Tags: Tragedy that is quickly remedied. Hurt/Comfort. Fluff. I'm pretty sure there's some Humor in here. I tried. OOCness. Kind of ridiculous. Fix-it fic! Pietro doesn't stay dead! Happy ending! Death is a mixture between Lady Death from the Marvel Comics (the one Deadpool and Thanos are obsessed with) and Death from Terry Pratchett's Disc World. Because I felt like it. I thought the first fix-it chapter should be kinda silly for feels-remedying reasons.

So yeah. Enjoy the chapter, and don't take it too seriously!

AU III: Dead Man Walking (more like dead man running)

Bullets through his left arm, his left thigh, through his chest. One managed to pierce straight through his heart.

Hawkeye was looking at him in shock and horror. Disbelief.

The sucker.

Pietro smirked. "You didn't see that coming."

Fuck this hurt. Stupid bullets. Fucking Ultron.

Pietro could feel the blood draining from him, pain coursing through him.

No, this couldn't stop him. This wouldn't stop him. He was going to die, not from a few measly bullets! He was stronger than that. He would not fade away like—

Dying was like getting struck by lightning.

One moment Pietro's nerves were searing in pain, his vision blurring, he could hear Wanda screaming, he was struggling to stay on his feet.

The next his muscles gave out, and then the pain was gone.

Just like that. Just—gone.

He was standing in the middle of black sand dunes. Glittering black sand dunes, like obsidian. The sky was dark and gray, like it was filled with rain-heavy clouds. Only, the air was completely dry, practically parched. And cold. The air was frigid, but the cold seemed to be a part of him, down to his bones, and it wasn't uncomfortable. His breath was not visible.

Actually, he wasn't even breathing.

Pietro looked down at himself to see his outfit completely unblemished. No bullet holes, no blood.

He glanced around.

Nothing but black sand dunes under a gray sky.

"Is this what it's like to be dead?" Pietro asked with a scoff, crossing his arms as he looked around with narrowed eyes, unimpressed. "Well this is boring."

He kicked at the black sand, which fluttered upwards, drifting down slowly, like dust on the moon.

But when Pietro took an experimental step, he was able to move as if in normal Earth gravity. It was like the black sand had its own rules.

Oh, he bet it would look cool if he ran across it.

He ran a quick mile, curving around in a circle, pausing to watch the spray of sand kick into the air and drift down slowly, glittering and settling like millions of teeny tiny black butterflies.

"Alright," Pietro said, crossing his arms as he glared at his surroundings. "What was the protocol for this situation again? I'm sure Wanda would remember."

Wanda.

Wanda, who was still alive.

Wanda, who was now a hole in his chest.

Pietro was frowning heavily know, but he could hear the echo of Captain America's words: "If you get hurt, hurt them back. If you die... walk it off."

"Walk death off," Pietro snorted to himself. "Like this place could be escaped by walking."

Clint was kneeling next to Pietro's crumpled, dead body when Steve jogged over.

Clint's eyes were wide and watery, red around the edges, irritated. No tears fell.

There was a painful twinge in Steve's chest as he looked down at the young man with the white-streaked hair, the body riddle with bullets, clothes soaked with blood. The overturned car next to them was struck with bullets as well—the car that hadn't been there seconds ago.

When Clint looked up, his face was haunted. Drawn. Closed. Exhausted. The young boy was clinging to him, crying.

The kid had just narrowly missed death and witnessed someone die right in front of him.

"C'mon," Steve said with his Captain's voice, squatting down to pick up the white-haired youth's limp, dead body. "We need to go."

Clint nodded, picking up the crying kid, and they headed towards the transport carriers.

The white-haired youth—Pietro Maximoff. He'd died to save Clint and a child.

And somebody would have to tell Wanda that her twin, the only family, the only friend, that she'd had for years, was dead.

Pietro felt a presence of intense coldness behind him.

He whirled around, watching as Death materialized.

Death, as it turned out, looked a lot like Wanda—if Wanda was a skeleton who wore black instead of red, and whose eyes instead glowed blue.

"You must be Death, I presume?" Pietro said, raising an eyebrow, shifting his weight, as always ready to bolt. "I'm dead, aren't I?"

Skulls could do nothing but grin, yet he was pretty sure Death was frowning at him.

Death's voice was in his head, remaining unspoken aloud.

You're not dead.

"I'm not?" Pietro asked, glancing around at the leagues and leagues of black glittering black sand dunes. "Then where am I, may I ask?"

You're... Death seemed to hesitate. You're in the land in-between.

Pietro turned his gaze to her, tilting his head.

Only half of your soul is dead, Death clarified. Half of your soul is still alive.

"Wanda," Pietro breathed, eyes widening.

Twins normally aren't linked in such a way, Death said, sounding as confused as it was possible for an entity with a voice like tomb doors closing to sound.

"Well," Pietro said. There was a tickle of red in the back of his mind."If you would kindly point me to the exit...? I have a twin sister who's worrying about me."

Death pointed a bony finger, and Pietro started walking.

He didn't walk for very long before he started running.

The black sands all looked the same. He felt like he'd been running for years. Years and years and years and he wasn't getting anywhere. He could have been running in circles for all he knew, and he was starting to think that maybe he was, when he got onto the flicker of red again.

It danced behind his eyes like the aurora borealis.

"Wanda?" he breathed.

"Pietro?" her voice was faint but surprised, hopeful.

"Wanda, where are you?" Pietro asked, running faster. Black sand was kicked up behind him in an oceanic spray. "I think I'm lost, Wanda."

"Follow my voice, Pietro."

In Vision's arms, Wanda sat bolt upright, nearly hitting the top of her head against the Vision's chin.

"Wanda?" came uncertain Pietro's voice again, in a tingle of blue.

"Pietro," she thought, smiling, her previously hollow chest constricting with hope. "Follow my voice. Follow me home."

"Keep talking, Wanda. Please."

Pietro closed his eyes to the dark, gloomy landscape, letting his instincts drive him towards Wanda's voice.

The black behind his eyelids grew brighter, until light filtered through his eyelids enough to turn his vision a warm red.

"Wanda?" he thought.

"You're almost there, Pietro. You're almost here."

Clint was now carrying Pietro across the transport carrier, looking for a place to set the body down, looking for a place to rest.

That was when Pietro suddenly flailed in his arms, hazel eyes wide open and bright, locking onto Clint's startled gray ones.

"Why are you carrying me?" Pietro asked quizzically.

Clint shrieked (it was a very manly shriek) and dropped the speedster.

Who landed on his back with a groan, but there was a smirk on his lips as he sat up and raised his eyes to the archer's.

"You didn't see that coming, did you?" Pietro quipped, smug smirk stretching across his still-too-pale face.

Clint was gaping at him. "You—" the archer stammered, blinking, jaw working silently for a few moments. "You were dead!" he exclaimed as he finally found his voice again. "Your heart wasn't beating, you had no pulse—how do you have at least ten bullet holes in you and are just sitting there looking like you just woke up from a nap?"

"You heard the Captain," Pietro shrugged, pushing himself to his feet with a groan, trying to hide a wince as his wounds tugged painfully. "Quote: 'If you die, walk it off,' unquote. Captain's orders."

Clint was still gaping at him, before he closed his mouth with a snap. "You little bastard," he said, eyes narrowed.

"Although, for the record, I'd have never made it back if I'd walked," Pietro said, face almost comically serious. "I had to break into a run."

Clint's gaze had shifted to his torso, taking on a concerned look. "Your wounds," the archer said.

Pietro glanced down at the bullet holes in his arm, chest, leg. They were still oozing blood, but they weren't gushing with it.

Pietro shrugged. "I'll just walk those off, too."

The transport carrier landed on the helicarrier, and the occupants started to rush off—but Pietro was the first off.

"Pietro!"

Pietro turned and almost fell—he would have fallen, had Wanda not been there to catch him, embracing him and holding him up.

"Wanda," he whispered, pressing a chaste kiss to her temple. "I missed you. How long was I dead? It felt like forever."

Wanda frowned slightly as she leaned back, brushing a strand of wind-bleached hair from his face. "Maybe 12 minutes. Why?"

Pietro's eyes widened. "12 minutes?!" he exclaimed, slightly panicky. "Does that mean that I lost the twelve minutes of life I had over you?!"

"Yes, yes you did," Wanda smirked, and Pietro groaned, letting his head fall forward to rest on her shoulder.

Just then, Clint jogged over, dragging Steve in tow.

"See?" Clint said, letting go of Steve to point almost accusingly at the white-haired youth hugging his sister. "See?! I told you he was alive!"

Steve was staring at the speedster, blinking, like he couldn't believe his eyes.

"You were dead," Steve stated flatly.

Pietro lifted the bottom of his shirt to show the bullet wounds that were now nothing but scars, looking up pointedly with a raised eyebrow.

Smiling softly, almost hauntedly, Wanda put a hand over one of the scars marring his abs, murmuring, "Strucker was right." She looked up to meet Pietro's hazel eyes with her own matching ones. "This really is the Age of Miracles."

She turned her gaze back to the Avengers. Hawkeye was shaking his head like he couldn't believe it, Steve was still just staring, equally dubious and astonished.

"We are enhanced," Wanda told them, a bit of bite in her tone.

Pietro was looking at the two Avengers, amused. "Captain America," he said, tilting his head, an eyebrow raising. "Why are you so surprised? You did tell us that if we died we should 'walk it off.' Correct? Or did I perhaps hear you wrong?"

"No..." Steve said. "That is what I said."

"And you didn't expect anyone to be able to follow those orders?" Wanda asked, her face mirroring her twin's amusement.

"No, I didn't," Steve admitted.

"Then why did you give orders you believed none of your soldiers would be able to follow?" Wanda inquired curiously, though the twinkle in her eyes was more mischievous than anything else. Pietro looked as if he was trying not to laugh.

"Snarky kids," Clint muttered under his breath, sounding almost fond.

Steve just shook his head slowly. "It wasn't meant to be taken literally." He stepped forward, holding out his hand to the speedster. "Thank you, Pietro, for saving Clint and the child."

Pietro shook his hand, then wrapped his arm back around his twin sister, giving a shrug. "It's what any Avenger would have done, no?"

Steve's lips curved upwards, before he cut straight to business: "I would like you to get a medical check-up, even if your wounds appear to have healed. But it's better to be safe than sorry. You should also get some food and water in you before you pass out."

Pietro scoffed. "I'm not going to—"

"That's an order, Avenger," Steve said authoritatively, setting his shoulders and looking down at the young man, eyes narrowing.

"Don't worry," Wanda said, rolling her hazel eyes. "I'll make sure he takes care of himself."

Steve nodded, before turning and striding away, seeming almost like he was fleeing an uncomfortable situation.

"And that's Captain America," Pietro remarked quietly, an eyebrow twitching upwards.

"Not quite what all the rumors make him out to be," Wanda agreed.

"Hey, kid," Clint said, putting a hand on Pietro's shoulder, his face painfully earnest. "Thanks. And I-I'm glad you're alive."

Pietro looked at the hand on his shoulder, then up at Hawkeye, then over at his sister, almost seeming to ask her a silent question.

Smirking, Wanda wrapped her arms around her twin's waist, resting her head against his chest. "You better be glad he's alive," she told Clint. "Otherwise you'd have to deal with me being..." she trailed off, her expression sobering, trying to think of the right word.

"Heartbroken?" Pietro offered with a teasing smile as he hugged her around the shoulders.

"Upset," she finished, glaring at him, but when he laughed, so did she.

Clint looked at them oddly.

They seemed... happy. Uncharacteristically cheerful. Not that he knew them that well, but they'd always seemed the very serious, angry types. He'd read their files—the death of their parents, trying to survive as orphans, the HYDRA experimentation. The kids hadn't lived happy lives.

Maybe dying and getting brought back to life, or having your twin die and then getting brought back to life, did that to people?

Yeah, that had to explain the giddiness. He knew that surviving near-death experiences could do that to people—the relief and joy at being alive.

As they teased and clung to each other, Clint watched, unable to help the smile the grew on his lips.

They were cute when they were happy.

He thought he'd like them to be happy like that more often.

Y'know what those kids need? Clint thought to himself. Those kids need a home.

Maybe he could offer them one.

AN: Cuz Clint adopting them would be adorable. But pretty boring to write about, so I'm not gonna be writing something like that. But it's cute to think about.

Yay sweet feels after all the angst of the previous chapters! At least, I tried for sweet, lol. This chapter didn't write very well, and I'm not really happy with it, but eh. Chapters will get better and more interesting, I promise!