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Pietro was flown back to New York City later that week. His wounds were (mostly) healed, which he used as an excuse to get out of the city. Seoul was a nice place, but it wasn't home. Then again, his true home had been vaporized. His true home didn't exist anymore.
It was late at night and he was somewhere over Western Europe, watching the lights of some distant city go by far below him. From this high in the air, everything seemed a lot smaller and insignificant than it actually was. It gave him flashbacks to another time and place when he'd been miles above the earth.
But this time he knew he would come back down.
I'm not going to leave you.
I can handle them. Come back when everyone is safe, and not before.
And he had. At least, he'd seen everyone safely to their transports. If he hadn't been temporarily incapacitated, he would have gone back for her. He would have taken her to safety and together they could have watched their city be vaporized. Now he didn't even know what had happened to Sokovia, although Clint had told him there was nothing left but a hole in the ground where a country teeming with people had once stood. Pietro wasn't sure he would be able to believe him until he saw that hole himself. Until that day came, Sokovia would always remain as it had once been-green, lush, and beautiful. At least in Pietro's mind.
"You should be trying to get some sleep." Natasha said from her post in the navigator's chair. She was flipping through Netflix, trying to find something to watch.
"I am-but it's not working." Pietro kept replaying that day over and over in his mind's eye-what could he have done instead? What could he have done better?
How could he have saved her?
"You can't possibly be blaming yourself for any of this." It wasn't a question; it was quite apparent that was exactly what he was doing.
"I told her that I wouldn't leave her, but she forced me to go. If I had refused, if I had stayed with her-"
"My best friend would be dead, his three children would be fatherless, and you'd always be wondering what would have happened if you'd gone." She glanced toward the back of the plane, where Clint was refilling his coffee cup as the Quinjet flew on autopilot.
"I still wonder. I still have regrets."
"Pietro, you had six or seven bullets buried in your sternum. You should have died after a stint like that. How could you have walked off seven bullets, gone back into the city, found your sister, and gotten onto the helicarrier safely? It's impossible. And maybe you'll never quite forgive yourself completely, but one day you'll be able to move on. One day you'll be able to move forward. Take it from someone who knows firsthand what it's like."
Pietro wasn't sure he would ever move on. Instead of letting his thoughts consume him, he pulled on his headphones and began to browse Netflix as well. "I could have done something else. I could have planned better."
Natasha changed the subject. "Are those Beats?"
"Yes."
"Hmm. No offense, but you don't strike me as the kind of guy who would buy a pair of Beats."
"I didn't. I stole them. We were supposed to be shopping for back to school shoes, but we passed an Apple store on the way there. There was a pair of them just lying around, completely unattended. I had to talk Wanda into it, but eventually she pretended to be interested in buying a phone so I could grab the headphones and get out."
"She didn't want a phone?"
"We wouldn't have been able to afford them. Besides, we didn't need them in the first place. We've always had this sort of telepathic connection. We've always been able to tell if one of us was hurt."
"Sounds like the two of you made a good team."
"The very best." He could feel moisture collecting in the corner of his eye and wiped it away furiously. He was an adult now. He had to keep his emotions intact.
Although there had been many occasions over the last couple of weeks that had made him question his resolve.
"Hey, it's all right. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry-"
"No, it's fine. I just…I think I'm going to watch some Breaking Bad at the moment." He selected an episode at random and let the noise of the show fill his mind and drown out everything-the soft hum the jet engines made as they flew to their destination, Natasha's voice as she tried again to apologize, and especially his own regrets.
New York City was rainy and grey. Clouds hung low over the city's skyscrapers, weeping ran like tears. Pietro thought there was a sort of poetic justice in it all as Clint piloted the jet to a smooth stop in Avengers Tower. "We're building a new facility upstate." Clint said as a flight crew led them to an illuminated landing ramp. "It'll be twice as big-and a lot more secluded."
Pietro nodded solemnly and slung his small sack of belongings over one shoulder. He didn't have much-his Beats, of course; a golden wedding ring that had belonged to his mother; a well-worn paperback copy of The Art of War, his father's favorite book; a few extra changes of clothes; and Wanda's sketchbook. She'd taken the sketchbook with her everywhere; it was only due to a stroke of chance that he had it in the first place. He'd taken it out to look at some of her drawings the night before the battle and had forgotten to put it back.
He thumbed through the pages, watching memories flash by. HYDRA had confiscated all their family pictures when they enlisted, so Wanda had taken to drawing replicas during the long hours they spent in HYDRA's cells, waiting for their powers to manifest. There were lots of pictures of them as a family-boating on a crystal clear lake, having a picnic in the park, cutting the twins' two birthday cakes on their eighth birthday…
Clint glanced at the book over his shoulder. "Did you draw those?"
"No. They're Wanda's. I never had the patience for art."
"They're beautiful."
"Yes. She's a very good artist. I wanted her to go to art school after the experiments were over."
"You know that HYDRA never planned to let you go, right? You were weapons after your powers manifested for the first time-not even human in their eyes." He steered him down a small side hallway that opened onto an even smaller courtyard. "Come on. There's something I want you to see."
Pietro followed him with his heart in his stomach as they crossed the small enclosed space to a large, smooth rock that lay in the shade of a sprawling cherry blossom tree. The tree was covered in pink and white blooms; some of them had fallen onto the rock itself and Pietro had to wipe them away to see what had been meticulously etched into the rock's tough surface:
Wanda Marya Maximoff
1997-2015
Killed in the Battle of Sokovia, protecting the core.
She died an Avenger.
Pietro knelt next to the stone, running his fingertips across its length. It helped him feel closer to his sister; he had something to hold on to.
Especially now that his world had been turned completely upside down.
Wanda barely slept that night. Her dreams kept her awake.
Usually, dreams had never been a problem for her. She created them. There was no need for her to fear them. But this was different-her dreams were filled with half remembered memories: hiding under a bed while a bomb lay in the next room, a boy with a shock of white-blond hair and the ability to run faster than sound, a shining blue gem, fighting robots in a flying city, falling for what seemed like an eternity, harsh lights, needles, and the constant and metallic scent of blood. Everything was disjointed and disconnected; nothing made sense.
Finally, she gave sleep up as a lost cause. She tried to sort through the tangle in her head to see if she could latch onto anything-even the smallest memory could make a difference. But the harder she probed the edges of her consciousness, the harder she was rebuked. It was as if there was something else in her mind-something malevolent that didn't want her to remember what she'd done for the last year. It was almost a relief when the sun peeked its head over the horizon and Wanda was able to get a cup of coffee. At first it tasted extremely bitter, but after being laced with enough creamer it began to go down more easily.
She was able to use one of the inn's computers, but she wasn't sure what to search. She didn't even know Pietro's last name.
After staring at a blank screen for a while, a wild idea finally came to her. She began to type, fingers flying over the keyboard as she put Wanda Maximoff into the search engine.
Instantly, a string of results popped up. She clicked on the first article at the top of the screen, taken from Sokovia's one and only newspaper:
139 Killed in Destruction of City
139 Sokovian citizens were killed in the attack on our country last week. The city was completely vaporized, killing anyone in it at the time and destroying any and all bodies. These 139 'victims' are missing and presumed dead…
The article went on to talk about each of the victims individually. Wanda skipped over lines of names and faces until she found her own.
Wanda Maximoff, age seventeen. Orphaned at the age of ten, she and her twin brother were shunted from foster home to foster home until they signed up for top secret government experiments when they were sixteen years old. She is survived by her twin brother, Pietro, who also went missing after the battle and is presumed dead.
She had a brother named Pietro. Wanda thought that should spark some kind of memories-but she couldn't remember anything about him.
Next, she searched his name to see if she could find his whereabouts. She came across a website about a doctor named Helen Cho, who was based in South Korea. The corresponding article read:
Local Doctor Devises New Treatment
Dying from bullet wounds may be a thing of the past. Doctor Helen Cho, a well-known pioneer in the field of biomedical engineering, has created a cradle that can regrow healthy tissue and get rid of tissue that is old or diseased. Most recently, the device was tested on Pietro Maximoff, a refugee from Sokovia who was shot seven times while trying to defend the city. Although there was little to no hope that he would live, under Dr. Cho's careful care he was able to make a full recovery and will be returning to his new home, New York City, within the next couple of weeks.
New York City was a place she could find. In fact, if she left now she would be able to catch a plane and could be in the city in only a day or so.
Wanda switched off the computer and found directions to the nearest airport
After purchasing a one way ticket to New York City, Wanda realized that she still had about five hours until her plane left. Instead of waiting at the airport, which was crowded with families and extremely loud, she decided to wander the city for a little while instead.
She passed open air parkways, little shops tucked away on the corners of small side streets, and family run pubs that reeked of ale and were filled with men singing the national anthem in raucous voices. Every so often, she would browse through one shop or anther filled with small trinkets or floating scarves. It was almost comforting to realize that no one here knew her any more than she knew herself.
Finally, she figured she should start heading back to the airport so she wouldn't miss her plane. The sun was beginning to set, bathing everything in a golden glow. Wanda got a sandwich at a small deli and sat on the curb to watch the sun set. It was a beautiful sight, even though her view was obstructed by numerous buildings and cars.
She found she was making good time as she approached Belfast's city center, so she let her mind wander to what would happen when she reached New York. She didn't know where to go or who to call, so she'd be spending most of her first day wandering aimlessly. But that was fine by her. At least she knew she'd be in the vicinity of her brother-a large vicinity, but still.
Just then, she heard something behind her. She spun around, but the rest of the street was deserted. Deciding that whatever she had heard was just a figment of her imagination, she kept walking. But she continued to feel a shadow-a constant presence that passed just outside her line of sight.
Her first thought was that she was being followed.
Her second was that they had found her.
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