Be My Life? | Wanda Maximoff x Reader

4

It was dark. Rain poured from the sky like a proclamation of horror that was going down not too far from where you stood with Pietro. Tucked in a corner, you peered around at the men and women scrambling away from the danger for the warm embrace of safety or toward it with the cold, useless metal of blades and bullets at their aid.

Pietro kept trying to rush away, to try and fix the situation, but you continued to stop him. These people were bad, they were criminals, criminals that have been slowly disappearing over the course of the last few years through the morally gray acts and less than moral acts of the Ronin. But the slaughter that was beginning to pile up higher and higher like pollution at a waste plant was becoming something people like you were appearing on your radar to deal with.

You held Pietro's arm tight and your umbrella tighter, looking up at him with worried eyes as you beckoned him not to move. As the thundering, pulsing sound of the bullets came to a stop and were soon replaced with metal clinking and scratching against metal, your eyes found Natasha across the street from you in your own corner. Her face was very dimly lit with the red and blue neon lights that crackled above her and bled through the dark tint of the umbrella held over her head.

Her eyes found yours and then Pietro's as a conversation in a language you had not learned arose between the two men—a big bad boss and a mercenary—along with more scraping of metal blades that sliced the air apart.

Natasha came from around the corner, signaling for the two of you to stay hidden. She had only let you come along in the first place because you insisted so strongly. She kept trying to get you to stay back, but you could not sit back when you learned that she was going to finally go and attempt to bring Clint Barton back to the team again.

You nodded to her and tucked further into the corner with Pietro, staying silent as you peered over the corner once or twice to listen in to the conversation that rose between them.

"You shouldn't be here," Clint's voice spoke up, his back still turned to Natasha as the heavy rain drenched his body and his dark suit.

Natasha's voice, despite her clear worry, was clear and steady. "Neither should you."

Finally, the man turned to face her, taking her in for just a moment before looking away again. "I've got a job to do," he said as he stared at the ground.

"Is that what you're calling this?" There was a short pause as she watched her old friend, "Killing all these people isn't gonna bring your family back." There was no reply, so Natasha filled the silence again. "And what about the family you gave to those kids in Sokovia? You doing this for them, too?"

He turned his head and examined her, his eyes looking over her face before he slowly hung his head. "They're here, aren't they?" He did not look up, just shook his head and sheathed his sword, "You brought 'em with you."

You nodded to Pietro and stepped around the corner, revealing yourself to him with a fallen face as you walked with him. You both stopped at Natasha's side and Pietro spoke up first, "Yeah, old man, we're here."

Pietro had a hard time letting go of grudges—you could not blame him, you did too. When he had not shown up once during the duration of the half decade you both spent grieving your siblings and soulmates, raising a child with half the family he once had, Pietro became a little bitter of Clint. You tried to remain neutral, as neutral as you could for both their sakes, but as you saw him now, you found it harder to contain your own frustration and anger at the man who called you family and did not look back when you needed him.

Clint stayed still, breathing heavy as water dripped from his hair and his nose. Pietro tilted his head to the side, "Did you forget about us? Hm?"

"Pietro," you spoke lightly. You both had agreed that you would not lay all of your issues with him straight on him the first chance you got. But Pietro was a hothead. He did what he could, but sometimes, his frustration was too hard to control.