After the events of Ultron, I dragged myself back to my sister and the family farm to lick my wounds, both physical and emotional.
Shortly after Laura had given birth to my newest nephew, and named him after my savior, Pietro, I opened the front door one day to find Wanda standing there,
clearly unsure of whether or not she should knock.
"Wanda," I croaked out. Unwilling to meet the eyes of someone whose twin's death was on my hands. I'd had many others to my credit before, but Pietro sat particularly badly with me.
Like a permanent clog in my throat that nothing I drank could make go away.
And if it hadn't been for having to help my sister with her brood, I probably would have put Tony Stark to shame trying.
"You have been hiding needlessly."
"Your brother was just a kid, and I… he shouldn't… I never wanted…" I squared my shoulders and looked her in the eyes. "Wanda, I'm so so-"
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