"MY SISTER MAY NEED POWERS TO KICK YOUR ASS, BUT I CERTAINLY DON'T."
In which a woman who wants nothing more than to protect her sister can't seem to save herself.
[oc x steve rogers]
OR
June has always been the protective sister, maybe...
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~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Sam Wilson was having quite the day.
Wanda and Vision had snuck away- again, but that's not the point- and sure enough, they'd been attacked by a pair of some kind of aliens. Vision had been stabbed, and the aliens fled. He turned to said Android, holding out his hand. "Can you stand?"
Vision nodded, and with the help of the fence separating them from the train tracks, stood up. Electricity shimmered over his form and his voice, distorted, came out in an odd tone. "Thank you, Captain."
Steve nodded in a 'You're Welcome' sort of way, long hair and beard bouncing. "Let's get you on the jet."
And so, they all walked to the Quinjet, waiting for them. Nat opened the door, and Wanda with her arm around Vision help him through the doors. Sam sat in the pilot chair, Nat in the co-pilot. Wanda, Vision, and Steve all moved to the bench.
Nat turned to Wanda, "I thought we had a deal. Stay close, check in. Don't take any chances."
Wanda looked down, a bit ashamed. "I'm sorry, we just wanted time."
Sam cleared his throat, trying to steer the conversation to safer waters and away from Vision. "Where to, Cap?"
Steve paused for the briefest of seconds before answering. "Home, but first, we need to pick someone up. If she'll have us."
Nat groaned. "How long has it been since you've seen her? Four months? We show up to her house at two in the morning, she's not going to be happy."
"We have to try."
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
June was really tired. Really tired.
For some reason, her eyes had snapped open in the wee hours of the morning, she hadn't even checked her alarm clock yet. June reached over to her nightstand and clicked on the clock light: two in the morning, goddamn.
She sighed and rolled back onto her side, pulling the covers up to her chin again. June closed her eyes, fully intending to go back to sleep. It was Friday- or rather, Saturday now- and she was dying for a lie-in.
And then her eyes snapped open again when a distant, but still audible click reached her ears. June froze, holding her breath and listening for another noise. There it was again, a soft click, like a lock turning.
Like someone was trying to pick her lock on the front door.
As quietly as physically possible, June sat up and shimmied out of the covers, opening the drawer to her nightstand. She pulled the secret compartment open and was met with the dark shapes of double nine millimeter handguns.
