Kelly: Ah, the obligatory AN. This one is short, sweet and to the point - read ‘Bittersweet' by Psychodelic barfly, it's got awesome Lietro/Pietrance slashiness! Along with Danger Mouse's ‘Flip side' - Both great stories!!! Read them now, go . . . *gets beaten by her muse*
Pietro: But they have to know more about my tragic past first . . . you left me passed out in the last chapter . . . at least /some/ people are worried about me. . . *starts to stomp off*
Kelly: *glomps him* Aww, you know I love you Speedy. Why else would I put you through such horrible tragedy?
Pietro: *looks confused, then shrugs* On with the story then, oh, and BTW, just so you know, I used to live in Transia . . .
I Turn The Light On and There's Nothing Left Redeeming
Kelly
li_luva_2000@yahoo.ca
`*~Chapter Four~*'
A cool rough cloth moved gently across Pietro's forehead. He was cold and his joints ached from stiffness. His head continued to pound with the racing rhythm of his heart. He felt the damp cold earth beneath his fingers and shivered. Pietro was laying on the ground somewhere in the forest. He looked up at the bright stars through the tree branches, stripped of their leaves this late in the fall, coughing sharply as the icy air burned in his lungs.
"Shh," whispered a quiet voice to his left, stroking his hair with her hand, "It'll be okay, P, just lie still awhile."
‘No, no, no, no, no,' repeated a voice in his head urgently, ‘we have to run, they'll take Wanda, they'll hurt her, they'll hurt her, you have to save her. We'll run fast again.' He tried to pull himself into a sitting position, pain shot like fire up his ribs and he collapsed back on the ground with a loud moan that echoed through the blackness. Pietro could never run like that again. He pleaded through gritted teeth, trying to keep the pain out of his voice, "Please Wanda, run without me. Save yourself, please. Marya told us to run."
"They're gone Pietro." Wanda's voice was eerily flat. He wasn't entirely sure whether she was talking about the villagers or his parents - maybe both, "It's just us now." Pietro opened his eyes and realized he could no longer see the camp anymore, trees surrounded them on all sides. He was surprised, Wanda must have pulled them much further into the forest after he'd collapsed. It was Wanda's appearance that threw him the most though. Her shirt was torn and dirty, with one sleeve entirely gone; small dark gashes dug into her beautiful soft cheeks and leaves were snagged in her now disheveled hair. What had he done to her? What had he done to their lives?
He repeated his self denigrating chant over and over in his head, ‘It's all my fault, all my fault, all my fault . . .' He began to cry, salty tears stinging cuts on his face he didn't even know were there.
She just stroked his hair blindly, constantly, never pausing, never letting the tears flow. It seemed to Pietro she was doing it as much to calm herself down as it was for him. He wished he could sit up and hold her in his arms and let her cry, to be her strong brother. He didn't mean to scare her . . . why did he hurt so badly? "What's wrong with me?"
"I don't know, P. Just lie still, okay?" she repeated for the second time that night, "Just don't move." Her eyes glistened and tears dripped off her nose and onto his neck and face, "I don't want to lose you too." She buried her head in his chest and began to sob loudly.
There was another voice Pietro caught through her tears, far off to his right, "There it is again. D'you hear that?"
He saw fire advancing on him slowly through the crowded trees. They had found them . . . the fire . . . the screams . . . the blood . . . Pietro's breath became a horrified pant as the torch moved closer to where they lay. Wanda was draped across him in hysterics, finally broken by the terrors of this night, and he couldn't move anyway, even if he wanted. They were going to die. He shut his eyes tightly and prepared as best he could. He wouldn't give them the satisfaction of hearing him scream. The footsteps were close and heavy.
He heard a twig snap and a whistling sound nearby, "Jesus . . ." the voice was low and deep, rising to a yell to his companion, "James, go back and get some blankets . . . and put the damn gun down. They're kids." Pietro felt his sister being lifted off his chest. He opened his eyes and saw a she was huddled against a hulking figure. He was a huge man really, a dark, brown beard covered most of his face except for a pair of sparkling green eyes. "It'll be okay, shh, don't cry now," he shook his head in disgust and knelt down to examine Pietro, surprisingly soft hands moving across his sore body. Pietro flinched at the touch. "Jesus, what happened to you kids?"
"It's my fault, it's all my fault, it's all my fault, it's all my fault, it's all my fault," Pietro couldn't stop himself. The words just came tumbling out again and again until they lost all meaning. He couldn't breathe, the words kept choking him, the guilt was shrinking his lungs. He began to shudder violently now, his entire body raked with the waves of blame which washed unceasingly over him.
Someone came crashing through the forest but Pietro didn't care, he was overtaken with fierce spasms - bucking back and forth in the man's arms uncontrollably. A wool blanket was pulled securely over him and the last thing he remembered was the man holding him tight to his chest, whispering that he was going to be okay.
*~*~*~*
Pietro awoke in a large hunting tent, flickering flames from outside casting weird shadows on the canvass walls. He was hungry - hungry and thirsty. His lips were parchment and his eyes glass. He had a hollow pit in his stomach that he couldn't explain. Why did he find the fire so frightening? He was confused.
He wandered out of the door of the tent numbly. The man, James, and Wanda stopped their conversation and stared at him. He opened his mouth to speak but no sound came out. The man ushered him over to the fire and draped a blanket around his bare shoulders. Vaguely, something registered in the back of his mind that he wasn't wearing any clothes. He didn't care. He greedily drank the soup the man handed him.
The man was the first to speak, his voice soft and gentle, "It's not your fault, boy. You can't blame yourself."
"For what?" Pietro was genuinely confused.
The man paused, slightly puzzled, "Your parent's death . . ."
"What are you talking about? They're not dead." He realized the group was staring at him, and his voice rose, "Django and Marya aren't dead! Tell them Wanda, tell them! They're not dead!"
The man placed a hand on his shoulder, "It's alright, no one blames you."
"But they're not dead!" Pietro screamed with greater urgency, breaking out of the man's grasp and whirling around so he was face to face with Wanda, desperate, "TELL THEM!"
Wanda bowed her head and broke his stare, "Oh, P . . ."
"TELL THEM!" The throbbing in his head . . . with another unnatural burst of speed he could no longer see the tent. But this time the speed felt good, his joints no longer ached. Pietro dashed along the cool forest floor, a blur against the slowly moving world. This was his freedom. He ran. He ran until he could no longer hear their lies echoing in his head. Django and Marya were not dead. He would go back to them someday . . . maybe run back . . . there was no blood . . . no screams . . . no fire . . . He skidded to a halt next to a small pond, weeping, staring at his small bruised naked body in the calm waters.
Lies. They were all his lies. "They're gone Pietro." He remembered his sister's level tone. She was right, they were gone. No matter how fast he ran he couldn't change that fact . . . he headed back to her at a normal pace. His parents were gone. "It's just us now."
*~*~*~*
James slung a friendly arm around Pietro proudly, tousling his hair. "That's my baby bro. He can outrun a deer any day." Pietro smiled up at James, who towered over him. He liked being called brother. Four years had past since that fateful night he had first met James and his father, Thomas in the woods, four years since he had come to live with them with Wanda, four years of having a relatively normal family life going on trips to the beach and hunting with his "brother" and his friends and helping out around the house, a real house. It was a tiny cottage which sat amid tall poplars on the hill. Pietro adored waking up every morning and just knew he was going to stay here for the rest of his life.
James' friends looked at Pietro in awe, "What's your secret?"
Pietro simply shrugged, "I'm just that good."
They laughed and slapped him on the back, heading into town. Pietro loved the busy market and soaked in it's atmosphere as they passed through it, full of fruits and vegetables and bread and fish and eggs and colorful country vendors, yelling from every angle of the narrow street. He spotted Wanda purchasing some eggs and wove away from James and their recent game to see her. He'd left before she woke in the morning. As he neared her though, he realized she was arguing with the old crone who owned the stand. "I did not break that egg and I refuse to pay for it!"
The woman grabbed his sister's arm and twisted it sharply, "Mark my words, you'll pay for it one way or another."
Pietro fought his way through the crowd that was beginning to gather around this scene. "LET GO OF ME!" There was a brilliant red flash. The small empty stand next to that of the old woman's burst into flames and Wanda screamed, falling to her knees, holding her head in her hands.
Pietro's breath sharpened, he rushed to her side as people began to back away. "Freaks, both of them . . . the girl's a witch!"
He tugged at his sister to stand, the crowds' eyes glowed with hatred and fear. It was the same look he had seen in the townspeople's faces four short years ago . . .the past was no longer a distant bad dream but a living nightmare. They closed around them. There was no where to run. Pietro held his sister.
"Leave them alone," came a deep, commanding voice. James was going to stop them . . . or Thomas . . .. Pietro heard Wanda gasp as a white-haired man descended from the sky on a large metal disk, landing between the mob and the siblings. He motioned for them to climb on the peculiar sheet of metal. They flew without another word from the small town. As a dome was pulled by the man over the disk, Pietro saw the little cottage on the hill and began to cry.
*~*~*~*
AN: Next chapter, I'll finish with Pietro's past, and then we'll get back to the plot that's killing us all, Wanda's in Bayville, looking for P. You know you want to come back and read it lol! ^_^
Oh, and in the reviews, don't forget to play "Let's Flame Kelly For Her Twisting of Marvel's Beautifully Written Original Plot" It's really quite fun :)