sister's life, one of the only family members she had left.
"And the holy spirit,-"
His puns and arrogance.
"Ashes to ashes, dust to dust."
His name was Pietro Maximoff.
Nobody saw that coming.