chapter twelve ; the belladonna

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So just...hold on for me, okay? Just hold on.

Dahlia nuzzled her chin into the warmth below her, pursing her lips unconsciously as she did. The sounds of her words haunted her dreams, echoing around the walls of her brain, repeating over and over. The faint sound of music, the song they danced to in the kitchen, played quietly in the farthest part of her mind.

Just
Hold
On

Three little words should be easy to fulfill. Even at a young age, you know several things. Up is up, down is down, and three? Well, it's a little number, everyone knows that.

So why were those three words unsure? Why weren't they 100% sure that he could?

Holding on was simple, you just keep your grip tight and refuse to let it go. So why was he slipping?

Dahlia had fallen asleep for the first time in quite a bit, and it was far from pleasant.

Her dark hair was spread out across a plain white sheet, the kind of white that would make someone want to claw their eyes out. Her chest rose and fell in a calm rhythm, her lips pressed together, and her eyes were closed gently. A dark red t-shirt, depicting the band, Queen, hung on her frame, and she also wore light grey  sweatpants, far too baggy to to be presentable.

The only reasons she was wearing anything other than her combat suit was because Natasha had brought clothes to her. She refused to leave.

The place in question she refused to leave?

Pietro's hospital room.

He had been in horrible condition upon arrival, with a huge amount of blood loss, and the bullets penetrated some major organs.

He was only barely alive when they got him off of the ship, and the doctors said the only thing that was keeping him from slipping out of their grasp was his powers.

His cells had been tampered with enough that they now could regenerate at ten times the speed of an unenhanced person. The doctors couldn't properly predict if he'd be okay or when, because they've never dealt with a patient with his kind of abilities.

Three goddamn weeks she'd been waiting there.

Three weeks of continuously more depressing doctor's visits.

Three weeks of people telling her to get rest, go back to her room, or simply, get out of there.

Three weeks of staying up, worrying that if she let herself nod off, the pulse on the heart monitor might stop, the familiar beeping ceasing, and he'd be gone. All without her knowing.

Stupid three. Disappointing in all capacities.

Dahlia had never felt more weak. She felt stupid. She couldn't stop the bullets, she couldn't make him wake up. She couldn't do anything, except wait.

And it was killing her.

The warmth below her head moved, and in her sleep deprived state, she simply dismissed it, nearly drifting to sleep. Soft fingertips ran through her hair, and yet she didn't stir.

A low chuckle sent vibrations through her, and Dahlia remained still for a moment more until the pieces fit together in her head.

Her head shot straight up, nearly hitting someone in the jaw with her skull.

"Leave it to you to nearly knock me out in the hospital." An all-too familiar voice with a Sokovian accent spoke, and it definitely wasn't Wanda.

"P-Pietro?" Her voice was quiet, not believing that this was anything more than a dream. Dahlia reached her hand out, lightly touching his jaw, and after feeling the softness under her touch, could accurately conclude that it was in fact, true.

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