Chapter 7

Pepper was pretty silent a lot of the time, and Pietro was perfectly fine with that. It gave him more time to chatter, and share little bits and pieces of his life with this woman who was essentially a stranger. She would speak up occasionally, actually going so far as to scold him once or twice. She was a kind soul, though. A bit rough at times, although in the same sense that his mother had been growing up; a sort of rough that just came with having to deal with something like a troublesome ten year old or an equally rambunctious 40 year old. A roughness that was just as gentle, if not more so, when it needed to be.

Admittedly, he wondered why Pepper was there with him. Was it because of Wanda, like he imagined had caused his own time in this void? Perhaps this woman knew his sister. Maybe she could get her a message, when she escaped this, because he really hoped she would. He had resigned himself to his fate here. He was dead, after all. Pepper, this kind soul, still heard people talking to her on occasion; she was simply comatose. There was hope for her.

He had been in the ground for god only knew how long by the time Pepper showed up. Although he had been able to see Wanda briefly, he did not count on that again. It had been dangerous. And after, Pepper had appeared in the darkness with him. If Wanda did that again, who was to say someone else would not show up? He would not let that be on neither of their consciences if he could help it.

"When you get back to the real world," Pietro said in a soft voice, hands clenching and unclenching in his lap. (He could not see them. Of course not. But he felt them. Felt the calluses on his hands and light hair on his knuckles. It was strange. He thought he was staring right at them, but who knew?) He swallowed, trying to push his anxiety down. "When you wake up or whatever, I need you to find my sister. Tell her not to waste this chance on me. That I am fine, da?"

His request went unanswered for a long moment, and he worried briefly that he had already missed his chance. But he felt her near, like he had since she appeared. So it was not the case. He heard a soft pull of breath, a sigh, and then a soft, "And if neither of us get out of… this?"

"I am an optimist. Or, I am trying to be. It is difficult at times. I feel as if I have been alone in this shithole for years, and would hate to be alone again, but you have people to return to, no? You will get back, and it will be alright, and you can pass my message onto Wanda." It had to happen. After all, he told himself, she is not dead. She is still very much alive, in a hospital, getting help. She could wake up. She would wake up, if Pietro had any say in it. No person deserved to be stuck in this suffocating darkness, especially not one as nice as this woman. Pietro was not so sure about himself in that sense; he had not gone to Hydra with good intentions. He had not left them with good intentions, either. He had joined up with Ultron initially, only leaving when Wanda figured out the machine's actual plans for the world. Even then, he had been reluctant to join the Avengers. Fighting Ultron had been part of the plan. Fighting Ultron with Stark? Pietro almost wanted to abandon the man to his death, but doing so could have also meant the death of the entire world. So, he put his hatred for the man aside and helped.

Maybe that had redeemed him somewhat. That, and saving the Hawk.

He heard another sigh, this one sadder than the last. "Okay. I promise."

. . .

The quinjet was dead silent as they flew back, getting caught in a storm for a bit. Tony stayed seated in the back with Bruce, going through the notes he had about Pepper's condition with the other scientist for the thousandth time as if that would somehow show something magical and new. Clint peeked back on them occasionally, letting out a soft huff of air before turning his full attention back to flying the quinjet. There was not supposed to be any storms on the way back. Tony had checked, just so they could prepare for the proper flight conditions. So much for meteorologists ever getting anything right. He sighed, perhaps a bit dramatically, turning to Cap.

He paused before opening his mouth, biting back the joke he had been ready to say. The super soldier's face looked grim, sitting as if he were on high alert. He cocked one brow up in question. "Y'all good, Cap? Look… well, spooked, almost." He chuckled a bit, trying to lighten the almost smothering gloom surrounding them; the storm definitely did not help. The guy was already antsy when they flew over large bodies of water. Clint doubted that this helped any.

"This is all just… very familiar," came the whispered reply, Steve looking straight ahead. Not that he could see very far beyond the grey of the storm clouds, their mass seemingly all-encompassing. No matter how high or how low he flew, they seemed to be there. Clint could not escape them.

A crack of thunder so loud is shook the quinjet had them all jumping, heads snapping around in search of… what, really? Clint huffed, settling back in his seat and leaving the panicking to the rest of them. He knew what they were looking for, or whom rather. They were hoping Thor would just appear out of thin air, grinning and laughing and just being him. It was a dumb thing to hope for. Thor had Asgard to take care of, and while Clint loved having the guy around, he understood having other responsibilities. Especially ones you had spent so much time running from.

And was that not sad to dwell on, albeit briefly? The fact that, ultimately, he had been avoiding his family by joining the Avengers full-time following the collapse of SHIELD. It made him feel young, and important. It gave him purpose again, especially after the Loki incident. That had rattled something in his brain, messed him up. He had not been able to share a bed with Laura for months, and still struggled to most nights. She would touch him in their sleep, and suddenly he would awaken with a knife at her throat and his heart in his stomach. Loki had broken him, broken his mind, no matter what the shrinks said. He was not fine, although he did a fantastic job of pretending to be most of the time. Lila and Cooper did not know about the struggle their parents were having staying together, especially with Nate now. He was really the only reason they had been trying to fix them.

Well, trying whenever Clint did not have an excuse to be away, that is.

The archer shook himself from his depressing thoughts, expression sour as he just flew the quinjet. There was no time to dwell on his failing marriage, or how shitty a father he was. There was no time for that. They had to try and save Pepper before Tony went off the deep end, as he had been inching towards for days now. And, as they all had come to know in recent months, a Tony Stark sent of the deep end was not one they wanted to deal with again. No one wanted a repeat of the Ultron incident.

. . .

Sam was not sure which he hated more: silent Bucky or talkative Bucky. He was currently dealing with the silent one, and while that was mildly refreshing compared to the constant, "I need to see Steve," it was still troublesome. The man just sat in a chair, back slouched and arms resting perfectly on the arm rests. His eyes stayed focused straightforward, expression lost. At least chatty Kathy Bucky had not looked so dead. There had been life to him; annoying life, but life nonetheless.

Sam had deemed this Bucky as unthreatening, leaving him alone in the common room for a brief moment. He slipped out to the hallway, pulling out his cellphone and just staring at it for a long moment. Steve had sent a text out earlier, saying that they were about an hour out from the compound, with Dr. Banner. It seemed that Tony's mission to nowhere had not been useless after all. He was thankful that at least something was starting to work out for them, although his last update from Rhodey had not been good. He prayed, for both Tony and the World's sake, that they could save Pepper.

"He's going to tear them apart." The soft growl of a voice behind him had Sam nearly jumping through the ceiling, heart practically leaping from his chest. His head snapped to the side as Sam clutched the phone to his chest, glaring daggers into Bucky. The man just stood there, arms hanging limply at his side, hair falling in his face. He looked possessed almost, and Sam did his best not to worry about his life suddenly going from action movie to horror movie. "I need to tell Steve. He is going to tear them apart."

Well, that certainly did not sound ominous or anything, Sam thought. Occasionally, he regretted befriending Steve that day in DC. It got him into crazy shit like this. He slid one foot back, bracing to inch away from the man if he were to suddenly snap. Sam would not put it passed him. "Who is going to tear them apart? Who is them?"

"I don't know who he is." Bucky's reply was soft, pitiful. He sounded terrified, which was a terrifying thing on its own. "Fury would not give me answers. But, Steve must know him. He said he knew Steve. But, I never saw anything about him at the museum. And the stuff I found online was minimal. Pictures. Rumors. Nothing concrete." Bucky's left hand started to clench and unclench slowly, as if it were waking up. He shook his head to knock some hair back, and Sam noted his blue eyes did not look quite so depressing and empty. "But, he is dangerous. I couldn't even touch him. Steve needs to know. He's coming. He said he is going to tear them apart. Tear everyone apart." From there, Bucky stumbled into rambling in some other language, maybe Russian but Sam would not know. His left hand continued to clench and unclench, but his expression went vacant again as he just rambled on and on and on.

"… Okay. So, broken Bucky. What's new?" Sam huffed, shoving his phone back in his pocket and ignoring the feel of dread settling deep in his stomach as he went to guide Bucky back to the chair. "Steve'll be here soon enough, man. You can go all nutso again for him, yeah? Cause there is no way in hell I'll get across the right levels of crazy. So, just don't go all brain smoothie before he gets back, okay? Cool." Sam pat Bucky's shoulder weakly, slipping away once more and pulling out his phone to shoot Steve a quick text.

Man, you won't believe how my last couple days have gone. Gotcha a present at the compound. Hurry back. Tell Stark and Banner I'm rootin' for them. –S

. . .

Natasha loved to visit the farm. She loved the tiny excited cheers and grins and all of the hugs and the feeling of just right that being there brought. She could not get enough of baby slobbery kisses, or drawings from Lila, or Cooper showing her how good he was getting with a bow. She did her best to ignore how tired Laura looked, and to just bask in her time with her niece and nephews. They were not her biologically, she would never be so lucky as to know that feeling, but that did not matter to them. It never had. And she planned to never let that bother her either. They were hers. They always had been, and always would be.

She had grown to especially love time with Nathaniel. He was such a sweet baby, and very bright for his age. He had bright blue eyes and dark blond hair, just like his father. Natasha hoped for his parents' sake that he did not grow up to be quite as mischievous as his father had apparently been as a child. She had not known him then, but had heard stories. She wished she had known him, then. It would have been nice to have a childhood.

A soft coo pulled her from her thoughts, Nate grinning up at her, all gums and innocence. He had one fist near his mouth, the sheen of spit telling her exactly where it had been a moment prior. She gave a fond roll of her eyes, kissing his little nose and taking both tiny fists in hand. She gently lifted him to stand on her thighs, laughing when he giggled happily. He made as if to clap his hands, pausing briefly when he realized he could not because they were being held. His little face scrunched up for a brief moment. Natasha was immediately shushing him, moving to hold him up by his sides instead. "Easy, malysh." She said, voice gentle but urgent as she tacked on the endearment. "It is okay. See? You have your hands back. I'm sorry."

He calmed pretty quickly, sniffling a bit. His already went fist was immediately shoved in his mouth, and Natasha could not help but smile. It was so sweet. So innocent. She should not be touching something so pure, yet he would fuss if she put him down. How had this come to be her life? She did not deserve those adoring little blue eyes and sweet dimples. But she would gladly take them. She would take every bit of love Nathaniel and his siblings would give her. Maybe, just maybe, it would clear her ledger. Maybe-

A sharp pain in her back and abdomen has her gasping, grip on Nathaniel slipping briefly. He falls beside her onto the bed, immediately screaming out and crying. Natasha suddenly finds it hard to breathe or focus, hand groping for something. Her eyes drift down, and she sees gold sticking through her – the end of a spear.

"My, my, my." A voice purred in her ear. "What do we have here?"