AN: Come To This by Natalie Taylor above or on the side. I highly recommend to listen to this song and to have tissues nearby just in case.
A white light shines straight ahead.
I feel an urge to go to it. To be submerged in it—to be engulfed in its purity.
I find myself staring at this peaceful beauty for a while now. I want to follow where it leads, but at the same time, I notice a different kind of light shining behind me. A familiar and safe feeling comes from that light, from that path, and it is calling out for me. When I turn around, the color is unmissable.
Because it's blue.
For some reason, I feel as if I need to go through that light. As if I am standing somewhere in-between. Yet, before I had the chance to turn back to the clear white path, I was pushed into the infinite blue light. Before I had a chance to do anything to stop it, my sight, my breathing, all of me had been affected by what ever this majestic light is doing to me.
Suddenly, the blue light becomes transparent. Images start to appear in front of me seem too real. Thin, blue waves push through me, pushing me towards those images. I start to recognize what I find myself staring at. I see Pietro and Clint—the way I had left them just a few moments ago. Only, they couldn't see me, they were looking down at a body that's next to them. But that body's. . .mine. . .
A few seconds later, I can clearly see everything that is happening. As if all of the blue has faded now that I'm surrounded by everything and everyone back on the battlefield. So, I try to reach out to Pietro as he holds my body against his chest, hiding his face in the crook of my neck. I try to touch his shoulder to let him know that I'm here, standing right behind him—but all that my hands can do is go right through him.
I can't feel him.
I want to touch him. So badly. I want to hold him, to say something to him. I wish I could let him know that I'm still here. But nothing could help him now as all of his attention was on me—the corpse.
Then. . .he begins to cry.
Pietro lets the tears fall in my hair as he cradles my head with one hand and my waist in the other. He starts letting out a few sobs now and then, and it couldn't be mistaken as anything else other than pain. There is so much pain. So much sadness.
So. . .
Much. . .
Hurt!
Soon enough, I feel tears leaking from my eyes and streaming down my cheeks before I have the chance to wipe them away. I can't believe that I am crying myself.
At least I have that ability in the afterlife. If that is what this is.
In this time, Steve comes jogging over and shares a mixed look of confusion and worry as he is witnessing what is happening. He's trying to look at whatever is making Pietro cry, whomever must be laying in his arms.
And I have never seen Steve look so confused.
But then I realize, he cannot see me. Clint is blocking Steve's view of my body from him. Then, the moment Clint stands, stepping away from Pietro and my body, Steve can see me perfectly.
I watch the moment his face turns into a much different expression from before he saw who the dead body is for himself. Steve seems as if he's in denial—as if he cannot comprehend who it is at first. I almost start to think he won't show any emotion because of his pride, but then I catch a few tears fall down his cheeks.
Then, he bends over and places his hands on his knees. He stares at the ground and more tears start streaming down. Clint makes his way over to Steve and places his hand on his shoulder. Then, they're both looking down at me. I can see the way they both mourn me. But that's why I wonder how they must feel.
I wonder if Steve remembers the time we talked at my birthday party, and if he's thinking about when he left me at the core. I wonder if he remembers the look we shared between each other, the conversation we had without words. I also wonder if Clint had imagined his daughter in my position. With my young face, it wouldn't be hard to paint the picture. I may have died too young. . .but I died a hero. Maybe they see that, or maybe they think that I am just a fallen solider from this war that unfortunately, is still not over.
I drift from this scene as I had the urge to scream—to scream out loud for whomever or whatever decided I was to die. I am angry that this is how I die. This is my end. This is all too damn tragic. . .and too damn painful.
If this is how Steve and Clint had did their best not to cry, I knew this would affect the rest of the team. I could picture Evelyn's face as she learns about the news. That was what sucked the most. . .the news.
Right before I could open my mouth to release my pain in a scream, somehow, a word enters my mind—a name. Weakly, it escapes my lips as a whisper, "Wanda."
I turn around, walking in the direction of the core to activate my teleportation. If I could cry in this state than I'm pretty sure I could teleport as well. And fortunately it did.
It only took a few seconds until I was at the core, beside her.
Wanda—the only person I would consider as a sister—is still fighting off a machine that had gotten close to the core. As she finishes it off, she slowly turns around, as if something had set her off. As if something pulled her into the direction that I had taken off to save Clint and the boy. It felt like I had left hours ago even though it was less then that time.
This is my fault. This is all my fault.
I left her alone because I felt that I had an obligation. I died because of it. She even assured me that I'd be fine, but I had a feeling that I shouldn't leave her. Just like my other feelings in the battle I didn't ignore. God, I hope she doesn't blame herself. Now, she just stands there—by herself—soon to be notified of my death.
Now, as she looks out into the distance, I wonder if she miraculously heard the cries from her brother. Her face turns soft, weakened from the determination she had while fighting Ultron's clones. It is almost like she knew what had happened. Maybe she received what Pietro was feeling through their "bond". Something was calling her, something was itching at her. There is an unsettlement in the air around her. That feeling reflects in her eyes.
She knows.
Growing up with them, I knew I could never get in between the relationship Pietro and Wanda shared. I always thought the twins's bond had some sort of connection, linking them together. If that were true, then it would explain how Wanda had taken the hint in just a feeling.
Wanda was hit with a wave of shock like a slap to the face. Her face deepens as she continues to digest what happened only moments ago. Her dark green, almost brown eyes became glass, filled with a deep pit of sadness as the tears form. The look she carried in them was overwhelmed with emotions. Anger, frustration, grief. . .loss. . .it's all mixed into one pile inside of her. Wave after wave. Falling on her knees—too weak to stand—she balls her hands in fists, gripping this moment as it begins to struck her harder. Wanda squeezes her eyes shut as they already drip with tears and she throws her head back, releasing a scream, a cry, letting out her pain.
It seems as if something struck Wanda in her heart, and her screams pour out all of the emotion she could not hold back. So fragile and broken she seems. I always knew since the start of Ultron's doing that she would be the same girl I knew when we were kids. Even if she wanted to use her powers against us, to fight the Avengers in revenge, she gotten to the right path and became more than the girl that I once knew.
Not only her pain echoes around the core, but she releases her fists, causing a massive blast of her scarlet magic to hit every single clone that was in a close radius around her and the core. I could see all of Ultron's clones that were circling her as she had gotten distracted. Somehow, her reaction to my death led her powers to hit every one. I could see she hadn't forgot about the main objective: to end this war. That is what I would want her to remember: to be strong. I watched in surprise of how powerful she is. Then, Wanda falls forward, turning her sobs to the floor.
This.
Is.
Torture.
Suddenly, I happen to be taken back alongside my body. My dead body. As Pietro holds my fragile form that has gone pale, he holds me in his strong, yet gentle arms. The arms that have always been there to protect me from any harm we faced when we were kids. It doesn't matter if my blood was literally on his hands, it doesn't matter if the battle around us still continues. Not even if the smoke, dust, and sweat that cause for me to look the opposite of Snow White in her glass coffin—I'm the only one he focuses on.
Pietro, whom's face in hidden in my hair, puts his lips against my ear and I hear him whisper, "Come back. . .come back, Andreya." His voice is weak, yet soft, even with his thick accent. "My love, come back to me."
I want to, Pietro. I would. . .but I can't. . .
Seeing Pietro—my Pietro—wishing me to come back made me collapse on the dark and cold ground. Even in this messed up purgatory, I cry and reciprocate the emotions he feels. I put my legs against my chest, pressing my hands against my temples, then I hide my face with my knees.
I wish he wouldn't be in pain. This is all because he fell in love with me. This is what love does to someone. It only leads to hurt. It only leads to pain. Only if I've known he had strongly felt this way, the outcome might have been different. But on the other hand, I hope Pietro did not think this way. I don't want him to feel as if he is guilty for my death in any way.
From where Clint is standing beside Steve, he walks over to Pietro. He raises his hand to touch Pietro, but stops midway, leave it hovering over Pietro's shoulder, afraid to disturb him. "We need to get her on one of the boats." Clint tells him, trying not to poke the bear in anyway. I guess he is doing his best not to disrupt this moment between me and Pietro—to separate us. "So we can get her and all of us off before the core activates."
Slowly, Pietro stands up, not letting go of my body. He controls how hard he holds me, worried he could break my body anymore than it already is. Clint takes a step closer, deciding to help as it looks like Pietro is about to drop me, even though we all know he would never. So, before Pietro nestles me close to his chest, he tosses me a few inches in the air, allowing himself to get a better grip.
Clint walks alongside the boy, the small boy who unfortunately witnessed all of this. Clint picks up the boy back into his arms and heads for the ships. Pietro takes off immediately towards the aircrafts and finds a spot to place my body. I follow them to the carriers where Pietro sits on the floor, and lays me down beside him, my head in his lap. Right before we take off, Clint arrives and returns the little boy to his mother. She thanks him with their reunion.
Clint shares a look with Steve, whom stands outside the carrier, refusing to get in. They turn their attention back to Pietro and me, wondering what they should do.
Clint leans toward Steve and begins to whisper something Pietro couldn't hear, except from where I was standing, I could hear every word. "We'll take her back to the base, see what they can do there."
Steve looks down at Pietro, then back to Clint. He whispers back, "Stay with them. . ." Steve frames his eyes back to my corpse, though, as he continues, "and make sure they take care of her." Clint nods his head to say he understands before Steve turns back to the battle with his head down.
When Clint turns back, he approaches Pietro which causes him to lift his head up. Pietro looks up at Clint, wondering what he is going to do as he bends down beside my body. The archer says nothing at this time, he avoids eye contact actually, looking down at me and his eyes trail down to my hands. My hands. They're both sprawled on the floor of the aircraft. Clint takes them in his and lays them down carefully on my stomach, one over the other. Trying to make a respectful, and nice gesture, he looks up at Pietro, staring at him directly in his eyes for a moment, before he stands up only to sit down in a empty seat in front of him.
I could see that Pietro's tears had almost stopped, leaving his eyes puffy and red. But when he returns to my pale face, he is reminded of the sadness inside him that I could not stop. Pietro's face harden, shaping his sadness into a new look that I became almost afraid to look at. This was different from the other looks he had given me back when I was his enemy. Where he would stare at me with a fire in his eyes that had been ignited by hatred. But unfortunately, sadness has a way to show this side of him, and much more fire burns than before.
I begin to ask myself questions that I knew would never be answered. Why was I watching this? How am I watching this? This is like some state of my mind that I'm trapped in. I might be watching all of this through someone's eyes. It felt if I was connected to something, letting me see everything happen as if it was in front of me. Even if it felt real, I knew it couldn't be real. I died. . .but I did not think death would be like this.
If I were in hell, this would be it.
Witnessing the pain of those I care about—and not being able to do anything to stop it, that is what hurts me most. I may not have thought about my beliefs in the afterlife or heaven, but I thought I could trust the the idea of going into a better place, just like everyone says. But this. . .this was hell.