Lost Soldiers (Avengers Fan Fiction #3)

Chapter 16

AN: Dedicated to @Nikkimils for voting on my story! Hope all of you are enjoying it so far.

My hands trembled lightly. I wrung my hands, rubbing my thumb against the palm each time. I paced around the hall, lost in thought. All I could hear was the screaming from that day in Chicago. The violence. The slaughter. The anguished cries of the lost. It rang through my head like a horrible little lullaby, hummed to the tunes of destruction. I sighed. I told myself I wouldn't focus on my internal struggle, but the thoughts always lingered in the back of my mind. I relived the scene every day.

Everything was only going to get worse.

I shook myself out of my thoughts and walked towards Peter's room. It was time to finally confront my cousin. We needed to talk. One on one. No avoiding it anymore.

I passed by a few students on the way and put on a smile for them. Their eyes were bright, full of knowledge and slight fear for the future. Behind that fear was a gleam in the iris of their beautiful eyes. Hope. Even if they feared their future would hold treacherous events, they knew they could count on us heroes to make sure they would make it out safely. I slowly came up to a stop when I noticed Peter's door was ajar. I quietly stepped forward and listened in on what he was doing.

A man's voice played on the speaker of a laptop, "There's so many stories where some brave hero decides to give their life to save the day. And because of their sacrifice, the good guys win, the survivors all cheer, and everybody lives happily ever after. But the hero...never gets to see that ending. They'll never know if their sacrifice actually made a difference. They'll never know if the day was really saved. In the end, they just have to have faith. Ain't that a bitch."

Peter sniffled and wiped his watery brown eyes. He put his hand over his mouth after he clicked to pause the end of the video. "I'm finally able to catch up on this show, and this happens?" He whispered to himself in disbelief. He rubbed his tear-ridden face with his gray long sleeved shirt. Peter stopped when he felt the texture of his robotic hand and stared at it for a few seconds. A broken expression swept across his features and he let out another sob. He flexed the metal fingers slowly, then clenched his hand into a fist.

I knocked on the door softly and called out, "Peter?" I pushed the door open enough to pop my head into the room. I almost choked when I inhaled the foul stench of pure dude. That's when I grimly remembered he hadn't left the room in a while.

Peter was wrapped up in a big gray blanket on his bed like a Jedi master. He closed the laptop that lay in front of him and wiped away his tears quickly. He sniffled a few times and wiped his running nose with the back of his hand. "What do you want?"

"We need to talk..." I sat down on the cushiony bed before he could refuse.

Peter didn't move a muscle and stared down at the plain comforter. His swollen eyes fixated on the fabric as he mustered up the words, "I told you I don't want to talk about it."

My hazel eyes locked on his dark state and I frowned. This conversation was not going to be easy. I played with my thumbs and scratched at some peeling skin. I insisted, "Peter, please. You need to talk about it. You need to confide in me. I was in this kind of situation before and you remember what you did? You-"

He cut me off and spoke softly, as if the memory soothed him, "I climbed into a vent and landed in your room. I remember."

The corners of my mouth lifted a bit and I chuckled, "You did everything you could to make me feel better." I restrained myself from reaching over to him. If I tried to do anything, he might stop me altogether. Keep calm and collected. I continued to explain, "I know what it feels like, Peter. To have your head tricked into seeing something. To have doubts and sorrows. To see events so frightening that it throws you off. I'm going through this everyday."