Unstoppable: A Sequel to "Never Saw It Coming: Pietro Maximoff"

Chapter 1: Deathbed

{A/N: Hello again my dears! This is the sequel to NEVER SAW IT COMING. Since this is A SEQUEL: I highly recommend you read the first story so you're caught up on the story line and plot points that will be mentioned and used in this story. If you'd like to know the timeline, this story takes place during CAPTAIN AMERICA: CIVIL WAR. As its always been, I don't own Marvel. But I do own Christine! I don't own the GIF either. I hope you enjoy!}

Darkness.

It's the only thing that surrounds me as I gasp for air. My lungs feel like sandpaper and the upsettingly low air supply is making my head spin.

I can't see anything but I can tell by the way my breath is hitting my face that whatever space I'm confined in: is limited.

The last thing I remember is the feeling of metal around my neck and the red lights flashing before it all started to fade to black. I couldn't even will myself to stay awake.

I could feel my mind begin to numb as the pain pierced my entire being and then it was over.

There wasn't a bright light or peaceful sensation. It was like falling asleep except you know that you might not wake up but your mind is so numb that you forget to care.

And I did forget to care. Then everything stopped.

When everything started again, it was how I imagine being born is like; the dark and stillness where the only sound is the beating of your heart.

Scratch that. I woke up with no leg room, a dry mouth, a pounding headache, and stale air. Everything is still black. I guess there is a chance I'm blind. I hope that's not the case. Would I even be able to heal blindness?

Thanks to gravity, I can tell that the box is lying flat, because to pressure of my body is on my backside and not my feet, front, or head. I try to move my hands and realize how stiff my body actually is. It takes more effort than it normally would to move.

I'm going to blame it on the grogginess that it took me so long to realize that I'm confined in a tight space like a locker or freezer box. Whoever captured me didn't want me to move.

I try to focus my efforts on controlling my breathing since moving seems to be almost impossible. I smack my lips together to get some sort of relief from my dry mouth and throat. I don't think I've ever been so thirsty.

It's hard to assess ones surroundings when there is no source of light, no room to move, and stale air to breathe. Did I mention how difficult it is to breathe?

I try to get my hands high enough to bang on the surface in front of my face. Maybe if they know I'm conscious they'll interrogate me or torture me, but anything would be better than this all-encompassing, still silence. I've been trapped, captured, tortured, and interrogated before. I got through it then I can get through it now. If only I knew what I was up against.

I wiggle around just enough to get my hands on the surface in front of me and I hit it as best I can, trying to will my voice to work but it hurts. Everything hurts.

Everything about me feels weak. From my thoughts to my strength, I'm weak. I don't know how to get out of here. It's dark and cramped and stale and I don't like it. This is so uncomfortable.

I don't try making noise for very long. What little energy I have shouldn't be wasted on trying to make sound. If I'm going to waste my time, I should waste it trying to get out. The box I'm in doesn't seem to have a running air supply and I can feel the cramped space stiffen with each breath as more oxygen is taken from the air.

I don't want to suffocate. That's not how I want to die. After all I've done, that would be the worst death ever. To die from breathing. Pathetic. But with the scoffing aside, fear starts to set in as I realize that I may not be able to get out of this one. My breathing starts to pick up and it's taking everything in me not to hyperventilate and use up all the air in a greedy panic.

As if the situation couldn't get worse, I feel the box start to fill up with water. All the effort I put into not hyperventilating was for nothing because if I wasn't panicking before the water, I'm certainly panicking now.

In a blind attempt – literally and metaphorically – to get out of this damn box, I start beating wildly on the surface above my face again. As my panic level rises I feel heat radiating on the surface above me before a loud blast and then an overwhelming pressure is on top of me. I still can't see and now it's even harder to breathe with the clay substance – is this dirt? –filling in the space where precious air used to be, mixing with water.

I try my best to sit up, which is almost impossible considering the amount of pressure on top of me. I soon realize that I'm going to drown in mud. Since choking on the lack of air wasn't enough, now I'm left to choke on mud. My panic rises as it sets in just how important breathing really is. I need air.

I have to get out of this mess. I try to push through the seemingly never-ending pile of dirt but I keep sinking back into mud. Fighting to push through the earth with my arms, trying desperately to get to the surface but I have no way to tell if I'm even making progress. My mind is starting to fade again as only one thought remains clear: air.

I thought the pressure on my body couldn't get any worse as the earth on top of me seemed to press even further, crushing my lungs and limbs before it was blasted out and away from me as the burning, overwhelmingly bright light replaced the darkness that was once killing me. I cover my eyes from the blinding brightness as I sputter and cough trying to get whatever's not air out of my lungs. The good news is, I'm not blind. Or if I was, my enhancement fixed it.

I sit there, adjusting to the change before looking around frantically to check my immediate surroundings for danger. But I'm in a hole, that's at least seven foot deep with all the dirt piled around me.

Climbing out of this muddy hole is going to be a challenge. I can feel my energy depleting with every heavy breath and blink of my eyes. I'm sitting in a muddy hole, covered in mud, dirt, and sweat. I don't know where I am and I'm scared. I'm really scared that someone will come after me and I don't think I have the energy or the will power to fight anymore.I have a strange feeling like this fiasco will be like those foam pits they have at a gymnastics facility. But instead of soft foam blocks I'll be crawling out of the dirt.

I was right about the foam pit thing. As I finally start to edge to the top of the pile, I pull myself onto the grass, lying still and focusing on breathing. As air makes its way into my chest and the warmth of the sun touches my skin, I feel surrounded by peace. Which is unnerving considering the lack of HYDRA agents pointing weapons at me or a certain metal man charging towards me.

Now the peace is unsettling.

It's too quiet, the only sounds that accompany me are my own heart beats and breathing which is a good thing I guess – the being alive part, that's a good thing. It's the unsettling quiet that's worrying me now. I sit up slowly and take in my surroundings.

Grass, trees, marble monuments, flowers, some gravel paths, headstones, more flowers.

Wait, headstones? I stand up quickly and turn around, assessing the area that is clearly a graveyard.

What the hell? AM I DEAD? I can't be dead, I'm breathing, and my heart's beating.

Was I dead? I know I've gotten pretty good at healing things but I'm not THAT good am I?

I start breathing harder and faster while my head starts spinning. I back away from the hole I just crawled out of and look at it like it's going to reach out and grab me. I swallow hard and run a hand through my dirty hair before looking at the headstones around me.

I know this graveyard. This is where Fury was buried.

I sprint around to the side of the hole where a headstone would have been. I have to dig through the dirt pile before I see it:

In Loving Memory

Christine E. Blake

1991-2015