Disclaimer: I own none of the characters within.
Author's Notes: Hallo, mein lieblings! Many apologies for the long wait again; am currently in a production of Noel Coward's 'Blithe Spirit' (quite the funny play, that), and have been working my tail off to get all my lines memorized. A few notes to you all:
About the Legendary Bloody Nose Don't-Tip-Your-Head-Back bit – Believe it or not, I actually knew that before I even wrote the infamous medical error. I just went with the mainstream beliefs because I don't think Pietro, Wanda, Lance, or any of them have ever bothered to research which way you tip your head when you get a bloody nose. I did make sure Pietro hacked and coughed a bit due to the blood rushing down his throat. But thank you all for your keen eyes!
About the misuse of 'ironic' – Oopsie daisy, my bad. Next time I shall consult the dictionary.
The next chapter will definitely be in the first person, from Pietro's point of view. Just a little teaser for you all.
Thanks so much and enjoy the latest installment!
~
Arrival in the living room was greeted with unanimous enthusiasm.
"Pietro!" Lance called.
"How's it goin', yo?" Todd chirped.
"Everything okay now?" Fred worried.
"Hey, guys, guys," Pietro spread his hands in 'please be silent' gesture. "There's nothing the Quicksilver can't handle."
The boys crowed gleefully at this statement of authority and power, and Todd supplied a round of applause as Pietro plopped himself down victoriously in the big armchair, sideways so his legs hung over one of the arms.
There was a moment of satisfied silence before Freddy suddenly lurched to his feet.
"Dude! The door! The pizza guy!"
Nobody had answered it yet. On cue, the doorbell rang again with a distinct air of impatience.
Freddy swiped up the messy pile of one-dollar bills they had scraped together and hurried towards the door, desperately eager to sink his teeth into something hot and cheesy. The others, meanwhile, waited impatiently for their dinner.
"Man, I'm ravenous." Pietro rubbed his stomach for emphasis.
"Me too, yo, I ain't had nothin' to eat since…"
He drifted into meaningful silence, and the speedster suddenly became stiff and apprehensive, tilting his gaze up to the ceiling to avoid eye contact.
"Are you really okay, man?" Lance queried tentatively.
Wanda winced inwardly. This was not what was going to work. An interrogation would only get Pietro whipped into a frenzy. But Lance's inquisitive and probing eyes were now firmly fixed on the silver-haired teen, and it was too late.
"Come on, Pietro." He prompted. "What happened?"
"Watch it, Alvers." His voice was a dangerous hiss.
"Watch what?" the rock-tumbler was just as sensitive and angry. "You better tell me, 'cause I'm not gonna sit in the dark, and if you think I'm just gonna let this pass—"
"Augh!" Pietro sprang to his feet defensively. "What is it with you? Can't leave well enough alone? Why can't you just accept the fact that it's over and you're never gonna learn any more?"
"I have a right to know—"
"I don't have to tell you anything—"
"This is bullshit, man—"
"You better watch it—"
In the span of three seconds, the peace and contentment of only minutes ago was shattered entirely, and as the argument escalated, so did their voices. In no time flat they were screaming at each other from across the room, shaking fists and firing threats.
Meanwhile, in the front hallway, Fred gave the pizza guy a forced smile and a weak "Thanks, dude", before the nervous teenager bolted back to his delivery truck and away from the howling.
Pietro and Lance circled the room like tigers about to clash in a huge battle, both still too proud to calm down and rationalize things. Lance was sick and tired of secrets being kept from him, and still smarting emotionally from the places in his emotional armor that had been opened by Wanda that afternoon. Pietro, in the meantime, felt strangely accelerated, and every demand from Lance made him dizzy with adrenaline until he just wanted to explode.
"I can't take it anymore, Alvers—"
"You think I'm having a good time, Maximoff, you're dead wrong—"
"Stop pushing me around—"
"Just tell me what's the matter—"
In one swift leap, Pietro jumped clean over the old coffee table and shoved his face up less than an inch from Lance's, shrieking and jabbing his finger into the bigger teen's chest.
"Shut the hell up Alvers! I don't have to tell you anything! Maybe I don't know what's happening! Maybe I don't want to accept that! But it doesn't mean that I have to tell you jack shit, because let me tell you my friend, you are nothing to me! You're just a shallow, posturing, macho, Neanderthal, and—"
He got no farther.
The ringing sound of a slap plunged the room into horrified silence.
Lance's hand remained suspended in the air, his mouth popped open in surprise at his own actions.
Pietro cowered away, one hand covering his face protectively, his expression full of horror, shock, and fury.
"You hit me, you bastard." His voice was tremulous and quivering with rage. "You bastard. You actually hit me."
"Look, Pietro—" Lance began helplessly.
"What the hell's wrong with you?" the speedster screeched, wounded. "You got a problem, man? TV violence taking over your brain?"
Lance lunged forward in an attempt to catch Pietro and hold him still for one moment, but the slender boy threw himself backwards with an agonized yelp, clearly terrified at being struck again. Hurt and ashamed of himself, Lance allowed his arms to drop to his sides in defeat.
The crackling electricity that sparked across their burning eyes would have cooked the whole room, if Wanda had not stepped between them and broken their eye contact.
She was furious with them both. Furious at Lance for losing his temper, for egging Pietro into conflict, for actually, physically lashing out. But also furious at Pietro for being so easily offended, for getting so frenzied so quickly, for using his silver tongue to injure and strike.
"Stop it." She growled. "You're acting like two-year olds."
Pietro gave Lance a long, steady look, before nodding once with all the regality and royalty of a king declaring a truce, before he strode with purposeful slowness back to his armchair and sat with false easygoingness.
Fred stood in the doorway, boxes in hand. He coughed nervously.
"Uh, pizza, anyone?"
~
In ten minutes, Pietro had scarfed down four slices of pizza and was working on his fifth. Even Fred was only on his third, and the other three were only just finishing their first. Lance opened his mouth, but Wanda shot him a look that said, "If you bring it to Pietro's attention, you will die a slow and painful death". Needless to say, no words were spoken.
By the time the pizzas were finished, tempers had definitely cooled. They sprawled about the room while Lance surfed the channels; Todd perched in the armchair, Fred lounged on the floor, Pietro sat on one corner of the couch, Wanda next to him, her head on his shoulder. Lance sat on the on the opposite side of the sofa from them, blipping while not really watching.
The movies they passed were met with lukewarm enthusiasm at best; 'Spider-Man' ("Seen it a million times," Todd whined), 'Life is Beautiful' ("Too depressing," Fred said solemnly), and even 'Ferris Beuller's Day Off' ("Hell no," Wanda snarled).
At last, Pietro started forward and cried, "Wait!"
Lance stopped blipping, blinking in surprise at the movie they had stumbled upon.
"The Deer Hunter".
"What is this, yo?" Todd whispered softly.
Onscreen, the characters of Michael and Nick were prisoners of war, desperate and terrified, teeth chattering as they frantically debated options of escape.
"It's a war movie." Lance said authoritatively, though he had never really seen it.
"No, it's not." Pietro was leaning towards the screen, his gaze intense. "It's not about war. It's about suffering."
"I can't do it, Mike, I can't…"
"You wanna stay down here and die?"
"They're best friends." Pietro explained absently. "But they're trapped in the Vietnam War. They have nothing left… only each other… and they're just being torn apart. They can't take the stress."
Lance shifted as the description hit uncomfortably close to home. Pietro was too absorbed to notice, and only stared at the screen in awe and fearful anxiety of what was to come, as the film shifted into the nerve-wracking game of Russian roulette.
"What's goin' on?" Fred begged.
"It's a game." Pietro explained with chilling calm. "You take the gun, and you put one bullet in it. Then you spin the chambers and slap it shut, so you don't know which one is loaded. After that, you take turns pointing it at your head and pulling the trigger, and hope to God you don't blow your own brains out."
"But why?" choked Todd nervously.
"Who knows?"
"Oh God, I can't…"
"Ya gotta do it, Nicky, or they kill you. Just do it, Nick. I'm here for you."
"I can't do it… Michael…"
"There's an empty chamber in the gun. God, put an empty chamber in that gun…"
The entire group jumped like they'd been electrified when the hammer clicked on an empty chamber. Fred gasped and clutched his chest, while Todd was visibly shaking.
"Put three bullets in the gun! Three! One, two, three! Three bullets!"
"Aw, shit…" Lance muttered, suffering right along with the characters.
Wanda's mouth was dropped open in disgust. Not at the movie, even though she'd never seen it before. What chilled her to the bone was the look of absolute enjoyment on her brother's face, enjoyment as he rode the horrors and atrocities he was watching like a bucking bronco or a roller coaster, the sheer thrill he was getting by watching these people play a game with death.
"Stop it!" she screamed at last, lunging forward and turning the TV off. "Stop it, all of you!"
Todd slumped in the armchair, exhausted just by that short viewing. Fred was wide-eyed and breathing hard, Lance was dazed and confused. Only Pietro met her gaze levelly.
"This is horrible." She hissed. "You can't be watching this." You can't be enjoying this.
"Good idea." Lance agreed numbly.
Another long silence rested between them, while the wind whistled outside and caused the tree branches to tap menacingly at the upstairs windows.
"It's late." Fred observed. "We should go to bed."
"Don't wanna." Todd pouted, snuggling back in the over-sized armchair. "I'm too comfy here."
"Then let's just stay here." Pietro suggested.
Moments later, they had all fetched blankets and quilts from the bedrooms.
Fred sprawled on the floor, all bundled up in his over-sized comforter, sound asleep instantly.
The next to doze off was Todd, curled up in the armchair, all but disappearing under the heaps of blankets he had found for himself.
Drifting to sleep next was Lance, slumped on one end of the sofa, and then Wanda, leaned against him.
But Pietro sat still, rigid, unable to sleep for what he somehow knew would be the rest of his life.
Reflected in his icy eyes, the flickering, horrific images of "The Deer Hunter" flashed by.
~