He is small and death. I approach his body cautiously. Nearing it, though, I cannot contain myself. Time slows. I'm feel like I'm struggling through a mud bog. When I reach him, I fall to my knees. There are no tears. There is only numbness, and a gaping hole. My fingers find his cheeks. My thumb travels over his skin, brushing the furrows and imperfections. All familiar, now so strange in death. Alien.
His eyes. They are coated in film, blank. I can't bring myself to close them.
My fingers find the dusty strands of blond hair that fall across his forehead, and suddenly, I'm grabbing a fistful. My head falls against his unmoving chest. Where I used to find the steady beat of his heart, I find silence.
No tears. I cradle his head in my lap, letting the silence and the numbness consume me.
I don't feel the engines humming beneath my body. I don't feel the motion of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s craft as it carries me from the rubble of my broken city. I don't feel anything at all. The numbness is like a wave, crashing over my head, blurring my vision, enveloping me in darkness. The weight of it squeezes the breath from my lungs. I can't feel, I can't think, I can't move . . .
Clint finds me lying beside Pietro, my hand enclosed in his. He takes a deep breath places his hand on my back. He speaks my name. I barely hear him. I barely lift my head. He pries my fingers from Pietro's and scoops me into his arms. I mumble a protest, but there is nothing left inside this shell of a body to put up a fight.
I'm hospitalized. An IV is placed in my arm. I am stitched up and made new again. My skin is scrubbed clean of the grime and blood. My hair is brushed out.
Clint visits me first. I can feel him as he walk in, even through my lidded eyes. I read his energy, but I don't push any farther. I don't have the strength. He's hesitant as he crosses the room, takes a seat by my bed. I pretend to sleep, forcing my breaths to become even. He takes my hand in both of his. A few minutes drag by. I open my eyes the tiniest bit. I am shocked to find Clint's face painted in tears.
All at once, it feels as if something is lodged deep inside my throat. I can't breath, I can't swallow. Some guttural, inhuman noise escapes my throat. Clint's eyes fixate on my face.
"Wanda?" He says, hoarsely. I meet his gaze, unable to keep the tears from spilling from my lashes. I have begun tremble uncontrollably. My grip tightens around his wrist, trying to keep myself grounded. His other hand wraps around my shoulder.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry . . ." His voice manages to escape through his tears. I want to tell him to go away. At the same time, I want, more than anything, for him to stay.
"I never meant for this to happen." He continues to speak to me.
With each passing moment, the tears increase in intensity. My body is on fire. My mind spinning with rage. Something is missing. The empty space inside me weighs a thousand tons. It tears into me like a thousand shards of glass.
My muscles coil, my body is racked with gasping, uncontrollable sobs.
Pietro was my unbounded sky. Now he's a rug ripped out from under me. A cornerstone blown to bits. A cascade of waves tossing me into the void. Relentless. Cruel.
Without a lifeline, I am nothing.
I cross some line of hysteria. I hear Clint's voice, as if through a long tunnel, calling for help. Footsteps, the prick of a needle, and the sensation of falling.