Disappeared- {Pietro Maximoff}

Chapter 33

"Shut up!" Pietro shouted as he ran to the next room, "Stop fighting!"

The two boys who had been brawling broke apart, and one of them spat at the ground. Pietro glared at them,

"What do you think you're doing? No fighting allowed."

"You never said that," the one who had spat said. He was slightly shorter than the other, Chicago accent as thick as his auburn hair.

"I said we had three rules. No leaving, no thievery and no blood."

"Do you see any blood, fucker?"

Pietro cuffed him round the back of his head, "My name is Pietro. And don't be a smart ass..."

"Rich."

"Fucking Dick," the other boy shouted and tried to charge at him. Pietro shoved him back and received a blast of ice in his face.

"Do that again, I dare you." He snarled, "What's your name?"

"Bobby. Bobby Rojas," he glared at Rich, then Pietro, "I'm not like these freaks. I've got a family, I want to leave here."

"And I want some help dealing with the fifty-nine fucking children that have been thrown on me. Swear, cry, break a vase but do not start fights because I cannot deal with that on top of everything else. You two are what, fifteen? Sixteen? You're some of the oldest, set an example and help because it's not like you have anywhere else to go, not without me taking you there. And I'm not going to."

After a long moment, Bobby raised a cool brow and sat on the sofa. From the palm of his brown hand, a silver and white trail crawled its way to Rich, looking distractedly out of the window. Pietro watched, amused, as Bobby suddenly flicked his wrist and Rich's entire lower half froze.

"Oh, you have got a death-wish you mother—"

"It's too hot," Bobby interrupted, loudly, and Rich decided to mutter under his breath instead as he focused trying to move his frozen feet, "Everyone just needs to chill."

"Then fix it, ice-man. Rich, you help him."

"I talk to dead people, the fuck am I supposed to do?"

"Watch your language."

"Just you fu—"

Another crash was heard, followed by a scream and Pietro ran off again. He'd just left the kitchen in a state of relative calm with the knives out of the way, yet when he entered, the first thing he saw was blood.

Sophia, a living ghost, was hyperventilating in the corner as two other children tried to stem the blood flowing from a five-year-old's nose.

"What did you do to him?" Pietro sighed.

"We were playing catch and Sophia wanted to join in." One of the children sobbed. Pietro gently pulled her off the injured boy and went to fetch a cloth. He carefully and gently dabbed the blood away, going as slowly as he could.

"How badly does it hurt?" He said gently, eyes darting between the children to check they were all alright. One of the boys was trying to pat Sophia's back but his hand kept passing through, making her cry harder.