Chapter 3
The rain is pelting off the roof again, she thinks soon there will be a hole in the metal. She wouldn't mind though, she likes the feeling of the rain. The first night she woke up she danced in the rain, not caring if she caught a cold. One point in her life she would have been terrified of the rain. A simple cold would lead to a path of death. Now? She's curious to see if it would happen again. If so, where would they bury her this time? Perhaps they would be smarter and burn the evidence this time.
The shadows were lively tonight. They swirl over her head , sometimes being spooked by the heavier drops of rain. They whisper and giggle about everything and nothing at the same time. Some drift down to nuzzle up against her, to kiss and hug her. One has taken up residence around her throat, as if protecting it. She sighs as she continues to stare up at the roof, arms stretched out either side of her. The blonde mop of hair splayed out on the dusty stone underneath.
She doesn't know who owns this shed maybe it belongs to no one. She wouldn't mind either way. While the shadows are pleasant they couldn't talk to her, not in the same way people talked. She met people after she woke up, don't get her wrong. She's everything but a hermit. However, anytime she so much as looked at someone they froze. Froze up like a statue, eyes wide and filled with pure horror. She thought them a bit dramatic. Yes, she didn't look her best at the moment but there was no need for that reaction. She came to the conclusion that it wasn't necessarily her appearance that made them like that, rather something else. Something she thought she got under control many years ago. As her 'tendencies' reared their ugly head once more, she decided to keep to the shadows. They were nicer to her anyways, always have been.
She lets another sigh escape from her lips, raising her hands to promptly shove them in her face. The shadows laugh. The one on her neck tightens its hold. Christ, the pressure felt heavenly. The shadow purrs, knowing full well that it did a good job.
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As they sit atop of a random rooftop the clouds above them start their cry. Sighing, Wanda pulls up the hood on her coat, that vibrant shade of red that she likes so much. Natasha let her borrow it when she was still settling down after Ultron, she never gave it back and Natasha never asked. Speaking of Natasha, the woman is currently crouching down on the same roof as the witch, binoculars in hand. A passive look on her face, Wanda came to learn that particular face was a sign that Natasha was bored. The witch didn't blame her, sitting on a roof for three hours straight in the freezing cold and rain didn't scream fun. She gazes over to the building opposite the one her and Natasha are sitting on, surveying the roof for a sign of Clint. The archer promised her that he would stay close, to keep both of them safe. Wanda still didn’t know what exactly they are facing, Tony keeps calling the woman a zombie or a ghost. Wanda didn’t really care what she was, it was the unknown power that came with her that worried Wanda.
That man in the video, she keeps thinking about him. The way he rocked back and forth, his eyes filled with complete dread, his mouth screaming a silent plea for help. All of that in just a matter of moments.
Wanda has seen some shit, don’t get her wrong. Her entire homeland fell out of the sky just a few months ago and now she’s on the same team with the man who blew up her parents. She’s not a stranger to the strange but she just can’t get this woman out of her head. The way she limped around like someone tied weights to her feet, her sunken eyes, the spine poking out of her back, everything that screamed that something super natural was happening here.
Blood drops down on her chin, a taste of metal melting on her tongue. A familiar feeling she greets with open arms. Natasha somehow senses this, maybe she’s like a great white shark? The thought makes Wanda smile a little, the action causes Natasha’s eyebrow to raise even more on her forehead, an unimpressed look crosses her face.
“Sorry.” Wanda slowly brings her bloodied thumb away from her mouth down to rest on her thigh. “Sorry, I’m just nervous. I’ve never met a zombie before, unless you count Clint in the morning.” Natasha rolls her eyes but there is a hint of a smile on her lips, Wanda counts that as a win. The widow stands up and shakes head. “You should stop listening to those boys, it will give you nothing but trouble, believe me.” The woman seems to speak from experience.
“You don’t have to be nervous, Wanda. I’ll be here the entire time, so will Clint. Besides, it looks like we won’t be running into our zombie tonight. It’s getting late.” Natasha takes a look up at the night sky, the inky canvas above is shining bright tonight. It reminds Wanda of a simpler time where her and Pietro would stare up at the night sky, counting the stars and retelling stories their mother would tell them.
It still doesn’t feel real, like she’s going to wake up soon from this nightmare. That Pietro is going to be staring down at her with that stupid smirk on his face, teasing her for crying in her sleep but then hugging her tightly. She would do anything to get him back, anything. If she could just hug him one last time, to say goodbye. To say sorry for failing him. She doesn’t want to be an Avenger anymore, she wants her home back, her parents, her Pietro.
The ringing in her ear breaks her free from her thoughts as well as Natasha running back to her surveying spot, binoculars covering her eyes as she stares down at the city below. Steve’s voice echoes through Wanda’s head, giving her a slight headache.
“I have eyes. I repeat I have eyes. Just by 42nd street, second alley down.” Wanda inhales through her teeth, the cold air brushing against her lips. “She’s alone. Target is not moving.” Natasha stands up once more, glancing back at Wanda with a short smile before hopping over to the next roof over, and then the next. Wanda pulls up her coat so it could sit atop her properly before chasing after the widow. For some reason a wave of excitement makes its way to her stomach, the flapping of butterfly wings turning it inside out.
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She liked walking around at night, not that much people around, well, as long as she stuck to the shadows. It was strange, the people who resides here seem to never sleep, always on the go. One person turns it in for the night and ten more awaken in their place. What a strange, little place!
She hums to herself as she wanders down a narrow path, leaning against a nearby wall as she walks. She discovered that she can’t walk like she was once able to, stumbling every two steps. She supposes being trapped in a coffin for years on end would do that to you. It hurt to walk but that didn’t stop her, she had places to see and people to avoid. Speaking of people, There seems to be a rather curious man following her, has been for the last ten minutes or so. Maybe he was too shy to talk to her? She can relate to that, talking is just so nerve wrecking! However, stalking her from the rooftops seemed a bit excessive.
The shadows warn her about him, whispering in her ears about what he looked like. Stern blue eyes with a chiselled chin, she giggles, did the shadows have a crush on him or something? What was odd was the description of his attire. Now, she’s not one to judge but wearing a bright blue pyjama set in public was certainly a choice. Not one she would have made.
She continues to walk down the path, humming the entire way there. While she may look calm and collected on the outside, she was everything but. Should she stop and talk to the man? That would be the polite thing to do, however maybe the man didn’t want to talk to her? Just decided to stare at her from a far, that wasn’t good or polite. She should say something, tell him off. She was a mar-
A dead end. Not surprising, most of these narrow paths lead to them. She glares at the mossy bricks in front of her, tracing them gently as if they could hurt. A shadow slithers its way up her leg, all the way to her neck. It leaves a kiss on her cheek before whispering into her ear.
'He’s not alone. This is just like last time, they are going to overpower you. Let us help, please. We do not wish for you to die, to be hurt. We want to protect you this time.'
She turns around just as a massive banging sound comes from behind her. She stares up at the man, and wow! Those are bright pyjamas. The shadow from before growls and tightens its hold, gripping her shoulders so hard they might break.
'Up. There are more up. They are watching, waiting for you to mess up. You will not, you are so strong. This is your choice.'
Her choice? Her choice to live, her choice to fight, to run. Which one should she choose? It’s her choice after all. So she decides to do what a woman like her is good at, she decides to talk.