Chapter Text
Wanda sat staring in to space as the jet flew them back to the safety of the Tower. She had just lost the one person she cared for, the one person who was consistent in her life…in a matter of minutes. She felt the concerned glances of the Avengers around her, their eyes baring in to her soul, but she didn’t care. They didn’t really matter.
Her brothers dead body lay in front of her. She observed that the bullet wounds had stopped bleeding, they’d turned coppery.
Red was Wanda’s favourite colour. It still was. She just found it ironic that her brother was dead before her eyes, covered in a substance she liked the colour of. It was sickening
She felt tears prick at her eyes, threatening to spill over her heavily lined eyelids. It shouldn’t have been like this. She should be sitting with Pietro, maybe even with their parents - that would be nice. Instead, she was strapped in a seat…on some Jet, headed to the Avengers Compound. With THE Avengers themselves.
On top of that, her hometown had been blown to smithereens. That added to the long list of trauma that Wanda had experienced, in just her 14 years of life.
Clint had watched Pietro die. The boy had died protecting Clint himself and the little kid he’d saved - he’d never be able to repay that debt. Clint imagined what it would’ve been like if it was Cooper who had been mercilessly shot, he imagined Lila’s reaction, Laura’s too. He shifted his glance to Wanda, noticing how her skin was ashy grey, her eyes like whirlpools of all the negative emotions and feelings you could have.
Natasha was also staring at the girl, who was sitting across from her. Her green eyes searched the face of the traumatised teen, looking for any sign of…well anything. If it wasn't for her expert training, Natasha wouldn’t have seen that the girl was suffering as she had a stoic expression, but Natasha prided herself on her ability to get a good read on people. Wanda was no exception.
The Black Widow had been raised to be a mindless killer, a merciless assassin. She’d been taught to have no compassion or empathy. She’d endured things that most people would never dare to think about. Yet for some unfamiliar reason, Natasha yearned to comfort the young girl sitting across from her. She saw so much of herself in Wanda, it was unnerving - she didn’t want the kid to turn out like herself. She internally vowed to herself, to keep a distance, but also keep an eye on the young girl. Natasha remembered the memories Wanda had conjured up when she was under the influence of HYDRA - of course she forgave the girl, but the memory still lingered in the dark at the back of her mind.
By the time the jet landed, Wanda was fast asleep in her chair, the overuse of her powers and emotional draining of the day catching up with her.
Clint went over, gently shaking the girl awake, noticing how she violently jumped awake, her eyes already misty.
“We’re here kiddo, let’s get you inside.” Clint said softly.
Wanda looked at him for a moment, as if she was trying to work out what he was saying, before nodding and switching her gaze to the corpse of Pietro. Medical personnel were gathering round him, loading his lifeless body on to a stretcher. Wanda ran forward, skidding on her knees as she landed next to her brother. She gently ran her fingers through his silvery hair, letting her tears fall on his ashy face.
“Волим те... Велики брате. Ћао ми је љто си то био ти.” (I love you, brother. I’m sorry it was you). Wanda said, her voice raspy and dry.
They tried to start taking the stretcher away, but Wanda clasped on to it. “Pietro…PIETRO!” she screamed her voice red raw. Clint stepped in to hold the girl back, so they could take the boy’s body away. She thrashed under his weight, screaming for Pietro.
Natasha and the rest of the team headed in to the tower, the depressive silence remaining amongst them. No one knew what to say. There wasn’t anything to say. They'd lost one of their own.
Wanda cried as her brother was taken from her. She gripped the side of Clint’s arm, who gently rubbed her back, comforting her as if he were soothing Lila or Cooper.
“Hey, kid.” Clint said softly, at a loss of what to say. He knew that nothing he said would offer much relief from the state Wanda was in now, but he had to try. “Wanda, I think we should get you inside now. It’s been a long day, you drained yourself using your powers…kid, you need to rest.”
Wanda didn’t respond, she just stared in to space. Clint was reminded of when Natasha had been under the influence of Wanda’s magic. The fierce red head had been left in a very similar state to Wanda.
“Kid, I’m going to help you up now, alright?” Clint said. He gently lifted the girl upwards, noticing how unsteady on her feet she was. Wanda tried to step forward by herself, but her knees buckled and Clint caught her before she hit the floor. “Ok, I got you, don’t worry.”
Clint half carried Wanda in to the tower, ignoring the worried glances of the other Avengers around them. They’d already organised for Wanda’s room to be on Natasha’s level, as she would be taking on the role of Wanda’s mentor (Natasha had yet to be informed of that, Tony had made the decision without her knowledge, and Clint was internally laughing at how the conversation would go down).
They arrived at Wanda’s new room, it was a slightly smaller version of the older Avengers quarters, but still large enough. Clint set the girl down on the bed, who immediately crawled right up in to the corner and curled up in the foetal position. “Try to get some rest kid, I’ll be back to get you for dinner, where we can sort everything out…alright?” Clint said, barely getting a response from the girl.
He left her room, pulling her door to incase she needed anything. Poor kid. She’d lost everything all over again, it just wasn't fair. He passed Natasha’s room, where the red head was scrunch drying her hair. She frowned as she saw him pass her door.
“What you doing up here?” Natasha said, walking over to the doorframe, dressed in a black tank top and bedshorts.
“Wanda’s settling in next door. Kid’s so traumatised I basically had to carry her up here.” Clint said, causing Natasha to frown even more.
“What do you mean…settling in?”
“Only available room for her was the one next door. Pep and Tony have assigned you as her mentor too.” Clint said, anticipating a rash reaction from Natasha Clint quickly replied. “Before you act out, I know you never wanted to do this whole mentoring thing, but I think it’d be good for both of you.”
Natasha considering her response, she had already intended on keeping a watchful eye on the girl, but keeping her distance just so Wanda didn’t pick up any of her own bad traits from Natasha…she would hate to see Wanda end up like her. “Clint. Seriously I get it. Of course I’m going to look out for her. Has she said anything…since?”
Clint shook his head. “Nothing, she’s barely responsive. I’m worried, Nat.”
“I can check on her, bring her down for dinner?” Natasha asked.
“I’ll come back up to get her, I don’t want to startle her with an unfamiliar face…no offence. I’ve got some work to do, but see you at dinner.” Clint said before walking off.
Natasha lingered at her doorway, unsure of what to do. Sighing, she opted to stay in her own room and sat down on her chair, opening her book ‘War and Peace’ - Italian edition. She could hear gentle sobbing from the bedroom next to her, and she felt an unusual wave of sadness and care for the girl wash over her. She would take on the role of Wanda’s mentor, but try her best not to rub off on the girl.
An unfamiliar feeling came over Natasha. She couldn’t find a word to describe it, however, she guessed that it was a feeling the Red Room had taught her to block out. Compassion? That seemed to sum it up. She was taught that compassion meant weakness in a fight. That compassion stopped you from making the final kill. Even though she had long moved on from her days in the Red Room, she still hated to be seen as weak.
Shaking herself from her thoughts, she resumed reading her book, the cries next door to her dying down, until all that can be heard is soft whimpering and a small and fragile voice whispering.
“Pietro.”