Disclaimer: I own none of the characters within.

Author's Notes: Another chapter, finally. Sorry for the sporadic updating; life is busy, busy, busy! But here I bring you another installment. Thank you for all the wonderful reviews. Blood Roses – Wow! I'm inspiring hypotheses! And a very good one, too. However, remember the episode 'Power Surge'? It's rather like that, except with Pietro. Inexplicable but natural.

~

In the peculiar vortex of time that occurs during slumber, Wanda opened her eyes to discover that it was late in the afternoon. Outside, she could see the treetops glistening with diamonds on their branches, and not a bird was singing at all. Simply silence, the odd and muffled quiet that can only be achieved through cold weather.

Still lying on the pillow, her hands brushed against the photo again, and this time she sat up and studied it carefully.

The boy was Pietro all right. Small and impish, with frustratingly adorable blue eyes that held a sneaking undertone of intelligence, it was like looking at an exact replica of her brother in miniature. Except for one thing. The innocence. This boy was happy, perfectly happy, and knew no troubles. The eyes were full of hope and the ecstasy of youth, not the hardened ice of a bitter cynic.

And the girl…

"Can this be me…?" she breathed to the still air.

For the girl, too, was ultimately happy, content with her brother at her side and a flower in her hand. Her dark eyes sparkled, and her black hair tumbled about her face in gentle waves of silk. 'What a lucky child', she mused darkly. 'Now why can't I remember all the fun parts of my life?'

The two children were the pictures of idyllic ignorance. And apparently, ignorance is bliss, as the kids in the photo weren't making any attempt to argue this point.

Flipping the photograph over, she saw printed in a careful hand, 'Pietro and Wanda', but it was followed by a lengthy inscription in her brothers' handwriting, leading the back to look like this:

PIETRO AND WANDA --- Happiness and Innocence, Youth and Vigor, Life and Love, Sun and Moon--- it all goes on in the madcap circle of metaphors and analogies. An essay on purity lost, hope broken, and dreams crushed. WHY?

A tear formed and fell in her mind, though her face remained stoic. She shivered, only then realizing that the window was still open from Pietro's escape earlier. Wandering over with a half-hearted instinct, she closed it and returned to the warmth of the bed. Again she flopped down on the soothing comforts of the pillow, letting her hands stroke the back of it.

A strange smell tickled her nose even as her fingers brushed something crusty. Instantly the pillow was flipped over, and she stared at its' back in confusion.

Blood.

But… blood? Why? And why on the pillow? Studying it more carefully, she saw that it was really only a little. Just the amount the might have come from a nosebleed. But who would get a nosebleed in the middle of the night?

"Curiouser and curiouser." She laughed bitterly, quoting 'Alice in Wonderland' in a supremely ironic situation.

Vexed and irritated by the mysteries of the room, she carefully tucked the picture back into its' nest under the bloody pillow (another irony, certainly), turning her tracks down the stairs.

~

The smell of Poptarts and frozen waffles reached her even before she entered the kitchen. Rounding into the cooking area, she saw Todd keeping a vigil by the toaster even as Fred dug in the fridge for some maple syrup. Spotting her, the Toad shot her a weary smile.

"Hey there, sweetums."

He seemed to be using the pet name simply out of habit; his heart clearly wasn't in it, and she had a sinking feeling she knew why.

"Pietro isn't back yet, is he?"

"No sign of him." Todd answered faintly.

"Nothing but the wind." Fred completed the thought.

Right on cue to share with their worries, Lance came wandering into the kitchen with a yawn, scratching his back in the attitude of one awoken from a long nap. He gave her lazy-eyed look and grinned.

"So, the Sandman got you, too?" he drawled.

"Never saw him coming." She chuckled.

The oldest member of the group dragged himself to the cupboard and retrieved a box of cookies, raiding the fridge and securing a jug of milk, coming to a rest at the table. Fred's discarded solitaire game still provided decoration, untouched since a speedsters' feet had danced on it just that morning.

Just that morning. Felt like years ago.

She was about to ask for one of the cookies, when without warning she suddenly fell to her knees. The sudden and awful sensation of sheer tiredness overwhelmed her, smothering her, as though she had been running for miles and miles. Right on cue, and even as Lance jumped to her side, the door slammed open.

Pietro.

He leaned against the doorway, his face haggard and his eyes haunted, a frozen image of agony for scarcely a moment. Then he was in the kitchen, clawing through the refrigerator and emerging with a super-sugared beverage in his hand. This he tore open and began guzzling fiercely.

Wanda, in the meantime, had risen to her feet. She stood with the other boys, who had suddenly all moved to one end of the room. Four against one. A jury to determine the situation. And the trial was about to begin.

"So…" Lance probed cautiously. "Where ya been?"

"Running."

The short, curt response was spared to them between the last gulps of the drink, after which the bottle was tossed haphazardly to the side as the consumer searched for more energy.

"Running, where, yo?" Todd cried. "We was scared sick! What's the matter with you?"

"Back off."

This time, the voice had an edge to it, a ferocity, and things began to be thrown from the fridge with increasing violence.

"This is serious, Pietro." Lance was firm. "Something's wrong. You have to tell us."

"I owe you nothing!"

Now, anger. A jar flew out of the refrigerator and shattered on the wall, the tomato sauce splattering in grotesque patterns across the floor, a bloody wound in the side of their home. In the side of their family.

Frustrated by the lack of response, Lance took action. Seizing the slender boy by the scruff of his shirt, he slammed him back up against the wall and brought their faces inches apart. Pietro's hands flew up in automatic defense, but Lance simply stood there in mute anger.

"Now tell me." He ground out, his voice thick with pleading. "Tell me so I can help."

"You gotta let me go, man…"

"Not until you tell me."

"Please… I can't wait…"

"Pietro, talk to me-"

"Lance! Stop!"

Pietro's outburst was practically a shriek as he tore in vain at the stronger hand that held him pinned. His breath was hiccupping and rapid, his eyes glazed and darting around.

"Man, I gotta eat something right now… something, anything, damn it, I'm caving in…"

Sweat was rolling off his brow and soaking through his shirt, giving his face a ghastly wet shine and his hands a slippery and useless grip. Even as he begged his knees buckled and he sagged in Lance's grasp, staggering forward against the larger teen. The rock tumbler caught and cradled him, suddenly terrified, even as Todd wailed in the background.

"What's wrong with him?"

"It's his metabolism." Wanda said flatly, trying to disguise the panic seeping into her. "He must have used up everything he had out running, and the trip home zapped him dry."

"What do we do?" Fred whispered.

Suddenly Wanda felt three sets of eyes lock on her in silent pleas, demanding that she step up and take control of this terrifying situation. She suddenly realized how a ship captain must feel when his vessel is caught in a hurricane. And yet she came forward and claimed the steering wheel.

"We gotta wake him up first. Then we get some food in him."

Going to the pantry, she swiftly retrieved a warm bottle of Mountain Dew, unscrewing the cap as she knelt down next to her brother. His eyes were half-lidded and he seemed unconscious, head lolling and lips moving uselessly as he tried to communicate from beyond the point of utter exhaustion. She brought the caffeine source to his mouth and nudged it in, massaging his pale throat in hopes of making him swallow.

The rundown kitchen took on all the tensions of a hospital emergency room. The same hushed silence crushed down on the atmosphere, as each of them waited in various stages of anxiety and terror.

Pietro surged forward with a yelp, his eyes wide and glassy.

"Where am I?"

~

One hour and half a cupboard later, Pietro was slumped at the kitchen table in brooding silence. Even after the scare he refused to divulge any information immediately, and the rest of them were forced to wait in agony as he fidgeted before them. The jury had been arranged again, and this time, the defendant was trapped.

"Now, you talk." Lance said, firmly, even though it was the seventeenth time he'd said it.

"Please, Pietro." Wanda interjected. "Why do you want to hide from us?"

A nervous and pained glance in their direction, but no vocal response.

"Come on, yo," Todd whimpered. "This isn't funny. What's wrong with you, man?"

"Nothing's wrong." Pietro muttered.

Breakthrough.

"Then what happened?" Wanda tried in her gentlest tone.

"I went running…"

Lance seemed on the verge of leaping from his seat in frustration; Wanda slapped a hand on his knee in warning. Pietro continued in a barely audible voice.

"I guess… I just got a little carried away, you know? Didn't want to stop…"

"But you knew it could cause severe problems." Lance said coldly, trying unsuccessfully to hide the pain and confusion in his voice.

"Nothing I can't handle." Pietro hissed defensively.

Lance couldn't take it anymore. Pushing past Wanda's restraint, he sprang to his feet and towered over the speed demon.

"That's bullshit and you know it!" he bellowed. "You almost died right there in the kitchen! You could have passed out on some back road and slipped away right there! You think this is funny, man? A game? What about me, huh? What would I do if you died? What would I be? Nothing! Your life ain't just for you, pal, it's for me! Why are you doing this to me? Why are you doing this to me… AGH!"

Stomping the ground in agony and outrage, Lance slammed his fists against his face in efforts to restrain himself from clobbering the selfish bastard right then. Still, an angry shudder rippled through the house, and the others cowered at his outburst.

All except Pietro. Pietro sat, his legs drawn up to his chest and arms wrapped around his knees, obviously fighting to keep his hot tears in his eyes. Suddenly he exploded to his feet and screamed back in a raw voice,

"Stop yelling at me! Stop it! You think I like this? You think I like being scared? Let me tell you, I'm ten times as scared as you are, buddy! This isn't for my enjoyment! But I can lick this fine! I can take it! I'm not a weakling! Not matter what my father says! I! Am! Not! A! Weakling! And that's all-"

His words tripped up and his head snapped forward as blood suddenly and inexplicably began gushing from his nose.

~