Disclaimer: I own none of the characters within.
Author's Notes: I realize that this chapter is shorter than the last ones. The next installment will be longer, I promise. In the meantime, however, please enjoy this offering. Thanks for all the great reviews!
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Even as the crimson blood splattered all over the white tile floor, even as Todd and Lance surged forward in concern, even as Pietro jerked away from their aiding hands, Wanda could only stare at the morbid patterns on the floor.
Never was there ever such a brilliant red as the red that is blood, she concluded grimly. It was redder than any tomato, cherry, or other organic substance. It was redder than a fire engine, redder than fire itself, redder than the richest sunset. No; blood is blood, and no red created by nature or man could ever rival it for depth or vibrancy.
Even when it splashed her feet she didn't notice it.
"Tip your head back, yo, it'll slow the bleeding…"
"Back off!"
"Come on man, don't just stand there, plug it up or something…"
"Don't you touch me!"
"It's goin' everywhere!"
"Pietro, pinch your nose and tip your head back…"
"I don't need your help!"
"Damn it, stop being such a stubborn asshole and DO IT!"
Tense silence fell on the scene as Pietro did as he was told. He stood there with his neck craned backwards and his nose firmly clamped between slender, bloodied fingers. The lower half of his face was streaky an ugly red, and his shirt was speckled with stains and blotched with the sticky liquid.
The kitchen looked like the place of a murder. When Pietro had whipped his head around, blood had sprayed on the walls and into the air, landing on everybody else and leaving its' garish mark on their arms and shirts. Todd was rubbing furiously at his forearms, smudging the blood even in his frantic efforts to get it off. He stumbled off muttering something about getting to a sink.
Even with his head thrown at an awkward angle, Pietro managed to keep an angry and accusing eye pinned on the rest of them. His breath whistled between clenched teeth, and his chest heaved up and down with each intake of air. The hand that wasn't pinched at his nose worked itself soundlessly, opening and closing a furious fist.
"Damn it." Lance hissed darkly.
Pietro found the time to flick his middle finger at him. Lance slapped the hand away violently, and the speedster jerked away at the rough smack.
"I'll let go and it'll bleed again." He threatened icily.
"I guess I'll go get a mop." Lance retorted.
"Sounds like a good idea." Fred said hastily.
Grasping at the excuse to escape the bloody walls, the large boy slipped off into the halls without a backward glance. He would not return with a mop. He would not return to that room for a long time.
"One flew east, one flew west…" Pietro sing-songed in a distant voice.
"What the hell are you talking about?" Lance asked out of weary habit, leaning against one of the walls for support and getting blood on his shoulder.
"Wouldn't you like to know."
"And one flew over the cuckoo's nest."
Both of them jumped as Wanda's voice cut through the air. Lance turned an inquisitive eye on her; Pietro glanced away in what looked like shame.
"It's a kids' rhyme." She explained.
"I thought it was a movie." Lance mused.
"It's more than a movie." Pietro growled. "But you wouldn't know. You don't know anything. You never understand."
"Pietro, get a grip." Wanda commanded suddenly.
It worked surprisingly well. His eyes took on a hurt look, and he pivoted so that his back was to them. He remained still as a statue, and his stoniness froze them both in their places as if by magic. Minutes later, though it seemed like hours, he lowered his head from its' painful position and sniffed cautiously.
"It stopped." He tossed over his shoulder casually.
He continued to snuffle noisily, the noise grating on their ears and turning their stomachs as dried blood was snorted and the speedster began to cough and hack as it went down his throat. Finally, he straightened and turn to face them.
The blood had dried on his face in a hideous red mask.
"I'm gonna go take a shower." He announced flatly.
He kicked his leg up as though he was going to kick into superspeed and shoot from their sight, but he faltered and stumbled forward. Trying to gather up his dignity, he walked quickly from the room and swept lightly up the stairs.
"Sometimes I hate that bastard."
Lance pounded a fist against the wall in sudden anger. Wanda remained silent, turning Pietro's words over and over in her head. The entirety of the old children's rhyme came back to her full force and played out in her mind with the voice of innocence lost.
Vintery, mintery, cutery, corn
Apple seed and apple thorn
Wire, briar, limber, lock
Three geese in a flock
One flew east, one flew west
And one flew over the cuckoo's nest
She remembered suddenly and clearly an image of a white-haired four-year old hanging by his legs, upside down, from a tree branch. He was laughing at her, smiling in the sunshine of some buried memory. His youthful words reached her ears, echoing and distant.
"Okay, you be the one that goes east. No, you go west. Wait a minute… Well, you can pick. I'll be the one that flies over the cuckoo's nest."
"But Pietro-" A little girls' voice. "What if you fall into the cuckoo's nest?"
"I won't. If I was a geese, I would just fly out!"
"But what if you crashed in the cuckoo's nest and got stuck there?"
The smile faded from the little boys' face. Then he threw back his head and sang even louder,
"Three geese in a flock!
One flew east! One flew west!
And one flew over the cuckoo's nest!"
Wanda brought a shaking hand to her forehead as the memory swept away into the mists of forgetfulness. The confusion was back again, and it wasn't because of her…
"What are you trying to tell me, Pietro?" she whispered hoarsely.
And the only response was a thin and terrified voice crying in the back of her mind.
Help me…
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