QUICK / SILVER!

filiadoom:

Bickering souls bred comfort for the elder Maximoff. A slow world had little to interest one who browsed like liquid lightning, flitting from one occurrence to the next before any had a chance to consider a plausibility. A world with Wanda, some form of home built out of the charred brick and broken bones of their childhood, was something warm, something solid; the only constant for one who could run the world a thousand times over.

A dismissive sound clicked in the back of Pietro’s throat. “I listen if it is interesting, Wanda.” he reproached, the ghost of the lecturing brother crooking in the smart curve of his smile. “It is not my fault you’re not talking sense.”

dendrotoxins:

Pretty words had no place in a soldier’s world. A stretch too far, giving hands steeped in a bowl of blood reaching to help those afflicted by devil Stark’s world, had undone good Dr. Cho’s work, sent her voice haring through the piece at his ear to demand his return lest he help no one no more ( you can’t help them if you’re bleeding out, Mr Maximoff, even with your enhanced biology! ) An unwilling return had brought with it great surprise, a great laughing lord fat of face with wet, wobbling jowls, in the form of an agent too green to be ought more than grass, not the reproachful, helpless look of Dr. Cho. Such dissimilarities between the two had not lasted forever. An English clone, it seemed, had taken Helen’s place: just as strict in her bedside manner, as steadfast in her work, and just as determined to have him remain.

A pity, then, Pietro was profound denying doctors their wishes.

A light scoff left curling lips, bullheaded disbelief etched in stark lines upon a grey countenance. She did not have to tell him how his body groaned, blew muffled screams into the aches of his joints with every stretch beyond the immediately possible. Pietro knew his pain intimately, but it would not go acknowledged while Sokovia still wept in dust and broken bones, building broken-tooth monuments to those lost to the ruins and fire. It ached down to the bones, white agony and pinker shades of pain slathered over bleached bones as though he were a canvas, a living monument to suffering. It snarled and barked, a grim-faced hound in a rusted cage, and yet Pietro ignored its howls. Instead, he chose to bolt, blurring from the bed beneath the agent’s hand to appear at the desk, the window, the door, rifling through recovery notes in one moment and pilfering a pen and badge from the other’s pockets in the next. A cheeky move, perhaps, but never had Pietro been known for his calm demeanour or remarkable manners.

“This is all good ---- Agent Simmons,” he spoke, flicking the thin laminate between his fingers and tossing it aside in a hare’s second. Agent Jemma Simmons, Clearance Level 5 -- easy enough on the eyes, he supposed, and a damn sight easier to swallow than Stark. “But it is not necessary. I am not bleeding, there is no fire, as you say...I don’t need to do what I’m told.”

mechaniic:

The sins of man were many, but none more so than Tony Stark. Born with power at his fingertips, influence and society’s ear wound about the silver spoon at his lips, and he had turned his hand only to destroy. To ruin the world and revive them in his own image; bettered, mechanical, dependent on a lord of war for life and light. Pietro had seen Stark’s work, breathed the aching dust of chalk and broken-tooth buildings ‘til his lungs were dry and death was surely upon them. He had felt his sister’s tears on his chest, heard the terrified whimpers from he and her each time there was a simple shift, a crack or falling pebble in the rubble. Then had he sworn vengeance on Tony Stark, for Wanda, for their family. For those of Sokovia would could not fight against the iron fist of the West and hated just as much as they.

Stark could hold out the benefitor’s hand, claim he wished to see them free, but Pietro would not forget the fist that had crushed his world and reduced Sokovia to ash.

“Јеби се.” he snarled, damning desolation rife within his maw. Oh, his mother would surely roll in her grave, hands drawn to her cheeks in complicit shame, at those words, but she no more could walk the earth, and the man before him was to blame. “You think I trust you, Stark? You think I believe you will keep your word?” Another furious fist flew at the glass, aimed at the other’s head, and another shock belted through the bruised mountains of purpling knuckles. “I will get out, with my sister, but it will not be on your terms. I will do it my own way.”

catastrcphc:

To hear such truth spill from his sister’s lips brought a strange flame of pleasure to Pietro’s heart. How proud he was to know his sister so well and have her know him in turn where the blessed Avengers, supposed saviours of all, could not boast such trust and loyalty; how pleasing to the heart. But still shame lurked in the boyish channels of his mind, the last quarter of the wide-eyed boy with wild hair and wilder love. Nowhere in their parents constructed teachings had there been permission for such desire, nowhere in the path of God their emotions splayed as aught beyond wrong, a broken and twisted caricature of truth and honest love, but Pietro could not deny his heart any longer. It keened and it howled, a wild beast clawing through the cage of his bones, singing for Wanda and Wanda alone.

No world nor magnificent god could keep them apart, not when they had reviled beneath hands that sought to crush and rebuild, unpick the seams of the soul and suture soldiers to their bones, and survived as a whole.

“Never mind what the others will think.” Pietro answered, quick and half a growl. A sneer plucked at his lip at the thought of the Avengers judging them from afar, spilling lazily on their thrones of opulence while adamantine Sokovia struggled in the ashes. “They would not understand. What do they know of us? They only know how to line their own pockets, how to think of themselves. They do not care unless it concerns themselves, and even then they will act only to save their own skin.” Honesty bled across a truthful tongue, Pietro’s hand rising to rest a curled forefinger beneath his sister’s jaw, his thumb stroking softly at the curve of her chin. “You and I are the only ones who matter. What you feel and I feel, that is what’s important. Not what the world will think.”

shakingtoolong:

A hard look came over the mutant, disbelief hung like mocking stars in sharp blue eyes. Scott could profess resilience forever more, biting out and snarling through hardship, but never would he be as great as Pietro for withstanding such speeds. “You expect me to carry them for you? не, I am not your butler.” A humoured smirk tugged at stubbled lips. “Ask Vision for them.”

shakingtoolong:

    “Eh, you are too soft.” It had been no fault of Pietro’s own the other had been caught in his slipstream, a minute blip of red amongst ghosts of silver blurs. “You should toughen up. It was not that fast.”

mechaniic:

@okretan liked for a starter.

Bundled energy snapped through his nerves a hundredfold, arcing like blue lightning through bone and sinew. Cramped conditions were no place for one pledged to the open, stark reminders of the HYDRA cell in the white of the walls, the too-bright lights hanging over their heads and the sense of eyes upon the flesh, a watchful gaze to tear at the skin and scratch at all sanity. Only a collar at his neck and a steel-strong door held Pietro at bay, held him from wrapping bruised hands about Tony’s throat and choking all hope of life from him.

A quick death was more than Stark deserved.

A swift dash to the door, cold stone fists thudding at the plexiglass between the pair, brought only lightning at Pietro’s throat, hot electricity shuddering through every muscle, every fibre, gathering barbed wire at the clenched muscle of his jaw, a warning bell’s toll from the cell door and a stern shock at the purple of his knuckles, but the speedster did not relent. He glared through the barred glass, dry ice and harsh bones, willing all obstacles to disperse and a chance to wrap his hands about a despised throat.

“It is funny, Mister Stark,” a crude mockery of words gone by, hacked out in a spluttering throat and left to a ribbon-thin snarl. “Like old times. Stark the saviour, coming down to help out the poor. There is no city for you to destroy this time, Mister Stark -- your friends at SHIELD have taken care of that.”

oldfcrt:

Consideration had no place in an immediate world. It burned and it smouldered, languorous in its crawl along the veins of life, amber and creeping. No being save Wanda could place it upon Pietro, force him to confront all thought in the pen of his mind and allow rash action to fall to the rear; who was he, Professor Xavier, to think himself worthy of such a likewise pedestal? Irritation chafing along the harsh edge of his jaw, Pietro stared hard at the other, eyes sharp and grim like bruises mottling broken knuckles.

“What do you have to say, old man? Make it quick.”

mrangs:

Pietro paused for a moment, a too-long blip in the speedster’s instant world. “Who says shizzle?” Silver brows screwed tight in confusion, hard and judgmental. It seemed a word from Stark’s armoury, but the other looked like none in the billionaire’s pocket. “Eh, take a look at yourself. I have seen better picture on a robot.” One who once had slain him where he stood.

mrangs:

     “This coming from you?”

catastrcphc:

Would that they were a story of heroes. Would that they had never heard the name Stark, nor suffered beneath his indirect wrath. Perhaps then, in that idyllic world of impossibilities and childhood hope, they would be happy. Django and Marya would still live, life in their breast and smiles in their eyes; Sokovia would flourish, free of the war that had tainted it so long. The twins would live free and unfettered by the chains of fate, bound not to a cruel organisation with veiled intent ( still the rage boiled in Pietro’s chest at the memory of his discovery, horror and disgust at the truth behind the malicious beast dark and broiling like a cauldron pot. He had subjected his sister to the hands of neo-Nazism, had beseeched her to consider the strength gained by their side. HYDRA were the Nazis of the present, and he had done naught but leapt into their path, taken in by Strucker’s promising words and blinded in the way of the ignorant youth. How his heart, his soul, did beat his brain for being blind to the sickening truth! ). They would never had thought foul of the Avengers, nor stood boldly against messianic Ultron.

The children they were would never have died.

The sight of his sister bound and trussed, no more a human in the eyes of Ross than a patch of dirt on his boot, stirred a mighty rage within the Enhanced. If he were Adam, then she was surely Eve: beautiful and holy beyond all compare. Born of the same soul they were, ribs and hands and hearts shared ‘til cruel circumstance forced them apart -- but then, were they truly? A piece of her had lived on in him as a piece of him had lived on in her, memory’s halls a home to the ghost of siblings past while they had languored in their given bones, laid upon a slab of steel and coerced to a chrome-enamel home branded a hero with the approval of Stark. Pietro had thought himself dead in the care of Helen Cho, dragged from the brink of the world to come and thrust into hell -- not to be refined as silver or tried as gold, but burnt and smouldered for some wicked action Pietro knew not -- but the Raft....the Raft was hell. His resurrection and healing had driven no challenger from his doorstep, but incited it closer, taunted it with fire and flame ‘til it turned it’s baleful gaze upon the eldest Maximoff.

Pietro had thought his goodness established, the giving of blood for the life of an innocent child a noble sacrifice. Why then was he tortured so, returned to a world where naught had changed and the Avengers quarrelled like wild dogs over the right to choose, the right to free will.

It was the way of humanity to have free will, and Pietro would see no foe nor greasy suit impede upon his sister’s freedom of choice.

“Wanda, i--” Foolish arrogant child, how had he not foreseen her woe? He had written to her, scribing out his thoughts in quick, slanting words and relaying to her his continued life. Courage had failed him at the crucial moment, however; how could he shatter his twin’s reality so facelessly, through writing easily doctored or fabricated with a clever enough mind? He cared not for the Avengers, wanted no part in their tin-man war. To dash across seas and continents would be to push himself as he never had before, and for what? To turn beggar at their doorstep, begging for an audience and forced to give an explanation to all? Wanda was the only being who deserved to know he still lived, and Pietro would not dance to the Avengers’ tune.

For Wanda alone had he run to Germany, pounding feet to earth in a tempo exceeding all he had known before. For Wanda had he come and for Wanda had he fallen, government shocks and sonic waves holding him still enough to render him unconscious, a victim to Ross’ cocktail of drugs. But for Wanda, Pietro would always fight, and would ever win.

“Wanda, it’s me.” he spoke, lame in his execution. How did one tell their Lazarus tale with half their soul in such anguish, beset by grief unearthed anew? “It is me, I promise, Wanda; Wanda...” Words no more fled to his tongue as Rogers stepped loyally forward, releasing his sister with no word exchanged save a questioning look, a query to the heart, and steps away to free his other comrades. Pietro dashed forward, all silver streaks and blue ghosts, a hand gently at her neck beneath his sister’s hair and the other tearing at her collar, ignoring the sparks from his own. Blunt nails tore and gouged, flying at the lock in a flurry of tiny punches until it sprang free, flung aside with the bind at her arms in the speedster’s preoccupation with his sister. His hands held at her cheeks, carded through her hair, tugged her close and held her tight in a consoling embrace in a moment’s heartbeat, the soul of the invincible brother howling in joint anguish with it’s sobbing twin. “тишина,” he murmured, a breath among kisses pressed to her hair. “Jа сам овде. У реду, ја сам овде. Не пуштам ништа поново раздвојити нас. Обећавам.”

multiitaskiing:

The people of Sokovia had received their answer. The Avengers had come to help themselves, and destroyed their catacomb city for it.

“Stark destroys the city, and now what does he do? Sits in his ivory tower playing precious with the government! Is he here, digging loved ones out of the rubble? Was he wiping the dust from childrens’ eyes because they were too close to the blast? The Avengers came for their interests, and then they went home.” A muscle jumped in Pietro’s jaw, teeth clenched as though strong enamel would hold back a tide of fire and bile. Only his sister, brave and blessed Wanda, held his feet firm, stopped him dashing away to a crater called home. “I do not care what happens to the Avengers. What is happening with my sister?”

“What are the Kardashians and why should I be keeping up with them?”

multiitaskiing:

multiitaskiing:

After Ultron’s assault, Pietro was left in a critical state. Presumed dead by Hawkeye and Wanda, Pietro was carried onto a boat and given Tetrodotoxine B by an attending medic after it being shown Pietro still had a heartbeat, however slight; enough to slow his heart rate and prevent his bleeding out. His X-gene then kicked in; his advanced healing setting to work on healing the most serious of his wounds and searing shut the torn veins and muscles.

At this point, the only people who know he is alive are Fury and Maria Hill.

On Fury’s orders, Pietro was flown out to Helen Cho’s genetics lab in Seoul. He was placed in an induced coma and left in the Regeneration Cradle while it worked. With the full-size version destroyed in Vision’s creation, Cho and her team were forced to use the smaller version, with the drawback that it took much longer for all of Pietro’s wounds to be healed. After ten months, Pietro was brought out of his coma and subject to intense rehabilitation, both physical and mental. Still bearing the scars from Ultron’s assault after he refused to sit still in the Cradle for longer than he already had, Pietro often tried to escape U-Gin, beset with cabin fever and enraged that he was essentially a prisoner while others decided on his state of health. Eventually, Cho relented and allowed Pietro outside access on the condition he wears a headset designed by her staff that allowed U-Gin to monitor his condition and vitals and allowed them to communicate with him.

At this point, the only people who know he is alive are Fury, Maria Hill, Helen Cho and her team. The Avengers were not told on the order of Fury. He did not know his sister was officially an Avenger, but rather assumed that she was lodging with them temporarily while Sokovia was being rebuilt.

Pietro spent the following months helping the Sokovian relief effort, building on his personal connection with the people and trying to remove the faceless image of the relief effort by presenting them with someone they knew. During this time, he wrote several letters to Wanda, filling her in on what had happened and what he was doing, but did not post them due to not knowing how to break the ice regarding his resurrection. Pietro pushed himself to his limits during this time and ended up returned to U-Gin twice as a result, yet was ultimately released from Cho’s custody when she learned of the civil war brewing between Tony and Steve, and by extension what Wanda was involved in.

No matter his feelings on the Avengers, Pietro’s first priority would always be his sister. He left Korea and vowed to rejoin his sister, ultimately revealing himself to the Avengers just prior to the battle at the airport. After being released from the Raft, Pietro journeyed to Wakanda with Steve and his “secret Avengers”, ultimately returning to helping Sokovia rebuild, and splitting his time between both countries.

Pietro does not consider himself an Avenger. He teamed up with them in the fight for Sokovia, yes, but he has not forgotten the years he spent hating Tony Stark and has certainly not forgiven and forgotten. Pietro had long since had a habit of thinking of America as synonymous with his idea of Stark -- imperialist war tycoons who do not care for countries they deem insignificant or beneath them and use weaponry to propel themselves to giant status -- and HYDRA only accentuated this, twisting the images of the Avengers and SHIELD to suit their own purpose.

He may have learnt SHIELD cared about “the little people”, but he has not changed his opinion of Tony. Tony, and by association, the Avengers, have not accounted for their crimes or properly paid for the damage they brought to Sokovia. Pietro will not associate with them and refuses to help them in any matter unless it is a world-ending affair. His involvement in Civil War was for Wanda alone, and one where he would have brought her away from the fighting and left for Sokovia if he had not been incapacitated by the use of sonic weaponry.