The next few days were almost as much of a blur as the raft had been. There was still pain when Sam changed the bandages or checked over her wounds, but now there was also Steve helping her sit up and cradling her to his chest so he could help her drink whatever tea and broths Clint made for her, things that were easy on her stomach. When Steve wasn't with her it was Clint who'd talk endlessly, out loud and with her hiding away in his mind with him, who'd sleep sat at her beside in a chair, or on the floor, hand holding onto hers for reassurance the whole time if she needed. Scott seemed to keep his distance, but he'd talk to her too, even when she was pretending to sleep. Mostly it was talking seemingly to himself about his family, his life, and his past, but anything was better than the silence. He sounded like a nice guy.
The only big incident came when the boys tried to convince her into bathing. The thought of a bath brought to mind ice and drowning, the feeling of being unable to breathe even if she could, and laughing guards. A shower... she couldn't protect her bandages while showering, not without help, and she didn't want them helping her with her bandages anymore than necessary.
The panic attack at the thought had already had her powers showing off, but when Steve made the mistake of reaching out and touching her arm she couldn't help but lash out. It was only a wall that was destroyed, a dresser that imploded, but it still had them having to leave their safe house and run immediately.
Her fault. Of course it was.
After that sponge baths worked, at Sam's suggestion. Something he could cautiously help with only when she let him, which she'd rather not, instead trying to do it all herself when it hurt to move, and some parts of her still ached and burned at movement.
It was frustrating, but there wasn't much else she could do. -
The first real food Wanda was able to consume after the raft was all Sam's doing. Sam who used Scott and his suit to go and fetch some groceries without anyone paying much attention to the missing fugitives, and spent over an hour working on making her spaghetti, swearing they'd help her feel human again.
Which it did, to an extent, but she wasn't able to stomach much without feeling sick.
"Sorry," she mumbled in apology, pushing her plate away with over half of it still covered.
"Don't be sorry, kid," Sam shook his head, not sounding or looking reproachful at all, "It's gonna take time to get back to normal. Don't push yourself."
Normal. What was normal now?
Normal was hiding in safe houses and dodging police and other agents, and staying where no one could see you while every part of you hurt so much you felt you'd be sick. That was normal now. Something Steve had nightmares about often, and each nightmare would pull Wanda in with it. With her body and mind hurting, she didn't have the power to fully block out the other four's bad dreams. Leaving her without sleep more often than not.
But it could always be worse. She could be back on the raft, like she often dreamed she was, she could be in the rubble with her twin, or drowning in the dust that Sokovia became, burning along side it.
--
Scott left them at a month into hiding, letting himself get caught downtown, turning himself in so he could cut a deal to be with his family, but also distracting the world long enough for them to catch a flight in a borrowed Wakandan Quin jet flown by Natasha.
Wanda didn’t want to trust her.
Wanda wanted to trust her immediately and completely.
She didn’t say anything instead, hiding tucked against Steve’s side while Clint and Natasha piloted the jet, getting them away from Africa, aimed for ‘somewhere safe’.
“It’s all going to be alright,” Steve assured her, arm wrapped around Wanda’s shoulders, keeping her close and warm, “No one’s going to hurt you.”
“She might.” Wanda had never thought of Natasha as the enemy, even back when she was meant to be Wanda’s enemy. The woman had simply accepted when Wanda and Pietro left Ultron to work with the Avengers, she hadn’t raised a fuss over Wanda moving in with them, or having to train her. She’d even told Wanda to keep the leather jacket, as long as she liked it, ‘I have half a dozen’. Natasha hadn’t ever been anything worse than a teasing older sister figure, maybe a mother figure if Wanda was deluding herself enough, but now... it was Natasha who fought them at the airport, who sided with Tony, and let the police forces take them away to the raft.
She hadn’t come to rescue them when Steve had.
“No,” Steve promised firmly, wrapping his other arm around her in a hug, “She won’t hurt you. She wouldn’t ever hurt you.”
“She didn’t save me.”
“I didn’t either, at first,” Steve countered, resting his head against hers when she leaned against his shoulder, “I only came later. She’s just a little later than me.”
“She’ll hate me now, she agreed with him after Lagos.”
“She could never hate you, none of us could.”
“You’re a terrible liar.”
---
Natasha didn’t approach her the first night they were around, or most of the second day. She kept her distance like Scott had, mainly talking with the boys, helping them sort out where it was they were meant to be. Then it was Clint leaving, like Scott, but not. Clint taking the jet and going to get his family, to take them to another safe place they’d meet up at later, where everyone could stop being afraid for just a while. Maybe, so he had promised her anyway.
It wasn’t until late that second night, when Wanda woke from yet another nightmare, that Natasha actually came to talk to her. When Wanda found herself in the bathroom yet again, gagging and retching up bile spurred on by memories she wanted nothing more than to forget.
Normally Clint would come in if he heard her, or Sam. But instead it was Natasha’s gentle hands that pulled her hair back from her face, who rubbed her back and spoke to her gently. Natasha who got her sat down on the lid of the toilet afterwards, with a cool glass of water so she could try and regain her composure, stop the hiccuping and catch her breath.
“I’m going to guess nightmares?” Natasha asked, very careful and deliberate as cleaned off Wanda’s hands, her face with a damp wash cloth, brushing away sick, sweat, and tears. “New ones, or old?”
“Both.” Wanda didn’t like how hoarse her voice was, but it wasn’t exactly something she could help. “They never stop.”
“I know the feeling.” Natasha brushed her fingers over Wanda’s hair, “There’s always the tried and true method of sleep. Hot shower, new pajamas, hot tea, bad TV.”
Wanda winced, shaking her head, “Baths are... I can’t cover my bandages for a shower on my own.”
Natasha, to her credit, didn’t ask about baths, or why she didn’t have one of the boys help her out. “I can help with the bandages, I have enough practice.”
The thought of being alone in the water, of being so vulnerable had her heart racing a little, “No, I-- I can’t. I don’t... I can stay like I’ve been.”
“Your hair needs washed,” Natasha brushed it back with her fingers, tilted her head watching Wanda. “C’mon, I’ll do your hair for you.”
“I don’t...” Wanda trailed off, handing Natasha back the glass she’d been drinking from, wrapping her arms around her middle. The idea of anyone seeing her injuries, seeing her so vulnerable had her stomach feeling ill, but the idea of Natasha helping didn’t start the edge of panic that had been there with any of the boys suggesting. Somehow saying ‘I’m afraid’ wasn’t possible, she couldn’t get the words out, ‘the water’s too much’, ‘it’ll hurt’, ‘I can’t be alone’, none of the excuses, reasons would make their way out. “You’d get your clothes soaked,” the excuse was pathetic even to her ears.
“I’ll join you,” Natasha gave a half shrug, “I could use a shower anyway, and we’ve been in closer quarters for decontamination, haven’t we?”
With one of the guys the idea might have made her sick again, had her shaking and full of panic but with Natasha... Wanda sighed and nodded, “I... okay.”
Re: [GEN] Avengers/Wanda fill; Shattered 3/?
There was still pain when Sam changed the bandages or checked over her wounds, but now there was also Steve helping her sit up and cradling her to his chest so he could help her drink whatever tea and broths Clint made for her, things that were easy on her stomach.
When Steve wasn't with her it was Clint who'd talk endlessly, out loud and with her hiding away in his mind with him, who'd sleep sat at her beside in a chair, or on the floor, hand holding onto hers for reassurance the whole time if she needed.
Scott seemed to keep his distance, but he'd talk to her too, even when she was pretending to sleep. Mostly it was talking seemingly to himself about his family, his life, and his past, but anything was better than the silence. He sounded like a nice guy.
The only big incident came when the boys tried to convince her into bathing. The thought of a bath brought to mind ice and drowning, the feeling of being unable to breathe even if she could, and laughing guards. A shower... she couldn't protect her bandages while showering, not without help, and she didn't want them helping her with her bandages anymore than necessary.
The panic attack at the thought had already had her powers showing off, but when Steve made the mistake of reaching out and touching her arm she couldn't help but lash out. It was only a wall that was destroyed, a dresser that imploded, but it still had them having to leave their safe house and run immediately.
Her fault. Of course it was.
After that sponge baths worked, at Sam's suggestion. Something he could cautiously help with only when she let him, which she'd rather not, instead trying to do it all herself when it hurt to move, and some parts of her still ached and burned at movement.
It was frustrating, but there wasn't much else she could do.
-
The first real food Wanda was able to consume after the raft was all Sam's doing. Sam who used Scott and his suit to go and fetch some groceries without anyone paying much attention to the missing fugitives, and spent over an hour working on making her spaghetti, swearing they'd help her feel human again.
Which it did, to an extent, but she wasn't able to stomach much without feeling sick.
"Sorry," she mumbled in apology, pushing her plate away with over half of it still covered.
"Don't be sorry, kid," Sam shook his head, not sounding or looking reproachful at all, "It's gonna take time to get back to normal. Don't push yourself."
Normal. What was normal now?
Normal was hiding in safe houses and dodging police and other agents, and staying where no one could see you while every part of you hurt so much you felt you'd be sick.
That was normal now. Something Steve had nightmares about often, and each nightmare would pull Wanda in with it. With her body and mind hurting, she didn't have the power to fully block out the other four's bad dreams.
Leaving her without sleep more often than not.
But it could always be worse. She could be back on the raft, like she often dreamed she was, she could be in the rubble with her twin, or drowning in the dust that Sokovia became, burning along side it.
--
Scott left them at a month into hiding, letting himself get caught downtown, turning himself in so he could cut a deal to be with his family, but also distracting the world long enough for them to catch a flight in a borrowed Wakandan Quin jet flown by Natasha.
Wanda didn’t want to trust her.
Wanda wanted to trust her immediately and completely.
She didn’t say anything instead, hiding tucked against Steve’s side while Clint and Natasha piloted the jet, getting them away from Africa, aimed for ‘somewhere safe’.
“It’s all going to be alright,” Steve assured her, arm wrapped around Wanda’s shoulders, keeping her close and warm, “No one’s going to hurt you.”
“She might.” Wanda had never thought of Natasha as the enemy, even back when she was meant to be Wanda’s enemy. The woman had simply accepted when Wanda and Pietro left Ultron to work with the Avengers, she hadn’t raised a fuss over Wanda moving in with them, or having to train her.
She’d even told Wanda to keep the leather jacket, as long as she liked it, ‘I have half a dozen’.
Natasha hadn’t ever been anything worse than a teasing older sister figure, maybe a mother figure if Wanda was deluding herself enough, but now... it was Natasha who fought them at the airport, who sided with Tony, and let the police forces take them away to the raft.
She hadn’t come to rescue them when Steve had.
“No,” Steve promised firmly, wrapping his other arm around her in a hug, “She won’t hurt you. She wouldn’t ever hurt you.”
“She didn’t save me.”
“I didn’t either, at first,” Steve countered, resting his head against hers when she leaned against his shoulder, “I only came later. She’s just a little later than me.”
“She’ll hate me now, she agreed with him after Lagos.”
“She could never hate you, none of us could.”
“You’re a terrible liar.”
---
Natasha didn’t approach her the first night they were around, or most of the second day. She kept her distance like Scott had, mainly talking with the boys, helping them sort out where it was they were meant to be.
Then it was Clint leaving, like Scott, but not. Clint taking the jet and going to get his family, to take them to another safe place they’d meet up at later, where everyone could stop being afraid for just a while. Maybe, so he had promised her anyway.
It wasn’t until late that second night, when Wanda woke from yet another nightmare, that Natasha actually came to talk to her. When Wanda found herself in the bathroom yet again, gagging and retching up bile spurred on by memories she wanted nothing more than to forget.
Normally Clint would come in if he heard her, or Sam. But instead it was Natasha’s gentle hands that pulled her hair back from her face, who rubbed her back and spoke to her gently.
Natasha who got her sat down on the lid of the toilet afterwards, with a cool glass of water so she could try and regain her composure, stop the hiccuping and catch her breath.
“I’m going to guess nightmares?” Natasha asked, very careful and deliberate as cleaned off Wanda’s hands, her face with a damp wash cloth, brushing away sick, sweat, and tears. “New ones, or old?”
“Both.” Wanda didn’t like how hoarse her voice was, but it wasn’t exactly something she could help. “They never stop.”
“I know the feeling.” Natasha brushed her fingers over Wanda’s hair, “There’s always the tried and true method of sleep. Hot shower, new pajamas, hot tea, bad TV.”
Wanda winced, shaking her head, “Baths are... I can’t cover my bandages for a shower on my own.”
Natasha, to her credit, didn’t ask about baths, or why she didn’t have one of the boys help her out. “I can help with the bandages, I have enough practice.”
The thought of being alone in the water, of being so vulnerable had her heart racing a little, “No, I-- I can’t. I don’t... I can stay like I’ve been.”
“Your hair needs washed,” Natasha brushed it back with her fingers, tilted her head watching Wanda. “C’mon, I’ll do your hair for you.”
“I don’t...” Wanda trailed off, handing Natasha back the glass she’d been drinking from, wrapping her arms around her middle. The idea of anyone seeing her injuries, seeing her so vulnerable had her stomach feeling ill, but the idea of Natasha helping didn’t start the edge of panic that had been there with any of the boys suggesting. Somehow saying ‘I’m afraid’ wasn’t possible, she couldn’t get the words out, ‘the water’s too much’, ‘it’ll hurt’, ‘I can’t be alone’, none of the excuses, reasons would make their way out. “You’d get your clothes soaked,” the excuse was pathetic even to her ears.
“I’ll join you,” Natasha gave a half shrug, “I could use a shower anyway, and we’ve been in closer quarters for decontamination, haven’t we?”
With one of the guys the idea might have made her sick again, had her shaking and full of panic but with Natasha... Wanda sighed and nodded, “I... okay.”