( he reacts like someone who is used to it, in as much as anyone can be. in the same way you shrug off hurts and pains in the heat of an impossible battle, and try to ignore them even more when the dust settles because everything else still matters more.
she recognizes the look because she’s seen it far too many times, in the faces of friends and mirrors, and her expression is set tense.
inexplicably, it unsettled her more to see how surprised he is at her concern. like he isn’t used to people asking, which, you’d think more would considering he’s a banged up kid young adult. you’d think they would have checked in after the whole russian torture situation, or maybe the bat choke-hold, but that’s not for her to know.
in a way, there’s something achingly familiar in how he tries to shrug it off. something that reminds wanda, peripherally and unfairly, of pietro before she guides her focus back to steve.
they still need me and I don’t know what to do and her heart aches. she’s long lived in the leylines between grief and guilt. despair is an old friend and helplessness was cruel in and of itself. to be torn away from your friends, from whatever did this…
he heaves a sob in front of her, and her own eyes sting as she blinks and she doesn’t exactly consider her actions long enough to stop herself.
she reaches out for his shoulders, a way to offer a physical anchor, thumbs running circles. ) I know. Me neither. ( she says, in a way that’s wretchedly sincere, fingers holding tighter, a gentle pull in. she understands needing space in upsets, but all she can think of was how alone she had felt in hers. how alone she still is, and maybe she can’t undo any of that, anything that is behind her, but no one should feel this way. certainly not someone so young.
yet there’s space enough for him to pull away. ) I’m sorry. ( she says, simply, quietly. )
that's exactly her. meanwhile steve in the background: i am NOT a a child
she recognizes the look because she’s seen it far too many times, in the faces of friends and mirrors, and her expression is set tense.
inexplicably, it unsettled her more to see how surprised he is at her concern. like he isn’t used to people asking, which, you’d think more would considering he’s a banged up
kidyoung adult. you’d think they would have checked in after the whole russian torture situation, or maybe the bat choke-hold, but that’s not for her to know.in a way, there’s something achingly familiar in how he tries to shrug it off. something that reminds wanda, peripherally and unfairly, of pietro before she guides her focus back to steve.
they still need me and I don’t know what to do and her heart aches. she’s long lived in the leylines between grief and guilt. despair is an old friend and helplessness was cruel in and of itself. to be torn away from your friends, from whatever did this…
he heaves a sob in front of her, and her own eyes sting as she blinks and she doesn’t exactly consider her actions long enough to stop herself.
she reaches out for his shoulders, a way to offer a physical anchor, thumbs running circles. ) I know. Me neither. ( she says, in a way that’s wretchedly sincere, fingers holding tighter, a gentle pull in. she understands needing space in upsets, but all she can think of was how alone she had felt in hers. how alone she still is, and maybe she can’t undo any of that, anything that is behind her, but no one should feel this way. certainly not someone so young.
yet there’s space enough for him to pull away. ) I’m sorry. ( she says, simply, quietly. )