Just saw Age of Ultron yesterday for the third time. It never gets easier.
I think I lied a couple chapters ago when I said we only had two more chapters left. I can almost definitively say that there are going to be about two chapters left from this point. I have finals next week and I should probably be studying for those rather than working on a fanfiction. :)
But seriously, I'm touched by all of the support. I'm so glad you like this story and I'm having a great time writing it.
Disclaimer: see Chapter 1
On to the next chapter!
That night, Pietro ran faster than he had ever run before. He didn't want to leave the prisoner on his own, but Wanda took precedence-and she was fading fast.
He stumbled inside the house, not caring who heard him or what silent alarms went off. He gently placed Wanda on the couch in front of the television and tried to gauge whether or not she was comfortable. She appeared to be, but she was unconscious so he couldn't really tell. His hands were stained with blood as he fumbled for his phone and tried to call Clint. He misdialed three times before he finally got ahold of himself.
The phone rang once, twice, three times before Clint picked up and yawned sleepily. "Hey, kid. What's up?"
"Where are you at this exact moment?"
"Um…20,000 feet in the air. Why?"
"I have someone for you to pick up at the farm. Some prisoner. Says he works for HYDRA."
Clint definitely sounded awake now. "What do you mean, Pietro? Is something wrong?"
Pietro ran a hand through his short hair and tried again. He had to make the archer understand-and that wouldn't happen if he lost it. "Wanda and I thought we saw an intruder on the property. It turns out he was an agent from HYDRA. He's under control, and he's no longer a threat…but he managed to shoot Wanda. She's not doing well, Clint."
"What? Pietro, is this some kind of joke?" Even he didn't sound as if he believed it.
"No! Why would I joke about something like this? You have to hurry. I don't know how to take care of a bullet wound-should I keep checking for a pulse or something? It's leaking blood-and the blood isn't clotting."
"Calm down. Let's worry about one problem at a time. The blood seems to be the biggest problem at the moment. Have you tired applying direct pressure?"
"Yes. It's not working."
"Keep trying. I'll see how fast this thing can really go. If we really push it, I think we can be there in around forty five minutes, maybe a little less."
Pietro's heart sank. "Forty five minutes?"
"I'm doing the best I can. Normally, we'd still have two hours left. I'll also put Dr. Cho on standby, just in case. We'll be able to fix this, Pietro. Just stay calm for you sister and keep trying to get the blood to clot. I'll be there as soon as I can." Pietro wondered how Clint could sound so calm and collected, even when there was a life on the line.
Then again, he supposed that was what being an Avenger was all about-staying calm under pressure and protecting those who couldn't protect themselves.
Just then, there were footsteps on the stairwell and Cooper jumped down the last three stairs and ran across the room to stand by Pietro's side. "What happened? Why were you outside?" Then he saw Wanda and his jaw dropped. "Did she get…shot?"
"Yes. There's no danger now; the person who did this is incapacitated. Please tell Laura I need her help. Oh, and keep Lila away from us while you're at it, if she's up as well. She doesn't need to see this."
Cooper nodded and pounded back upstairs. Pietro tried again to staunch the wound, but the rag he'd been using was limp and useless. It had reached its saturation point long ago. He swore as he grabbed a washcloth out of the kitchen sink and tried to use that instead. Nothing was working. He thought he was going to go crazy under all the stress. He wondered how much blood someone could lose before they bled to death.
And then Laura seemed to materialize by his side. She knelt down next to his sister and gently checked for a pulse. "Wanda, can you hear me?"
Wanda stirred a little but didn't wake up.
Laura grimaced and gave Pietro a towel for his hands. "It could be a problem if the bullet is left inside for too long. The wound could get infected and Wanda might come down with a fever. Unfortunately, neither of us is certified or has the training necessary to remove a bullet, so for now we'll focus on the blood. How long has she been bleeding like this?"
"About twenty minutes. Clint can't get here for another forty five."
"That doesn't make things any easier. Good thing I know a little bit about medicine myself. I'll be right back-I'm going to grab some better bandages and see if I can patch this up." She rummaged in one of the kitchen drawers.
Just then, Lila's head peeped over the edge of the second story railing. "Pietro? What's going on?"
"Wanda is just a little…sick, and your mother and I are trying to make her feel better."
"Go back to sleep, Lila." Laura came back in with an armful of clean bandages. "She'll be just fine."
Lila nodded and hurried off.
Once Laura had the wound bandaged, she was finally able to breathe a sigh of relief. "That should soak up most of the major bleeding, even if we can't get it to clot.
"Now what?" Pietro asked.
"Now we wait."
"Perfect." Pietro couldn't sit still. He wanted to do something-anything was better than just sitting here and worrying.
Laura patted his hand reassuringly. "Wanda is strong, Pietro. She'll get through this."
Pietro nodded absentmindedly, brushing a piece of hair out of his sister's eyes. She looked so calm, peaceful even. If only he knew what kind of havoc that bullet was wreaking beneath her skin…
Stay with me, he thought fiercely. I need you, Wanda. Stay with me.
Clint arrived exactly forty two minutes later.
He gave Laura a quick hug and then turned to the twins. "We're short on staff, since Natasha is the only one who happened to come with me, but I put a call ahead to Steve and Tony. They're expecting us. We can leave as soon as you're ready."
"We're ready." In fact, the twins had already packed the day before. It only took about two minutes for them to throw their suitcases in the back of the jet and perform all the necessary safety checks.
Laura and Pietro only had a moment to say their goodbyes. "Stay safe." Laura said as she hugged him tightly. "I'll call later to see how everything's going."
"Thank you so much, Laura-for everything."
"Anytime. You're like the teenagers I never had. If you ever need anything, tell us. We'd be happy to oblige. Understand?"
"Understood." Pietro knew he had to cut the conversation short. Wanda wasn't doing well. Her breathing had become shallow and rapid, and the bandage was still stained a nasty looking shade of red.
Once everyone was safely on board, the Quinjet took off. As it reached its cruising altitude, Natasha gave their patient a once over. She didn't look optimistic. "Looks like she's lost a lot of blood, Clint."
"She will live though, won't she?" Pietro asked anxiously.
Clint and Natasha exchanged a look Pietro couldn't quite interpret. "We'll see when we get to New York."
Pietro sighed and glanced out the window. The farm was just a tiny dot below him; if he squinted he could see three miniscule hands waving to him from the front porch. He waved back, though he knew they couldn't see him. He really did hope he could come back soon; it had been only a week and a half, yet the Bartons had started to feel like his extended family.
Just then, a small moan from the center of the ship jolted him out of his reverie. Wanda was looking at him through eyes glazed with pain, one hand on her wound. The bandage was beginning to take on a purplish hue as infection set in. "Pietro, it hurts." she whispered.
"We'll be at a hospital in just a couple short hours. They'll fix you." His hands were slick with sweat. "That was a dumb move, Wanda."
In spite of everything, despite the pain she must have been feeling, she managed to smile up at him. "And yet, if our roles had been reversed, you would have done the same thing for me. Now, turn on Game of Thrones. We still need to catch up."
"Of course." Pietro began to stream the show, watching as Natasha and Clint talked in low voices near the cockpit. Every so often they looked back at him, murmuring softly. A shiver snaked its way down his spine, but he tried to ignore it.
Nothing was certain yet-death or life.
The Quinjet landed atop Avengers Tower and was immediately pulled into a landing bay crowded with people. At the head of the group were the other Avengers, all demanding an update.
Natasha sighed. "I'll go talk to them and show the medics where to find you. Clint, stay here with Wanda. Pietro, let's go. I want you to come with me."
"No." he said automatically. "I am staying with my sister."
"You'll just be in the way."
"I'm staying with my sister." he repeated solidly. Neither bribes nor threats could change his mind or weaken his resolve.
Finally, Natasha sighed in defeat. "Fine. I give up. Stay here if you want." She glanced down at the figure still lying on their 'operating' table, unconscious again. "Maybe your presence will do her some good."
Pietro hoped so, desperately.
Natasha piloted the Quinjet in a smooth landing and put down the landing ramp. Instantly, what seemed like a small army of doctors and other medical personnel swarmed up the ramp and into the plane, comparing notes with Clint about Wanda's condition as they rushed to the Tower's infirmary. Pietro followed at a distance, trying not to be in the way while at the same time making sure he didn't lag too far behind.
Finally, they reached another operating room. Pietro was about to follow the last orderly inside but Clint gently pulled him back. "This is their job, Pietro. Allow them to get it done." He steered him to a small sitting area with a particularly inviting leather couch.
Pietro immediately began to pace as Clint made a few calls. It was his fault-all of it. If he'd just been paying attention…if he'd just been watching out for her like he was supposed to…
Someone handed him a cup of coffee, which he drained in one long gulp. He felt like he was back in limbo again. Not alive, not dead, and unable to do anything about it either way.
Except this time around Wanda was the one on the operating table.
"Someone want to get him another cup of coffee?" James Rhodey asked as Pietro passed him for the fiftieth time.
"Seriously? Do we really need the kid hyped up on caffeine? Next thing you know, he'll be zooming around like a bat out of-"
"Language, Tony!"
Steve groaned. "You guys are never going to let me live that down, are you?"
"Not a chance."
"Make him some tea." Clint volunteered. "With lots and lots of chamomile."
"Sure thing." James hurried off to brew some for everyone. Pietro could tell that even if they didn't openly appear to be worried, their nerves were fraying too. It had been almost an hour and they'd received no word from the operating room-good or bad.
A doctor finally came to see them two hours later. "She's alive." he said immediately, in answer to their unspoken question.
Pietro allowed himself to breathe a sigh of relief. "Will she remain that way?"
"Hard to say. We've had some bad complications. The bullet came very close to puncturing a lung. It didn't, thank goodness-but we could still cause irreparable damage if we pull it out the wrong way. The injury is also infected and she's running a very high fever. She'll be under for another few hours at least. If you're planning on staying for a while, I suggest you make yourselves comfortable."
"We'd never leave." Steve replied. "She's one of the team."
Pietro sighed. Things weren't looking good. His stomach was slowly tying itself into knots and the phantom pain was a constant ache in his side.
"She's still alive, kid." Clint reminded him as he handed him a scalding cup of hot tea.
"Yes, but for how much longer?"
"All right-who's up for some Breaking Bad?" Sam asked, turning on Netflix and selecting an episode at random.
Pietro really tried to watch, but his mind kept wandering. Eventually, he settled on a memory-probably one of the first he could recall. He was playing in a park with Wanda, no more than three years old. It was a beautiful day; the park was green and full of dandelions.
"Make a wish, Pi'tro!" Wanda called, holding up one of the fluffy dandelion clocks.
Pietro did as she said and blew out the seeds with one breath. A few of them got into his mouth and he spat them out as they both giggled.
He remembered what his father had told him that morning, over bowls of cereal that were only slightly stale. You're twelve minutes older than her, Pietro. That makes you her older brother. She looks up to you. It's your job to look after her, no matter what. Can you do that for me?
Pietro had nodded proudly, cold milk dribbling down his chin. Of course, Daddy. I won't let anything happen to her. I promise.
And he'd always managed to keep that promise, even through years of HYDRA experimentation. Until now.
It was then he realized how tired he was. He'd gotten about three hours of sleep the night before, give or take, and all the stress and worry was making him exhausted. But he couldn't sleep. What if Wanda needed him and he wasn't there?
Clint noticed him stifle a yawn. "Get some sleep, Pietro. I'll tell you if anything changes."
"Do you promise?"
"On my honor."
Pietro nodded and tried to retreat further into the leather couch where he'd taken up residence once he'd worn himself out from pacing. He fell asleep to thoughts of dandelions, sunny days, and promises he couldn't keep.
"Kid, wake up."
Pietro jumped awake like he'd been shocked with an exposed wire. Clint was talking to him in a low and even voice, as though anticipating an explosion.
And then he knew. The phantom pain in his side was little more than a pulse. He braced himself on the edge of the couch, sure he was about to throw up.
"She's been asking for you. The doctors think it would be best if you go and stay with her during the last bout of anesthesia. They've done everything they can, Pietro."
Pietro automatically stood up, downing the rest of his tea. "Of course." He was already mentally steeling himself.
He walked the short distance to the operating room by carefully placing one food in front of the other, like a prisoner marching to the gallows. If Wanda died, he knew that was where he'd be headed.
He didn't think he would be able to go on.
He took the opportunity to check his phone for any new messages. Laura had sent her a picture of her, Cooper, and Lila all holding a homemade sign that read Get well soon, Wanda. It comforted Pietro just a little bit, to know that he wasn't alone.
Just then, he reached the operating room and his thoughts were cut short.
This was it.
Please don't take her from me. How can I got on without her?
He took one last deep breath and stepped inside.
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