Death Follows | MCU

One

Time.

Time is a fickle thing. It goes by, without a care at what it's leaving behind. Sometimes you don't even realize it has passed you, one day your eight, and then your eighty. I hate time, always have. Yet, it's always there with me, like an old friend.

I wasn't always like this: alone with nothing, but time. The timers showed up on my thirteenth birthday. I touched my father's arm, asking him what was happening, and in a flash the time ticked down to zero. He was gone.

My mother took precautions, giving me away to some scientists. I could no longer see my home, though I heard it crumbling from inside the stone walls of my cell. I lost count of the days, my age. The time escaped me once again, this time I wished I could go with it.

Though I always saw it in the timers, the timers that floated an inch above people's heads, the numbers slowly drifting away until the person's timely demise. My skin was like those little knobs on the side of watches, or maybe the reset button on an alarm clock. Whenever my skin came in contact with another person's, their timers would immediately tick down to zero. The funny thing is I can see everyone else's timer, but I can never see my own.

Time was still fleeting me though.

One day they brought in more people, people like me. We weren't allowed to see one another, but that didn't mean we couldn't converse through the walls. We would describe ourselves to help each other visualize who we were talking to.

"My name is Quinn Ellis," I said, "I'm five six and one hundred and twenty eight pounds. I have shoulder length, dark brown hair, and brown eyes." I then told them about my curse, because knowing when your loved ones will die isn't a power. It's a burden.

Wanda and Pietro were twins, through Wanda's description of herself I figured she looked a little like me. Pietro had blond-ish hair, and was full of energy. He differed from the calm, silent personalities that Wanda and I had.

Although Wanda was stubborn, they both were.

Stubbornness was a fifty-fifty trait. Sometimes it was useful, but other times it does more harm than good. Remember that.

Apparently Sokovia had gotten worse over the years that I have been locked up. The twins signed up for the experiments, not knowing that they wouldn't be used to help their country, but to help destroy it.

The day the Avengers came was a day I dreaded. I was dragged out of my cell by the monsters that experimented on me, making my white scrubs, gloves, and socks dirty. They were taking me somewhere, hiding me. As if they didn't want to be caught.

Suddenly a man with an iron suit burst through the wall, and without hesitation, all of the guards were out cold. The man stepped out of the suit, giving me a look of compassion, as I was scared out of my mind.

He reached out a hand to help me up, but I scrambled back. "Don't touch me! Please don't!" I shouted, terrified that somehow he would brush my bare skin and die.

"Guys we got a situation up here. Cap can I get some recon while I get the scepter?" He said to himself, staring me down. "Don't worry, we're going to get you out of here."

"Pietro and Wanda, you'll get them out too?" I asked, "Please, get them out too." I pleaded, wanting to finally see the people that have kept me sane for years.

Yet, they didn't help them.

Because they were both so stubborn. If they weren't, they could've gave me more time.

Once I was taken to New York I changed my look, dying my hair and wearing dark clothing to make myself less approachable, if I wore shorts, I wore pantyhose. I always wore gloves, short and long, they were a must. Layers were a must, even in the heat. I couldn't take any risks.

When the Avengers realized I had nowhere to go, they let me stay at Stark Tower. Yet, their company wasn't the same compared to Pietro and Wanda.

The only ones that understood what I went through were Steve and Natasha. Even though I'm twenty, I found that out a few days after they saved me, I still think of them as my parents. Natasha, the understanding mother I never had, and Steve, who reminded me of the father I missed so dearly.

I didn't feel as alone as I thought I was when I was with them. They made me feel accepted, not that the others didn't. Maybe it's just because they went through similar things. Yeah, that's it.

I never told any of them their death dates, or even that I could see them. All I told them was that if they touched my bare skin, they would die. Which was true! I wasn't lying, I just wasn't telling them everything.

I probably should have, but they all had so much time left. I didn't think they had to worry about it.

I wonder if I need to.