chapter seventeen

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17 x time


[ Third Person POV ]

Pietro healed from his injury in a matter of days. With the help of Dr. Cho (who seemed to be doing a lot of doctor-work with the team of heroes) he was back to new in no time, subjected only to moderate bed-rest for the hard hit he'd taken to his skull.

(Tony had made the weak joke that it couldn't have done that much damage with how thick his head was, but no one laughed.)

Megan had been rushed off the scene of the facility, everyone in emergency mode. Despite the fact that she had been unconscious when they first reached her, Wanda had managed to keep a hold in her head. It was just enough to allow the witch to manipulate her thoughts and keep her from going back to a state of flux; enough to allow Cho to do legitimate work on Megan's bleeding, weakening body before her powers kicked back in.

Cho did what she good in regards to healing Megan's stab wound (it was bad, but she never let on; the atmosphere in the Tower had become dismal enough). She used her machine to reform the tissue, to help the healing along . . . she tried her best not to look too worried when any of the Avengers would come by.

Her physical healing had completed at the same time as Pietro was allowed to be done with bed rest.

From there, Wanda had released any hold she had in Megan's mind, and the girl had fallen back into a state of fluctuation. Despite high hopes, she remained unconscious. She was transferred to a different room in the Tower, where Tony and Bruce ran more tests; her body was showing the same states of fluctuation and heat, but her brain patterns were . . . slower.

Neither man mentioned that to Pietro, who would hover around her. He was in and out of the room with her constantly, using his super speed even more than before. He avoided everyone else, even Wanda, and didn't speak.

Clint was worried. Not just about Megan, but about Pietro. He hadn't seen the kid at any of the meals, didn't see him in the training room- it was a good cause for concern.

He'd gone to check on Megan when he saw the speedster for the first time in days, and he didn't look good. He was hunched over a chair, staring at the wall with empty eyes. Circles were visible under his eyes, and Clint was pretty sure he was wearing the same clothes he'd been wearing when the archer had last seen him.

"Hey," Clint said quietly.

Pietro jerked at the sound, tearing his gaze from the wall and focusing on Clint with a distant look in his eyes. He didn't speak, merely nodded.

If Clint had to guess, he'd say Pietro hadn't been sleeping.

"You look terrible," Clint said, moving to claim the second chair in the room.

Pietro shrugged.

"Have you been eating?" Clint asked, some of his paternal side seeping through.

Pietro nodded slowly.

"I never see you when we eat," Clint pointed out.

Pietro sighed, a quiet breath. "I do not wish for company right now," he mumbled, his voice scratchy. He had zoned out on the wall again.

"Not to be that person," Clint said, "but I'm not exactly asking."

Pietro grunted, his jaw clenching. A long silence settled over the two of them, but this time, it was broken by Pietro. "She should have woken up by now."

Clint studied Megan. She looked better than he'd been expecting, still with the healthy glow about her, her hair frazzled, her lips slightly parted. She could've been sleeping. "The trauma must have screwed with her system."

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