I have nothing else to say that could make him stop. All I have is the truth. "They will think you're the enemy if you continue this." I tell him.
Pietro looks over his shoulder to give a last glance at me. "You're with them," Pietro states with his...
AN: Come To This by Natalie Taylor above or on the side. I highly recommend to listen to this song and to have tissues nearby just in case.
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A white light shines straight ahead.
I feel an urge to go to it. To be submerged in it—to be engulfed in its purity.
I find myself staring at this peaceful beauty for a while now. I want to follow where it leads, but at the same time, I notice a different kind of light shining behind me. A familiar and safe feeling comes from that light, from that path, and it is calling out for me. When I turn around, the color is unmissable.
Because it's blue.
For some reason, I feel as if I need to go through that light. As if I am standing somewhere in-between. Yet, before I had the chance to turn back to the clear white path, I was pushed into the infinite blue light. Before I had a chance to do anything to stop it, my sight, my breathing, all of me had been affected by what ever this majestic light is doing to me.
Suddenly, the blue light becomes transparent. Images start to appear in front of me seem too real. Thin, blue waves push through me, pushing me towards those images. I start to recognize what I find myself staring at. I see Pietro and Clint—the way I had left them just a few moments ago. Only, they couldn't see me, they were looking down at a body that's next to them. But that body's. . .mine. . .
A few seconds later, I can clearly see everything that is happening. As if all of the blue has faded now that I'm surrounded by everything and everyone back on the battlefield. So, I try to reach out to Pietro as he holds my body against his chest, hiding his face in the crook of my neck. I try to touch his shoulder to let him know that I'm here, standing right behind him—but all that my hands can do is go right through him.
I can't feel him.
I want to touch him. So badly. I want to hold him, to say something to him. I wish I could let him know that I'm still here. But nothing could help him now as all of his attention was on me—the corpse.
Then. . .he begins to cry.
Pietro lets the tears fall in my hair as he cradles my head with one hand and my waist in the other. He starts letting out a few sobs now and then, and it couldn't be mistaken as anything else other than pain. There is so much pain. So much sadness.
So. . .
Much. . .
Hurt!
Soon enough, I feel tears leaking from my eyes and streaming down my cheeks before I have the chance to wipe them away. I can't believe that I am crying myself.
