'And if you need me, I'll be there.'

A/N: This was begging to be written. Please be gentle. This is my first time writing Avengers (and doesn't that turn you off already). I would love some feedback.

The only good thing about the collar, is that it is a constant reminder to not step out of line.

She finds if she focuses on that, than everything else fades away.

At first, it's hard because she keeps feeling everything. And this goes beyond that - beyond the anger, and the fear that wrestle each other for dominance.

In some ways, she feels like she is back in a room, waiting for them to test on her again. Sometimes, she wishes she was because Pietro would be beside her.

At least she was treated as though she still had rights, but she supposed she could not fault them for that.

She's not a citizen, and even if she was, she lost out to those a long time.

Before they had put her in the jacket, and wrapped the collar tightly around her neck, they had asked,

"Weren't you behind creation of Ultron?"

She simply looked back at them.

"Yes."

And so she had confirmed their theory that she wasn't just dangerous, that she was a monster.

She gave them a reason to justify their treatment of her. She gave herself a reason to believe she deserved it.

It was true - she was a monster. She wasn't exactly human anymore.

And she did have blood on her hands.

As the numbers hit second digits, it becomes much easier.

21... that's now 21 less people I have to feel guilty for. She coaxes herself through the pain, and her methods work.

The others didn't exactly see it that way.

"I'm keeping count. I have many different kind of arrows, and I know many creative ways for using them." Clint's voice would be calm, but underneath there was a storm brewing. Wanda didn't need to see his expression to know that he was bearing the guilt for what was happening to her.

"I made my decision."

"You wanted to stay. I forced you to come." Clint replied flatly. Wanda wants to tell him how arrogant that it is, and that she never does anything she doesn't want to do, but she does not have the energy to pursue this conversation.

Besides, maybe Clint needs an anchor, too.

"We'll get out of here, Wanda. I promise. You can come see the farm - come stay with us for awhile. I think it'll do you good to be with us. Take a break from this. Do some teenage stuff."

"I'm no good with kids. That was Pietro."

Clint scoffed.

"Maybe you can come off a bit cold, but I know you. I think you will like being on the land. Away from the city."

And Wanda found she did like that idea very much. And so, she humoured him.

"Alright. I will come visit your house and family."

And so Clint continues talking to her, planning the future. Other times, he is silent.

Sam was expressive each time Wanda is hurt, or another is treated cruelly.

"I know birds are protective of their nests, but man you gotta cool it. They'll just hurt her more." Scott would say something along the same lines every time he and Sam engaged. His favourite nickname was 'Mother hen' and he used it every chance he got. Just, because.

"Birds also eat ants."

"I thought it was worms?"

"Well, in your case..."

"Anyway, they can try. Last time I saw you, you were eating dirt."

"I was trying to find -"

"Guys." Clint would interrupt in some way or another, sounding old. Scott would mumble under his breath and Sam would shake his head as if annoyed, but no one mentioned that the reason they didn't stop was because they needed some familiarity.

Wanda never participates in these conversations. Instead, she waits for the next shock, so she can lose an ounce of guilt, all the while knowing deep down that no matter how many they gave her, it would never be an equal cost.

She's got bruises, and her neck is aching.

She cannot respond anymore; the last time she did her voice was hoarse and Clint lost it. He exploded against the glass door, his fists banging so hard that Wanda is surprised he didn't break them. They took him away, and when he returned, there was blood. She could only see red then, and she managed to burn through her jacket and make it a couple of steps before they were shocking her over and over again.

She hasn't moved since, except for toilet breaks.

Those she can't bear to think about, because they watch her with keen eyes, and make suggestive comments as if she should be grateful to ever have one of them touch her. She wonders strongly then about the human race, and about how hate and power over someone can mean the same thing, and bring an equal amount of satisfaction.

"Wanda. Hey, Wanda." She looks directly across to Scott, who is watching her with sharp eyes. Sam is sleeping, and Wanda thinks that Clint is trying to stay in a position that doesn't cause him pain.

She doesn't think about that, instead grasps onto the line that Scott is offering her.

"Do you want to hear about the time I used my power to bite someone that bullied my kid?" She nods, and he begins talking, using his hands to express certain points. She is not exactly smiling, but her heart is slowing down as she is lulled by his voice and his words. There is something about Scott Lang that makes one want to be around him in troubled times. He knows how to find means to keep going, and more importantly, to keep the spirit alive.

Not for her - because she's got less than most. What she had was shared with Pietro.

Now in it's place is a hole, which she keeps empty for him.

Sam wakens halfway through the story. Wanda catches him looking at Clint, and looking at her. She knows he is worried, and she adds another tally in her mind.

If she hadn't been shocked, Clint would not have reacted, and that is on her.

She knows she cannot control others, but it is harder to do that when it involves someone you care about.

There is a buzzing, and muffled shouting.

Wanda knows she should be interested, but after 74 shocks she's not sure she can feel anything except the phantom of pain. She waits for the next one, because it tells her that she is still alive. The reminders no longer come from Clint's soft words or his convictions of rescues, or Scott's twisted sense of humour and the way he can pluck jokes out of thin air.

The door crashes open, and still she can not move, because everything is foggy and she knows that this cannot be real. Perhaps she is asleep?

How many times had each of them dreamed of escape in exactly this manner?

She knows what will happen if she reacts, if she dares to hope. Her heart rate will pick up, her nerves will become sharp - and they will shock her. It is better to wait, then to provoke them.

This, she has cruelly learnt.

"Get Wanda first." That is Sam's voice, and it reaches into her haze. It pokes and prods, and Wanda is starting to see.

"Alright. You okay?"

"Get Wanda first."

"Okay." The voice agrees, and there is footsteps. A pause. An indrawn breath that shudders over her name.

"Oh, Wanda." Steve has crouched down to her level, fingers splayed against the glass as he stares.

Wanda stares back, feeling again because the way Steve says her name makes her feel as if she deserves to.

They lock eyes. She is sure hers are screaming look at me, and his are strained as if screaming back I am.

He looks at as if he can't stop staring.

"Oh Wanda I...I'm so sorry." She knows there is so much he wants to say, his expression is dominated by something that is similar to fury.

She licks her cracked lips and readies herself to respond. It's okay.

"Shh, don't. I'm going to get you out of here. Can you move back? Don't speak, just nod once for yes.

She nods and scoots back.

He smiles grimly at her before standing back up, cracking his knuckles on each hand.

"Okay let's get you out of there. On the count of three. One, two, three!"

The glass breaks, and so does she.

TBC?