speedy.

two.

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• smooth criminal ;; michael jackson

"Good morning, sunshine."

I groan at the sound of Steve's voice.

"You better have brought me breakfast or I'm not getting up," I grumble, pulling the covers closer to me.

"No time, sleeping beauty," he replied. "We gotta head to Africa. Put on that super suit."

I look up at the blonde in confusion. He chuckled at my reaction, patting my shoulder before leaving me to get ready.

Ever since I showed Steve the movie The Incredibles, he's been calling my suit "super suit." Sometimes he'll hide it on purpose so I can shout "where's my super suit?" I have to admit, it's pretty funny, but Tony thinks it's incredibly stupid.

I pull my suit on, struggling to zip it but succeeding in doing so. I go over to my nightstand, picking up Pietro's photo. I had a feeling we'd be seeing him today.

•

I snuck into the working building behind Nat and Clint, the distant shouting of Ultron coming from below us.

I separated from the female assassin, following Clint to a different spot of the level. We had a full view of the Avengers and Ultron. Behind the metal figure, a familiar face stood.

"Pietro," I said, projected the message into his head. He looked around confused, wondering where the voice came from. "I have something of yours. Come and get it."

Right before Tony and Ultron launched at each other, Pietro caught my gaze. He smirked, zooming off somewhere.

Next thing I know, Clint is pushed aside and I'm being grabbed. The hold was oddly familiar. It was Pietro.

I was set down gently in a secluded room. Pietro scanned me, searching for something.

I pulled out the picture. "You dropped this the last time we saw each other. I kept it safe for you."

I held it out to him. His eyes brightened at the sight of the photograph, his hands shakily taking hold of the crumpled picture.

"Thank you," he breathed out. "Why did you keep it?"

"I know what it's like to not have something of your past to hang onto," I said. "I didn't want you to go through that."

Pietro took a step forward, embracing me in a hug. He dug his head into the crook of my neck, and I could feel his grin against my skin. It made me happy that he was so thankful, but I knew I had to get back to my team.

"Pietro, as much as I like hanging out with you," I said honestly, pushing him away at arms-length, "we have to get back out there and pretend like this never happened."

Pietro nodded, but a smirk immediately took over his features. "You like hanging out with me, huh?"

I gave him an exasperated look, but smiled nonetheless. I did like being around Pietro, oddly. He reminds me of my brother's mischievousness, but Pietro's a whole lot better looking. No offense to Peter, though.

Taking my chances, and knowing there's a possibility that I wouldn't ever see him again, I took a step forward and leaned up to kiss his cheek. My face went up in a blaze, heating up magnificently due to the amount of my blushing. Pietro just stood there, shocked, as I scurried out of the room.

When I reached the fight, I found that Natasha was down. Looking around, I notice that nearly all of my team was down.

I lift my hand up to my earpiece, ready to contact any of the remaining team, when I heard movement behind me.

Glancing over my shoulder, I spot red ribbon swirling around my head.

"Wanda, no!"

There was a sharp pain in the side of my head, causing me to let out a pained hiss and fall into the railing in front of me.

I looked around me, people pushing around and shoving towards the middle of a crowd. My feet move without my permission, bringing me closer to the focus point of attention. With everything almost a blur around me, I was surprised that I could manage to stay focused on the object in the center of the audience.

In the middle of the crowd, there was a jumbled body. Limbs were bent in odd directions and blood was pooled around the limp figure. The woman's dark ginger hair was soaked in the crimson liquid.

The ambulance soon came to deport the pale body away, and in doing so, I caught a glimpse of her face.

It was me.

My skin was pale, but not my usual pale shade. I was now a sickly pale, almost as if I were drained of life. My legs were bent away from each other, one broken due to the odd position it was in. My arms lay wildly at my sides, both of them placed in uncomfortable positions. My lips were parted and a small stream of blood escaped the corner of them. My eyes were wide, staring off into my direction, but not particularly focusing on me. Although it felt as if my limp body was staring straight into my soul, telling me that all this was somehow my fault.

Two men stopped next to me. I looked over at both of them at either side of me. The man on my left was Steve, and the man on my right was Peter. The blurriness that surrounded me barely accented their bodies, just the white blinding light outlined their figures.

"It's about time she did it," Steve said, a cold expression on his face.

"I've been waiting for this day since she found me," Peter agreed, eyeing my dead body that was being put into an ambulance.

They hate me. They want me dead. They won't miss me.

I blink, realizing that I was no longer inside that vision, or...dream? I don't know what it was, but I know that it was horrible.

"Olivia? Hey, get up, kid."

I groan, squinting my eyes to look up at Clint. He sighed, lifting his hand up to his earpiece.

"Stark, we're down," he said. "Ultron's gone, the vibranium, and so are the Maximoffs."

"Pietro?" I mumbled, looking around in a daze. I don't know why out of all the names, his was the one I decided to call. He wasn't here, though.

"Peter isn't here," Clint chuckled, thinking that I had said my brother's name.

As I was being hoisted up from the ground, I searched out for Pietro's mind. It's a little trick I was taught by my distant family. The man that taught me is a telepath too, and a mighty good one as well.

Once I found where his mind was, I allowed myself to read his thoughts and memories. He felt bad for not stopping his sister in time, and leaving me to face the images in my head.

I detached myself from him, coming back to reality as Clint helped me board the jet. I looked around at all of the people in the jet. We were all quiet, in our own little world, trying to recover from the images.

Would they be real one day? Will I lay on the pavement, my own blood pooling around me, as everyone I care about stands around me without broken hearts? Will no one miss me after I've gone? That's my worst fear.