Tags: Angst. Hurt/Comfort. Humor. Pietro is a ghost. Wanda is the only one who can see and hear him. The other Avengers think she's gone insane with grief. Vision is special. This was super fun to write. And it's long hehe.
AU IV: I Might Be Crazy (but you're still with me)
Pietro woke up to searing pain in his chest, his arm, his leg. Groaning, he sat up, rubbing at his eyes with one hand, his arm twinging, while rubbing at the pain in his leg with the other. His chest and his arm he could deal with, it was his leg he was most worried about, because he needed his legs to run, and if anything had happened to his leg—
He ran his hand over his hard muscles of his leg till he reached the point of pain—
And his finger fell through.
'What?' he muttered, opening his bleary eyes to glance down at his leg, and—
Oh. That was weird. That was... really weird.
He was sitting up, his legs bent, and there was a hole straight through his thigh—a hole of nothingness that went straight through. He could see his body beneath him—fuck that, he could see his body through him.
'What the hell?!' he yelped, leaping up and whirling around, where his body was lying on a surgical table. His eyes were closed, and he seemed to be quite dead, his clothes bloody, his body full of bullet holes in all the places he currently felt stabs of pain.
He glanced back down at himself—the current self he was in, because apparently he'd left his corporeal form behind, and now he was... what? A ghost?
His body was transparent and blue and his edges were blurry, like maybe he was glowing slightly. Where every bullethole should be, there was simply a hole, which hurt. When he poked at his leg or chest, he felt corporeal enough, but he could stick a finger straight through any of the holes in himself, which didn't make the areas hurt any more than they already did, so he didn't seem to have any insides. The edges of the bulletholes were ragged, and as blurry as the outlines of the rest of him.
Bending over to look out the other side of the hole in his thigh, he saw Wanda there and he immediately straightened and turned, dashing over to her, saying excitedly, 'Wanda!'
She was curled up in an uncomfortable-looking fold-up chair, asleep. Her long brown hair fell in cascades over her face, and instinctively he reached out to brush a strand behind her ear, only for his hand to go straight through.
Pietro reeled back for a moment, horrified. He couldn't touch Wanda—couldn't comfort her—he couldn't—would she even be able to see him?! Hear him?!
Wanda stirred slightly, and Pietro waited with bated breath—wait, no, that was wrong—he wasn't breathing—he wasn't—he started counting. He never could hold his breath for very long after H.Y.D.R.A.'s experiments, his metabolism was now so fast that his cells needed all the oxygen they could get, and what felt like holding his breath for minutes for him was actually only seconds for everyone else, which he'd heard one scientist saying meant he could be quickly drowned if he couldn't get to the surface, and that had made Wanda bristle, but it's not like he'd even need to swim now since he was fast enough the he could run across the surface tension of water, which was pretty cool, if he did say so himself, and it wasn't like he could drown now since he seemed to already be dead, and why wasn't he freaking out more about that because he should probably be freaking out right about now and—
Hey, he still hadn't needed to breath. He tried to draw breath, just to see if maybe not-breathing was a death thing, and his chest expanded, but he didn't actually feel any air enter him, and that was weird, it was breathing without really breathing, and looking down at himself he seemed to be just made entirely of air anyway, since—oh hey, he could walk right through the table and his own body, that was kind of creepy.
Okay, no, actually it was REALLY creepy, looking down at his own dead body, although why said dead body wasn't like bloated or something by now he had no idea, he looked to only be in the stiff stage—how long had he been dead anyway?
"Pietro?"
He was immediately back at Wanda's side as she rubbed at her eyes, still curled up in that chair, and she blinked at him blearily, and she couldn't really stay there in that chair, her muscles would get cramped.
'Wanda,' he said softly, kneeling down next to the chair—only, one of his feet accidentally disappeared into the floor, and he quickly yanked it up, trying not to freak out—this intangibility thing would need some getting used to, but at least he wouldn't have to bother opening doors anymore, which was nice, doors had always been frustrating, and it was also a good thing because he would be able to open a door now even if he wanted to, since he wouldn't be able to turn the handle because, well, ghost. Or something.
He made a mental note to freak out about that later. Right now, Wanda was more important (Wanda was always the most important.)
'Can you hear me?' he asked her, brow furrowing, and he could swear he could feel the muscles in his face move, even though he really didn't have muscles or any other body functions now, did he? He was just a form.
"Of course I can hear you," Wanda said, yawning, trying to pry her eyes open, but they kept sliding shut. "Why wouldn't I be able to hear you?"
Because I'm dead and I think I might be a ghost, he thought, but he just said, 'Just checking. Sometimes you don't hear me when you're half-asleep, you know. Remember that time when you didn't hear me telling you to wake up and you startled when I shook your shoulder and you ended up shattering half the lights in the H.Y.D.R.A base?'
That brought a small smile to Wanda's lips. "Strucker wasn't happy about that," she murmured.
'No, he wasn't,' he agreed, grinning wryly. 'And then I had to run around and replace all the bulbs while bored agents tried to shoot at me.'
Wanda giggled, reaching out for his hand, her eyes still closed.
Pietro automatically grabbed her hand—or at least, he tried to, but his hand went right through hers, and she shivered as if she'd just felt a gust of cold wind. He frowned.
"They never could hit you," she said softly as she brought her hand back to her chest, turning to look at him with eyes that were now wide awake. "Until now."
Pietro shrugged. 'The bullets hit my body, sure, but they couldn't catch my soul.'
Wanda beamed at him, her smile lighting up the dim room, and Pietro grinned back.
"You're not dead," she said, hazel eyes wide with wonder.
'Only the flesh part,' Pietro said, jerking a thumb back at where his body was still lying on the table.
"You're really here," she murmured, her eyes pouring over his ghostly self, flicking back up to meet his gaze. "I can read you."
He smiled at the familiar scarlet warmth he felt behind his eyes, though he couldn't help but quip, 'You're sure this isn't a dream, sister? Because I'm not so sure how real this is myself.'
"This is real, believe me," Wanda said, unfolding from her curled position and reaching a hand towards him.
'Then I believe you,' Pietro said immediately.
Wanda's hand passed through his chest.
Pietro squirmed. 'That tickles!' he protested, jerking away, giggling. Yes, honest to God giggles—he couldn't remember the last time he'd done something like giggle. But it REALLY tickled, like the sensation of someone playing with the hair at the back of your neck.
"Does it really?" Wanda asked, a mischievous grin growing on her lips, lighting up her hazel eyes.
'No!' Pietro said immediately, eyes wide as he held up his hands and back away. 'No tickling!'
He backed through the table, looking down to see himself standing in his dead body again. 'This is really weird, sister,' he admitted softly even as he was suddenly at her side again. The superspeed hadn't left him even in death, apparently.
"Yeah," Wanda agreed, glancing at his dead, bullet-riddled body lying on the table, hazel eyes still open and staring flat, dull, dead, into nothing.
'Can we leave?' Pietro asked, trying to reach out and grab her shoulder, only for his ghostly blue hand to pass straight through again.
Wanda shivered, goosebumps spreading down her arms—though whether this was because of the winter-breeze touch of Pietro's intangible hand, or at the fact that she was talking with her brother's ghost while in a room with his dead body, it wasn't clear. "Yeah," she said, getting to her feet, her head spinning slightly from how quickly she'd stood up. Her face looked slightly green as she stumbled towards the door.
In a streak of blue, Pietro was gone.
Wanda hurriedly threw open the door and stepoed out of the room, closing the door behind her and leaning against it, taking deep breaths, eyes wide, as the euphoria of still having Pietro around faded and she realized the exact... situation. What it meant.
Her twin brother was dead. His body was in the room, stiff and cold.
And yet, her brother's soul and mind still lived, now in the form of a ghost.
Wanda felt vaguely nauseous, and then Pietro, blue and intangible, was beside her again, hovering, concern on his features.
'If you feel you are going to be sick, the Ladies' Room is down the hall and sixteen doors down on the right,' Pietro offered, sounding as concerned as he looked. 'If you are going to be immediately sick, you probably won't make it in time, but if you only feel like you might be sick in a few minutes then you should be able to make it.'
She glanced up at him through curtains of brown hair, eyes tracing over his face as he stepped silently closer. He seemed taller. Looking down, she saw that his feet weren't touching the floor, hovering an inch or two above the floor, which helped give him even more of a height advantage. No fair.
He reached out a hand to her, stopping bare centimeters above her shoulder, lips pursing and brow crinkling in that way that meant he was troubled. She could feel the doubt, fear, worry, in his mind, and beneath that a glowing happiness that even though he was dead, he was still with her.
And below that was fear that somehow, still, he would lose her, that there had been a mistake and Death would be coming later to take his soul, to take him away from her.
'I'd run you there, but...' he said, so apologetic. His hand still hovered above her shoulder.
He wanted to comfort her.
She met his gaze, giving him a sad smile. "I'll be fine," she said sincerely, putting a hand just above his incorporeal one. "We'll be fine."
He gave her a timid smile back.
"We're survivors," she insisted, hazel gaze steady, holding his own. She could feel him on the verge of freaking out.
He needed her to be steady for him. Needed her to be grounded.
He was dead, and he needed her to be strong.
"We can work with this," she said.
'How?' he breathed. He stood back, anger flaring, waving his hands around wildly. 'I'm dead, sister! How in hell do we work with this?!'
"You're still here," she pointed out, taking a step towards him, reaching out to calm his mind. "You may not be alive, but you're still here. We're still together."
Tucking her arms into her chest, she tried desperately to blink back her tears. She had to be stronger. For herself. For her brother. "Remember what you told me, after..." she took a deep breath, "after our parents died, and after we were rescued from the rubble? After we knew Stark wouldn't kill us?"
And then Pietro was there, reflexively wrapping his ghostly arms around, and she leaned into his incorporeal form as much as she could.
The air where he was was heavier, colder, and smelled slightly of spring wind.
'We're Maximoffs,' Pietro remembered. 'And all we need is each other.'
He embraced her carefully, making sure to keep his limbs from passing through hers, and she smiled, tucking her head in the pocket of warmer air between chin and clavicle.
"We'll be fine," she said again, not quite sure which one of them she was trying to convince.
'We will,' Pietro agreed, conviction returned to his voice, and he stepped away, offering her his I'm-older-than-you-and-I-have-important-wisdom-to-share-with-you-so-you-better-listen smile. 'And we shall start by getting you somewhere where you can sleep in an actual bed. It is, after all, still the middle of the night,' he gestured around the dimly lit, deserted hallway of the Helicarrier, 'and you just finished saving the world, you know.'
"We just finished saving the world," Wanda corrected immediately.
Pietro's lips quirked. 'Yes, but I'm pretty sure the dead don't need to sleep,' he pointed out. 'I'll be right back.'
A blur of blue away, and Wanda barely had time to register that she was standing alone in a rather eerily abandoned medical corridor of S.H.I.E.L.D's helicarrier, before Pietro was back, pointing down the hallway.
'Apparently all the civilians were unloaded sometime while I hadn't yet woken up,' Pietro said, 'how long was I out, anyway? Nevermind—there are a few open bunks, and spare blankets and pillows. I'd personally suggest the bunk across from Hawkeye, he seems the most trustworthy. Followed by Captain America, who also seems to be trying to catch some shuteye, and he's sleeping on the bunk below the bunk Tony Stark is sleeping on, so I'm not worried about Stark. Not to mention that Stark isn't much without his armor or weapons.
'The Hulk and his alter-ego are missing, the Black Widow isn't sleeping, she's in another wing of the ship and she didn't look like she was in a good mood. And I'm not comfortable with Thor or the android, and neither of them are currently sleeping either, they're actually on the landing pad or whatever looking up at the sky and talking. So I'd say the bunks are a pretty safe place at the moment.'
Wanda smiled at him. "Lead the way, little brother."
'Hey!' Pietro protested indignantly, looking affronted. 'I'm fifteen minutes older!'
"Not anymore," Wanda pointed out softly, lips quirking, far more more sad than smug.
Pietro glanced down at his incorporeal, ghostly blue form, before looking back up to meet her gaze, pursing his lips. He deliberated for a moment over how to respond to that comment. A second later he merely decided: 'That is not fair,' and Wanda couldn't help but giggle, though it was more hysterical than amused.
Wanda was very good at moving quietly.
Clint was a light sleeper—it came with the job. But he didn't hear Wanda come in and sit down on the bottom bed of the empty bunk across from him until she started talking quietly.
"But I don't want to go to sleep, Pietro," she whispered, as Clint cracked his eyes open and rolled closer to the edge of the top bunk he was sleeping on just enough to see her sitting there, staring at a space in the air in front of her, biting her lip. "I'm afraid."
There was a pause as she seemed to be listening for something.
"No, I'm afraid that if I go to sleep, when I wake up..." she reached a hand out, clasping it around nothing. "I'm afraid you won't be here, 'Tro."
Another pause, and then she smiled slightly. She scooted over on the bed, turning to look at the empty space beside her.
Oooooookay then, Clint thought. So apparently grief had turned Wanda crazy, and she was, what, hallucinating that Pietro was still here?
Something like guilt twisted hard in Clint's gut. He'd read the files—the Maximoff twins had been through a lot. Their parents had been killed by a missile right in front of them when they were only ten, they'd grown up in a war zone, they'd been experimented on by H.Y.D.R.A and they'd volunteered in order to help protect their war-torn country, and for the last decade they'd had absolutely nobody save for each other.
They'd been through too much, for how young they were. According to the file, they had just recently turned twenty. Not even old enough to drink, and yet they'd just helped save the world.
And Pietro had died saving him and a little kid. And now Wanda was crazy and hallucinating with grief.
He knew it had been a bad idea to leave her alone with the dead body of her brother. But it wasn't like he, or anyone else, had been able to convince her to move, and with her powers, nobody wanted to try and force her.
But now, here she was, having left her brother's dead body of her own free will and now sitting on the bunk across from him and whispering to the air as if her dead brother was there and still alive.
She was watching the space next to her, as if expecting her brother to sit down and put his arm around her, and then she burst out laughing.
It was a loud, happy laugh, and it shocked Clint into a sitting position, causing him to almost hit his head on the low ceiling.
The sound woke Steve up, too, and he was now sitting on the edge the lower bunk he'd been snoozing on, looking across the room at Wanda, who was laughing so hard she was crying and clutching her stomach, his eyes wide with alarm and surprise.
Tony Stark, who was neither a soldier nor a spy and trained assassin, just rolled over and waved a limp arm, muttering, "Five more minutes, Pepper."
"Wanda?" Steve asked cautiously, standing up and approaching the witch slowly. "Are you alright?"
When he sat down next to her, Wanda laughed so hard she fell right off the bunk, sprawling on her back on the floor as she giggled uncontrollably, long dark hair splayed around her face.
In a smooth motion Clint had vaulted over the edge of the bunk (yes, the bunks had railings as if for children—probably to keep the sleeping S.H.I.E.L.D agents from rolling off during sharp turns or turbulent winds) and landed in a crouch on the floor, quickly making his way over to Wanda and kneeling next to her.
"What's going on?" he asked her.
Wanda looked at him through eyes scrunched and crinkled with mirth, opening her mouth to say something, but laughter took over her again and she could only clutch her stomach and shake her head.
Clint glanced over at Steve, who was now kneeling on Wanda's other side, and the two went each other concerned looks.
"Was' going on?" Tony mumbled from his top bunk, lifting up a bleary head to look down at them.
When he saw the Maximoff girl lying there, he immediately sat up, suddenly looking much more awake and incredibly alarmed. "When did she get here?! What happened?!"
"We don't know," Steve said, his voice calm, but his face betrayed that he had absolutely no control of the situation and had no idea what to do, sending an almost pleading glance at Clint.
"You're the one who lost a best bud," Clint pointed out. "Did anythin' like this ever happen t'you?"
Steve slowly shook his head, looking at Wanda in bafflement and apprehension.
Okay, so apparently Steve was great at motivational speeches, but kinda sucked at emotional support.
Clint sighed. Guess it was up to him. He made a mental note to inform Steve later that he should never have kids, and reached down to gently grab Wanda's arm, pulling her up into a sitting position and tugging her against his chest, wrapping his arms around her as she laughed and sobbed against him.
Hugs usually helped calm kids down, after they were done with the angry, kicking and screaming phase. Hugs made people feel warm and safe.
"It's okay," Clint said, stroking her hair, "it's okay to break down."
Steve was giving him a thoughtful look, and he could feel Tony gaping at the back of his head, but he didn't really care at the moment.
This girl had lost her twin brother mere hours ago. Her twin brother who she'd been with since birth.
And Clint couldn't help but blame himself for the kid's death.
Wanda's loud sobbing and laughing stopped, and she looked up—not at Clint, at a spot slightly to the left of and behind his head.
"It's okay," Wanda whispered, and Clint couldn't really tell if she was talking to him or not. "It's okay, I got this. You thought he was worth saving, didn't you? He's a good person."
"I wish I could have saved him," Clint whispered, looking away from her gaze that wasn't looking at him.
"It's okay," Wanda said, not to him, and then her gaze was on his face, and she said softer, "I know."
And then she gently extricated herself from his embrace, standing up and smoothing down her skirt that was still covered in dust from the battle. "I'm fine," she insisted, as the three older Avengers looked at her with confused expressions, and she smiled slightly, staring at a spot in the air by a leg of the bunk. "I'm sure you'll figure it out."
"Um," Tony raised his hand, "am I the only one who's really confused and kind of disturbed right now? Except that I know that I'm not, because I'm a genius, and if I can't figure out what's going on, then you two jocks down there are definitely confused as well."
Wanda looked up at him, tilting her head, her hazel eyes glowing scarlet for a moment.
"No," she said, turning to the air beside her, "he actually didn't know that his weapons were being sold in Eastern European countries, or being used in Sokovia. There was a man named Obadiah, who was dealing under the table. It was Stark's technology, but it wasn't Stark. Obadiah's dead now, by the way."
They were all gaping at her.
She paused for a moment. "Stark has changed very much," she said. Another pause, and then she scoffed. "Because I can read him, genius."
"Did you seriously just read my mind?!" Tony demanded, his voice higher pitched than usual.
She glanced up at where he was still sitting on the upper bunk bed. "You're forgiven, by the way," she told him, before looking to her left and narrowing her eyes. "Yes, he is. There's no revenge to be had, Pietro. The man whose fault it is our parents are dead is also dead. We need to let go."
"Um," Clint looked at her, then glanced between the disturbed faces of Steve and Tony, before looking back at Wanda. "You do know that Pietro's dead, right?" he said, softly, gently.
She met his gaze, her lips twisting into a smirk. "He may be dead," she said evenly, "but that doesn't mean he's gone."
The Avengers stared at each other.
"I think I need a drink," Tony declared, climbing down from the bunk bed.
"No," Steve said firmly, standing and crossing his arms, narrowing his eyes at the billionaire.
"No, really," Tony said, matching his glare with one of his own, "I need a drink. I'm tired, sore, and feeling awful from the fact that we just narrowly managed to defeat an artificial intelligence that I created, and I was so exhausted earlier than I managed to skip the drink and fall straight asleep, but now I'm awake and I don't think I'll be falling back asleep, and did I mention that we were just fighting a bunch of robots in a flying city and we all nearly went extinct and I essentially killed this girl's parents and her brother as well?!" Tony's voice had risen and he was gesticulating with his arms now, his dark eyes slightly wild. "I think now is the perfect time for a drink and you're just jealous that you can't get drunk!"
Steve grit his teeth as Tony stormed out of the room.
Wanda stared after him, head tilted to the side, eerily calm.
"Y'know, alcohol sounds great right now," Clint agreed, before glancing over at Wanda, raising an eyebrow. "Wanna come?"
"She's underage!" Steve hissed, taken aback.
"She just helped us save the world," Clint pointed out, tone clipped, sending Steve a look. "I think she's old enough to drink a little." He lowered his voice. "Helps take the edge off grief, y'know?"
Steve's shoulders sagged and he looked down.
"Hey," Clint said, patting Steve on the shoulder and trying to sound cheerful (he was pretty sure it didn't work), "maybe Thor has some more of that Asgardian stuff to share with you!"
Wanda was watching them with something that looked like amusement. Her mannerism was such an uncanny change from her earlier misery and depression, and it set Clint's teeth on edge. Hell, he was miserable and depressed over Pietro's death, and he'd hardly known the guy!
Wanda's twin brother had died only hours ago and she... she shouldn't be this genuinely happy. Not that he was against her being happy—but this soon after Pietro's death? It was just fucking creepy.
Wanda was looking at him now, with amusement bordering on sympathy, and it was really freaking it out. Not that he'd ever admit it or show it or anything, but—
And she was smiling sadly at him now, what the hell?
Oh right, mind-reader—fuck!
"Yes, I think a drink would smooth down all our frayed nerves," Wanda said in that Sokovian accent, and then she grabbed both his and Steve's hands and pulled them into the hall.
Once they'd reached the Avengers' sleeping quarters—all the S.H.I.E.L.D agents slept in rooms lined with bunk beds attached to the walls, and the Avengers got no different, though they did get their own separate room from the other agents—Pietro had been trying to convince her to go to sleep, but she didn't want to.
If she went to sleep, she was afraid Pietro wouldn't be there when she woke up.
'Of course I'll be here,' he'd chided gently. 'You know I'll always be here for you. As long as you need me.'
She just looked at him, biting at her lip.
'I'll stay,' he said.
Smiling, she scooted over to make room for him, and he tried to sit down next to her.
Key word there being: tried.
Because when he tried to sit down, instead of lowering his butt down to sit on the bed, his legs ended up tucking upwards, so that he was sitting a few feet up in the air, his head remaining at the same place as when he was standing.
The incredibly confused look on his face made her giggle.
'What in the hell?' he grumbled, stretching out his legs again, and he tried to grab the bunk bed to help lower himself down, only his hand went right through.
Some flailing was involved, and somehow he ended up upside down, so he was doing a headstand in the air, his arms crossed over his chest as he glared at her when she laughed outright.
'This is not funny!' he protested.
But it was, it really was, and she couldn't stop laughing as he tried to figure out how to turn himself upright again, flailing his arms and legs around and ending up doing something like cartwheels in the air.
'Dammit!' he yelped. 'Wanda, make it stop!'
Wanda laughed even harder—she couldn't help it, and Pietro couldn't help the fact that he was grinning, and she was starting to suspect at this point that he was doing some of the ridiculous flailing on purpose to make her laugh. But she wasn't complaining.
Though apparently her laughter had woken up all the Avengers, and Hawkeye was sitting up on the top bunk across from her looking down at her with wide eyes, and Captain America was sitting up on the bottom bunk and bed over, looking at her with concern and asking if she was alright.
There was no way she could possibly answer, she was laughing so hard.
Finally, Pietro managed to somehow roll into a lying-down position parallel to the floor, and from there he sat up, and then extended his legs, and then he walked closer to the bunk and managed to sit down, though he was sitting a couple inches above the bed.
His face was twisted in annoyance, though his lips were quirking upwards at her laughter. 'It's really not that funny—' he started, only, just then, Captain America crossed over and sat down on the bed right where Pietro was, sitting down through him, and Pietro yelped indignantly, jumping to his feet away from the bed.
'I was sitting there, you geriatric!' Pietro yelled at Captain America, who could neither see nor hear him and was looking with concern at Wanda. 'You can't just sit on a guy without asking permission! And I thought Captain America was supposed to have manners!'
Tears of mirth were streaming down Wanda's face as she laughed so hard she fell right off the bed onto the floor.
Tony Stark was awake and sitting up as well, now, and Hawkeye and Captain America were kneeling next to her, but she couldn't barely see through the tears and the huge grin that was causing her eyes to squint, and she could barely make out what they were saying over her laughter and Pietro insisting that she stop laughing from where he kept trying to push Hawkeye over to no avail.
God, when was the last time she'd laughed like this? She honestly couldn't remember.
Her brother's eyes were shining at her mirth, and he was definitely enjoying this, now, insisting, 'Stop laughing, Wanda! You're making the Avengers think you're crazy!' which of course just made her laugh even more.
She could read the confusion-apprehension-worry-fear coursing through their minds at her laughter and tears, their thoughts that grief had driven her insane.
Stark was confused and he really hated it. He felt awful. He blamed himself for Ultron, and since Ultron had killed Pietro, he blamed himself for Pietro's death, and since he figured it was Pietro's death that had driven her over the edge, he blamed himself for her hysterics. He thought she was more sobbing than laughing.
Captain America felt helpless and he really hated it. He felt awful. He'd seen many young men die in battle, but it never got any easier. They all had families, lovers, loved ones who would miss them, they all had futures that were stolen from them. He was familiar with death, but that never made the death of those around him any easier. He regretted every life he wasn't able to save.
Hawkeye felt exasperated as he realized that he was the only dad on the entire team, and everyone else apparently lacked paternal instincts, as he gently pulled her into a sitting position and hugged her.
"It's okay, it's okay to break down," he told her, and she felt relief that that was what he told her, and that he didn't try to tell her the lie that everything would be okay.
Maybe she was breaking down a little, now. What had started as laughter turning to sobs as she realized that Pietro's crazy antics were only because he was newly dead and he was a ghost and she couldn't hug him.
So buried her head in Hawkeye's shoulder and let him hug her, and it was alright.
Pietro was freaking out.
He was protective of her, and didn't like anyone else touching her, always afraid that everyone and everything might bring her harm. He didn't want her to be hurt, and he couldn't do anything about it now that he was incorporeal. He couldn't hold her, couldn't comfort her, couldn't protect her, and he was freaking out.
"It's okay," she whispered, lifting her head to meet Pietro's panicked gaze, offering a reassuring smile. "It's okay, I got this. You thought he was worth saving, didn't you?" she pointed out, inclining her head slightly at Hawkeye. "He's a good person."
"I wish I could have saved him," Hawkeye whispered, looking away as he held her, and she figured that he needed this embrace probably more than she did. The guilt and sorrow was a dark, roiling mass inside him, and he didn't have the comfort of being able to see and hear Pietro, of knowing that Pietro was still here.
Pietro, standing behind Hawkeye, was gesturing wordlessly, unable to phrase his feelings into coherent sentences. He was freaking out. Somebody was touching her, and Pietro couldn't shake the panic and fear that he would hurt her, because nobody else had touched either of them for the past decade without some intention to harm.
"It's okay," Wanda told Pietro, reaching out to his mind to calm him. Turning her gaze to Hawkeye's emotionally pained face, she said softly, "I know."
She knows Hawkeye would have done anything within his power to save Pietro. But there had been nothing he could do. He hadn't even known what was going on till it had already happened.
Gently, she removed herself from the archer's embrace, standing up and smoothing down her skirt, realizing that she hadn't changed clothes since the battle, or showered, or cleaned up at all, and she was filthy. But other than that fact, "I'm fine," she said, looking up at them. The three Avengers watched her with intense bewilderment, while Pietro tried to climb up one of the bunk beds to sit on the top bunk, but he was intangible so it wasn't working, and he ended up standing in the leg of the bunk, arms crossed, lips pouting.
Wanda smiled at him softly, saying reassuringly, "I'm sure you'll figure it out."
"Um," Tony said, raising his hand, "am I the only one who's really confused and kind of disturbed right now? Except that I know that I'm not, because I'm a genius, and if I can't figure out what's going on, then you two jocks down there are definitely confused as well."
Wanda looked up at him and tilted her head, reaching out to read his mind. She and her brother had questions that needed to be answered before they could agree to join the Avengers...
Images and feelings flashed through her mind, explosions, pain, betrayal—and Tony even seem to feel it.
She could always read the surface thoughts and emotions of those around her, but digging deeper had always been much harder, as she tried to use as little of her power as possible, afraid of the power roiling scarlet within her.
Pietro's death, though, had triggered something. Ripped her open. She had so much power that she hadn't even realized that she'd had.
More power, more finesse, her fingers moving in the folds of her skirt, and Tony didn't even feel it.
'Did he...?!' Pietro demanded, hovering beside her, his thoughts a flurry of blue that couldn't straighten out enough to make it to his tongue.
"No," she said, turning her head to look at him, meeting his blue-hazel gaze, "he actually didn't know that his weapons were being sold in Eastern European countries, or being used in Sokovia. There was a man named Obadiah, who was dealing under the table. It was Stark's technology, but it wasn't Stark. Obadiah's dead now, by the way."
The Avengers were all gaping at her.
'But Stark built the weapons!' Pietro hissed, fists clenched at his sides, his ghostly body that was already blurred at the edges smearing even farther. 'He's a warmonger!'
"Stark has changed very much," she told him, making sure he saw in her gaze that she was sincere.
'How do you know?!' Pietro demanded furiously.
Wanda scoffed, rolling her eyes at him. "Because I can read him, genius."
Pietro calmed down, his edges becoming more clear and defined as he sighed, stepping closer and resting his forehead on her shoulder, his shoulders lifting and dropping as he simulated taking a deep breath. 'If you say so...'
"Did you seriously just read my mind?!" Stark demanded, horrified-afraid-disbelieving-panicking.
She glanced up at where he was still sitting on the upper bunk bed, saying, "You're forgiven, by the way.
'No, he's not,' Pietro hissed, abruptly straightened up and glaring at her.
"Yes, he is," Wanda said firmly, narrowing her eyes at him. "There's no revenge to be had, Pietro. The man whose fault it is our parents are dead is also dead. We need to let go."
"Um," Hawkeye looked at her, glancing at Captain America and Tony Stark, who were equally as disturbed by her comment, before looking back at her. "You do know that Pietro's dead, right?" Hawkeye said gently, afraid she would get defensive and angry. He thought that she was in denial.
She wasn't. Pietro was dead, but he was still there. She said so.
The Avengers looked at each other, thinking that they had a case of insanity on their hands.
Captain America made a mental note to himself to get her to a therapist. Hawkeye felt crushing guilt. Stark's emotions started spirally out of control into the dark territory of self-loathing.
"I think I need a drink," he declared, climbing down from the bunk bed.
"No," Captain America said firmly, not agreeing that the early hours of the morning were the proper time for drinking.
"No, really," Stark said, matching his glare with one of his own, irritation flashing through his mind, along with a reminder to himself that this was the guy who was against swearing even during missions when swearing was definitely called for, so of course would be against drinking in the wee hours of the morning even if they'd only a few hours ago nearly failed at saving the world from a monster that he had created.
Stark started rambling, ranting, his emotions spiraling down even further, and he couldn't look at her. Even though it wasn't his fault her parents or her brother had died, but he blamed himself for all the death and destruction his weapons had caused. He felt so much regret-remorse-self-hatred it was practically crippling.
She couldn't not forgive him. He was trying to be better, he really was.
He perhaps still needed to get better at forgiving himself.
Stark's voice had risen and he was gesticulating with his arms now, his dark eyes slightly wild as he ranted, "I think now is the perfect time for a drink and you're just jealous that you can't get drunk!"
Unable to deal with all the crippling emotions, Stark stormed out of the room, thinking that he needed liquor, he needed to take the edge of this pain.
Captain America grit his teeth as he watched his friend go. He knew about Stark's alcoholic tendencies, and he did not approve. He understood why Tony wanted to drown out the pain with drunkenness, but alcohol was only a temporary fix. There were better ways to deal, he thought. Healthier.
And yes, Wanda reasoned, Stark had been right when he'd pointed out that Steve didn't understand because he couldn't get drunk, because he'd never actually caused any deaths—he'd only ever been unable to prevent them, which was entirely different.
And underneath that, Stark felt a hysteria of worthlessness, knowing he could never be as strong as Captain America and being really fucking sick and tired of having it rubbed in his face. He was just a human, after all, he wasn't some goddamn superhuman test-tube created being of fucking patriotic perfection that his dad had always wanted him to be.
Wanda stared after him, tilting her head.
"Y'know, alcohol sounds great right now," Hawkeye agreed, before glancing over at her, raising an questioning eyebrow, thinking that she could definitely use a little alcohol to take the edge of her misery as well. "Wanna come?" he offered, desperately wanting her to say Yes.
"She's underage!" Captain America hissed, taken aback in a way that was almost adorable.
"She just helped us save the world," Hawkeye pointed out, tone clipped, sending Steve a look as he thought about how Steve really needed to knock off some of that righteous boyscout bullshit sometimes. "I think she's old enough to drink a little." He lowered his voice, for some reason seeming to think it would keep her from hearing. "Helps take the edge off grief, y'know?"
Steve's shoulders sagged and he looked down because yes, he did know. She saw flashes of snow a shard of a scream, a table in a bombed-out bar and the taste of liquor that hardly burned and didn't make the world the slightest bit fuzzier.
"Hey," Hawkeye said, patting Captain America on the shoulder and trying to sound cheerful, though it didn't really work, "maybe Thor has some more of that Asgardian stuff to share with you!"
Wanda watched them in amusement, aware of how her manner was freaking them out. Grief they understood; grief they could deal with. Her calm happiness? They had no idea how to deal with that, when they didn't realize that all she needed was Pietro and that he was still there, standing next to her with a cold, ghostly hand hovering just above her shoulder.
She smiled sadly at Hawkeye. He felt so much mourning and guilt, and he didn't know that Pietro was still there. He never would.
He noticed her looking at him, confused-angry-afraid, and she felt his realization that she could read his mind and the subsequent horror-relief-dread-confusion-panic.
"Yes, I think a drink would smooth down all our frayed nerves," she said, and because at this point they would probably just stand there gaping at her after that comment, she grabbed their hands and pulled them into the hall, Pietro jogging backwards in front of her and complaining about how he wouldn't get to taste the alcohol and how it was so unfair that they would even try to deny her any because of her age because in America the legal drinking age was 21 when in Sokovia the legal drinking age was 18 and they'd never even gotten any then because they were at HYDRA and HYDRA didn't give them any alcohol and he'd wanted to get drunk at least once in his life even though he probably wouldn't have been able to anyway with his metabolism but then he'd gone and gotten killed before even getting to taste anything more than cheap vodka and Stark probably had really expensive alcohol and it was all incredibly unfair.
She offered him a sorrowful smile. "Yes, it is unfair."
Wanda said she was fine, and be believed her, he did, because they'd always comfort each other but the never lied to each other, ever, and if Wanda said she was okay, then she was okay, she was okay, and he knew she got slightly annoyed when he was always super protective of her, but she understood, she understood that he couldn't lose her, that he couldn't let her get hurt, because that hurt him more than anything, and he couldn't leave her, couldn't lose her, even in death.
Even in death he couldn't leave, and it didn't matter if he ended up in Heaven, it didn't matter, because without Wanda anywhere would be Hell, it didn't matter, he couldn't stand to be without her, and he knew she felt the same but he also knew that she knew that he probably needed her more and that he needed to be needed.
And then there was the whole problem of trying to figure out how moving around as a ghost worked, since, finally, gravity had let him go.
But superspeed was all about how to use gravity and friction and now, without those tools, he was flailing—literally and figuratively—but he was a quick learner, he could do this, and maybe he'd try harder if his failed attempts didn't make Wanda laugh so much—she had a beautiful laugh, her crinkled the corners of her eyes and made the hazel orbs glitter, and he loved hearing her laugh and seeing her smile, it made his heart swell in his chest, and it had been too long, far too long, since she'd laughed and smiled like that.
And now she was sitting at a table with a glass of alcohol along with the other Avengers—the god and the android had come in, so now only the female assassin and the green giant were missing—and she was watching them as they conversed, that thoughtful look on her face that meant she was enjoying listening in on their thoughts and emotions, filing information away for later analysis and use as she sipped the no doubt expensive liquor, and all their voices were droning on and Pietro was bored.
Boredom was never a good thing, but if he had time where Wanda wasn't paying too much attention to him, he figured he should use it to try and figure out the whole ghost thing he had going on.
Figuring out how to maneuver would be nice, but he didn't want to leave Wanda alone in the room with all the Avengers, so he stayed behind Wanda's chair as he ran in circles, on the walls, on the ceiling and then he just stood there upside down, and it was cool to be able to view the world from that angle without feeling the blood rush to his head—an advantage to having no blood, definitely.
He still couldn't touch anything side from himself—he wondered, if he concentrated hard enough, if he could maybe make himself slightly corporeal.
Jogging over to his twin sister, he began trying to play with her hair.
She shivered slightly, turning her head to look at him over her shoulder, lips quirking wryly, knowingly, and then she turned back around so her attention was on the Avengers, and he continued trying to concentrate on his fingers as he attempted to brush them through strands of her long, dark hair.
He was thinking maybe he'd actually gotten a few strands to move slightly when Hawkeye suggested a drinking game to speed up their descent into drunkness.
Pietro tensed up, but when Wanda politely declined to play, with the Captain of America pointing out that she was still underage and so nobody was allowed to pressure her, and in fact, he would insist that she didn't participate, even if she hadn't insisted herself.
With the Avengers paying even more attention to their drinks, Wanda turned in her chair to look at him, her hazel eyes traveling over the holes in his ghostly form.
"Do they hurt?" she asked, trailing a hand through his incorporeal torso where the bulletholes were.
Pietro shrugged. They did hurt, actually, which was weird, since he was dead, and figured he shouldn't be feeling anything. But the wounds still hurt like they did when he was shot, only the pain didn't mean anything now that he was dead since it didn't disrupt the ability of his body to move and function, since there was nothing there to actually move of function. He was just... what was he? Just consciousness?
Pain was a signal to the body to take it easy because it was in danger and could potentially die, but he was already dead. So what was the point? Was it just his mind, then, making him think that he hurt even though there was nothing there to actually feel pain?
'A little,' he admitted, even as he thought all this, but Wanda was looking at him in that way that meant she could read him and knew better.
She opened her mouth to say something, but Pietro interjected with, 'The android is looking at you.'
Wanda turned her head to look at the bright red, green, and yellow android with the glowing yellow stone in its forehead.
'He's been watching you nearly the entire time,' Pietro said, clenching his fists next to his sides as he glared at the thing that couldn't see or hear him.
Wanda hummed. "He's just worried about me," she told her twin, putting a hand where he'd laid an intangible hand on her shoulder. "They all are—or at least, they all were before they got drunk. But Vision can't get drunk."
'Vision?' Pietro asked, raising an eyebrow.
"That's his name," Wanda said, nodding her head at the android, who was looking at her oddly with his strangely human blue eyes.
'How do you know?' Pietro asked, even though he knew how she knew. 'When did he get that name?'
"He decided on it earlier," Wanda shrugged, sending a smirk at the android who was apparently now called 'Vision,' which meant that she wanted to let him know that she knew what he was thinking and found it amusing, and she wanted to disturb him—Wanda was very good at disturbing people—she always was, but even more so after she got her powers.
Pietro would rather just punch people in the face.
'Why's he looking at you like that?' Pietro demanded, feeling agitated as he glared fiercely at the not-human thing that was created partly from Ultron's psyche.
"He can hear me talking to you," Wanda said, glancing at her brother to share a secretive smirk. "He's also thinking that I'm hallucinating from grief, and maybe also the alcohol."
Pietro snorted, running his incorporeal hand again and again through her hair, trying to will his fingers solid enough to actually move the strands. 'Shows what he knows.'
Lowering her voice slightly, Wanda said, in a voice meant only for him, "I like Vision, actually. He has a very pure mind. Not an iota of cruelty within him."
Pietro took a step back, looking at her incredulously. 'He was built from Ultron!'
"He is very different from Ultron," Wanda told him seriously.
Pietro sighed, sitting down next to her as if there was a chair there, even though there wasn't, but there might as well have been. He could actually sit in the air, and his legs muscles didn't even have to work, because he didn't have muscles or a body anymore, and he didn't feel hungry, and he didn't feel thirsty, or really much else except for emotions and physical pain from the bullet wounds that he was becoming pretty damn sure he shouldn't be feeling.
'Okay, fine,' Pietro said, automatically reaching out to take her hand, still feeling surprised and slightly panicky that he wasn't able to. 'You know I trust your judgment.'
Wanda smiled at him, and he tried to keep on a frown, but he couldn't help the corners of his lips from twitching upwards.
It was kind of weird, too, that he was able to remain so still—when he was alive, he could never quite stop moving, constantly feeling a restless, frenetic energy within him that he struggled to contain and then relished in letting free, but now that he was dead—
Now that he was dead, he actually felt calmer. He didn't feel the need to run a few hundred laps around the helicarrier yet, as he no doubt would have if he'd been alive—but it was also no doubt that this was a good thing, since he was starting to think that, since he didn't have any true form, he wouldn't tire no matter how many laps he did, no matter how fast he ran them, no matter how hard he pushed himself.
'So,' he said, looking at his sister. 'What now?'
She raised a dark eyebrow at him. "What now?"
'I know you know what I mean!' he said, waving a hand around the table at the drinking and distracted Avengers and glaring at her slightly.
Her gaze followed his hand motion, scanning around the table, her expression thoughtful but resolute. "Yes, I think I want to join the Avengers," she said, glancing back at him, offering a small, nervous-excited smile.
'And what do you think?' he asked, nodding his head at them, brow raising.
"I'll tell you later," she said, as both she and Pietro turned to watch Vision, who had stood up, excused himself from the rest of the Avengers who were now yelling or singing or laughing drunkenly, walking over to her with a expression that might've been gentle and concerned, but Pietro was pretty bad at reading expressions, that was Wanda's thing.
She knew who she could and couldn't trust, but Pietro didn't trust anyone—except for Wanda, of course, but that went without being said—and he would trust in Wanda's trust in someone, but he didn't have to like it.
Pietro glared at the android, and Wanda looked torn between laughing at him for his clear distrust and comforting him.
"Miss Maximoff," Vision said politely, bowing slightly as he offered a hand for her to take, helping her up from her chair. "Would you accompany me outside this fine night? The stars are lovely at this time."
'I don't like him,' Pietro said immediately, looking at the synthezoid through narrowed eyes.
Wanda ignored him, because she understood his apprehension—they were unused to anyone being kind without an ulterior motive—but she couldn't really roll her eyes at him or say anything back without the Vision thinking it was directed at him.
"Yes, I'd like that," Wanda nodded, leaving her hand on the synthezoid's arm as he escorted her out of the room, just in time to miss Thor shouting, "ANOTHER!" and smashing his glass on the floor while Clint fell out of his chair at the noise and then started laughing. Even Steve was chuckling—apparently Thor had had enough Asgardian liquor with him to share with the supersoldier.
Sighing, Pietro followed his sister and the synthezoid, before running ahead, checking the hallways, running back to direct Wanda down the ones that didn't have any S.H.I.E.L.D agents walking them, while she pulled Vision down the corridors her brother directed her down.
After a little while of this Vision looked at her thoughtfully. "It seems to me that you are somehow taking a route to avoid other lifeforms."
Wanda looked straight ahead. "I don't want to deal with any S.H.I.E.L.D agents right now," she stated, and Vision could only nod, swallowing his question to ask her how she knew.
Just to see if he could get a reaction, Pietro jogged backwards in front of the synthezoid, poking at his chest.
The synthezoid didn't seem to be aware of the fact that the ghost of the speedster was in front of him transitioning between trying to poke him, jumping up and down and waving his arms, and making faces.
Wanda couldn't stop giggling, and Vision looked at her, a small frown adorning his strange red face.
He opened his mouth to ask, but Wanda just shook her head at him, still giggling as Pietro started walking backwards but sideways in the air, talking nonstop simply because Vision couldn't hear him and couldn't do a damn thing about it.
Although, when Pietro came closer and yelled a Sokovian curse at the side of the synthezoid's head where an ear should be, Vision did turn his head to frown slightly at the spot of air, while Pietro waved a hand frantically in front of his face, asking, 'Eye test! How many fingers am I holding up?!'
"I'll tell you when we get outside," Wanda told Vision, laughing and shaking her head at her brother's antics, realizing just how much she'd missed that side of him.
Once they made it outside, they sat down on the landing pad of the helicarrier.
Wanda sat with her legs outstretched, crossed at the ankles, her arms behind her propping herself up, while Vision sat cross-legged, sitting down on his cap so it wouldn't blow around in the chilly wind that buffeted them, causing Wanda's long, dark brown hair to whip around her face.
Wanda kept giggling, and Vision looked at her with concern. Analyzing the components of her blood and the saturation of alcohol on her breath led him to see that she wasn't to the point of inebriation where that alcohol could be the sole cause of her giggly, cheerful mood.
He watched her as she sobered slightly, whispering, "Calm down, Pietro."
A moment later and she was smiling softly again.
Vision couldn't help but feel confused and concerned. Wanda had been talking to 'Pietro' even before she'd started drinking, and had kept it up throughout the drinking game and during the walk to the landing pad of the helicarrier, during which Vision had thought he'd felt a slight coolness in the air where she'd been looking.
"I'm not hallucinating," Wanda said suddenly, turning to give him a look like she was just daring him to call her a liar. Her eyes looked black under the moonlight. "I know that Pietro's dead."
Vision felt even more confused as she turned her head to look away from him, smirking slightly at the air with a soft, "Hush, Pietro, I'm explaining. If anybody will believe me, it will be Vision."
She looked back at him, her smile wry. "Do you believe in ghosts?"
Vision considered this. "I have not seen evidence to prove nor disprove the existence of bodiless spirits," he said after a few moments.
Wanda nodded, like she already knew this and was just confirming what she knew. "Pietro is still here," she said to him after a few moments, not quite looking at him as her hand reached out to clutch around air.
A wayward strand of dark hair that was fluttering across her face was gently brushed back behind her ear, and she hadn't touched it.
With a gleeful whoop Wanda suddenly leapt to her feet, throwing herself at the air in what Vision believed was generally referred to as a flying-tackle-hug.
He felt even more bemused as Wanda clutched the air and leaned into it without falling over, saying excitedly, "You did it, Pietro! I knew you could!"
Vision was on his feet in a second, striding to her side—
And then he was sailing through the air from a kick to the chest, taken completely off-guard, crashing into the ground and rolling before catching himself in a crouch, looking up at where Wanda was exclaiming, "Pietro! What did you do that for?"
Vision found his doubt disappearing very quickly as something grabbed his arm and pulled him back to Wanda in a fraction of a second.
Turning his light-vision to thermo-vision, he saw, next to the red, orange and yellow form of Wanda, a blurry blue and violet form in the vague shape of the speedster.
Vision held up his hands. "I believe you," he said, as the cool form zipped over to stand right in front of him, seeming to be waving an arm in his face.
"He wants you to tell him how many fingers he's holding up," Wanda said.
"Then tell him he needs to keep his hand still," Vision informed her, and the blue-violet form in his vision froze.
Wanda was looking at him with wide eyes and a growing smile.
Vision squinted slightly at the form of the ghost in front of him. "One finger," he said, leaning back slightly as he smirked. "And your middle finger, at that."
The blue-violet form that was Pietro dropped its arm, disappearing for a moment before reappearing by Wanda's side, wrapping an arm around her waist.
"So you can see him?" Wanda asked, a hopeful tone in her voice as she looked at him.
Vision switched back to light-vision, and, looking at where he knew Pietro to be, he thought perhaps he could see the vaguest blue suggestion of his form. He focused on it, adjusting his vision to include the particular spectrum of light that Pietro was emitting, and gradually the speedster's form took more defined shape.
After a few moments, Vision could make out facial features.
Smiling, Vision held out a hand. "I'm Vision. It's a pleasure to officially meet you, Mr. Maximoff."
The ghostly blue form of Pietro just looked at him.
Wanda elbowed him in the side, whispering, "You're supposed to shake his hand, Pietro."
Pietro muttered something that Vision couldn't hear, before stepping form and taking his hand. Pietro wasn't quite corporeal, and Vision found himself almost unconsciously changing his mass to match Pietro's, becoming equally partially-intangible, which made it easier to shake the speedster's hand.
Pietro and Wanda both looked at him with twin expressions of surprise, and Vision smiled slightly.
"I can alter my density," he explained, and Pietro said something and took the opportunity to shove him in the chest.
"Pietro!" Wanda chastised.
"It's alright," Vision said quickly, offering a calm smile once more. "It was a natural progression of curiosity, and lacked malicious intent."
Pietro was saying something to him, gesturing with his hands, and Vision frowned slightly.
"I can't hear you yet," he said, tilting his head as he began analyzing his own audio system. "Give me a moment to adjust to the particular soundwaves you're speaking on."
A few moments of adjusting later and Pietro's voice drifted into audibility.
'—so this guy can see me and maybe hear me, huh? Good thing to know I'm not just in your head, sister, and that I actually do have some form, this is not so bad, actually, but good luck trying to get any of the others to believe this, they will probably think you've corrupted Vision with your insanity or used your powers to alter his mind into believing that I exist, they will probably think I am just in your head and in the head of anyone else you cause to see your hallucinations—'
"I assure you," Vision broke in, "that you do have temperature and form, even if you are no longer alive and have very little mass."
Pietro very clearly existed, but he had no heartbeat, no breath, and there seemed to be holes in his form where he'd been struck by the bullets, which Vision found curious. Suddenly he had a feeling he knew what Wanda was asking about back inside at the table when she'd asked the air: Does it hurt?
Pietro shrugged. 'Cogito ergo sum, no?'
"René Descartes, yes," Vision said. "'I think, therefore I am.'" He couldn't get cold, but he shivered nonetheless, the statement resonating with his own existence as a synthezoid created of vibranium-bonded tissue and artificial intelligence.
'I wish you both luck trying to explain this to the other Avengers,' Pietro huffed, crossing his arms, looking somewhere between annoyed and amused.
Wanda grinned, and her eyes for a moment glowed scarlet. "Oh, it will be fun."
AN: I honestly didn't plan for Vision to figure things out so fast. But like I said, he's special. And events got away from me.
I almost want to continue this one... what do you think, would you be interested in another chapter expanding on this idea before I move on to other AUs?