xxxxxP E T R A x M A X I M O F F x • x h e x x // x b22222 x •He'll come back for me. He has to.
For a little while she wandered among the various shards, feeling like an intruder in what should have been her home, except that her home had never experienced such chaos before. What was it that Rachmaninoff had said? I feel like a ghost in a world grown alien.
Eventually she returned to where she'd first entered, sinking onto the floor opposite the shard reflected by the compact. She couldn't go anywhere, so she might as well remain where she could be found.
The adrenaline of the past hour caught up to her quickly, though, and she found her eyelids closing, even as she willed herself to stay awake. This fight was a brief and victoryless one - within minutes she was asleep, sitting on the floor with her knees pulled to her chest.
She was awoken, half an eternity later, by shouting. "Where are the others? Where's Petra?!"
Raising her head, she blinked the heaviness away, trying to figure out the source of the voice. Oddly familiar, though the same couldn't be said for her surroundings - she seemed to be everywhere, and yet nowhere at once.
Then she remembered. Ross and his stupid compact. Through a shard on her right she could see Tobias sitting upright in what looked like the infirmary, looking around frantically. She sighed to herself, making no effort to try to communicate with him. It would be fruitless, and she'd already established nothing was leaving this realm until Ross came back.
Speak of the devil... A familiar figure all but leapt out of the next bed, scrambling to his feet. "Shite!"
Petra rolled her eyes, suddenly irate. "Thanks for remembering me, I guess," she said aloud to the empty air, watching as Ross struggled past the nurses to return to the now-ruined ballroom.
"Red! It's meh. Come on, take me hand." A hand reached out through the glass in front of her. She grasped it tightly, pulling herself to her feet, and stepped back through.
Up close, he looked even worse than she had initially realised. The beating he'd endured earlier had clearly taken its toll, his face a canvas of bruises, and the bandages wrapped around his chest weren't any comfort either. Taking advantage of their contact from where she still held his hand, she tried to transfer some of the magic that helped her heal to him. A sudden rush of warmth through her hand, and what magic she'd managed to summon passed through to him. Not much, seeing how drained she was, but perhaps enough to speed up the process and relieve some of his pain.
Ignoring the men in the room gaping at the girl who'd just stepped out of nowhere, she let go of Ross and took a step back. "Are you - okay?" She paused, aware of what a stupid question that was. "You didn't have to do that. I'm more than capable of looking after myself, and you got yourself hurt for it. That was completely unnecessary." Her tone changed, expression hardening. For once, she didn't want to be closed off, but she couldn't stop herself - once a Maximoff got started there was no stopping them, and it was her nature to mask her real emotions. "I could have helped. I could have done something, but you decided to put me in your stupid mirror -" She cut herself off with a barely-veiled sob. Turning her back on Ross, she strode back to the infirmary. At least Tobias was there, she didn't need to try to hide her thoughts with him.
Why did you have to get hurt helping me?
---
xxxxxR I L E Y x B A R T O N x • x h e x x // x 7a378b x •"That's not true," he tried to say, but his mouth was filled with cotton, packed all the way down his throat, in his lungs. "That's not true," he tried again, and this time he felt blood bubble up from between his teeth, dripping hot and heavy from his lips.
"It is true. Even me." The figure wavered, growing insubstantial, almost transparent, then holes began to burn through him as though he were nothing more than paper.
"No!" Riley gasped, jackknifing upright. Can't breathe - Clawing desperately at his chest and face, his scrabbling fingers found a hard casing over his mouth and nose. He couldn't find the edges for a moment - oh god it's welded to my face - but that irrational thought left him quickly as he slipped a nail under it, and pulled it away, the straps tugging loose.
"Mr. Barton, please!" A nurse hurried to his side. She took the casing from him while he sucked in several breaths, the air rattling in his lungs. When his head finally cleared and he looked at her, her lips were twisted in an ironic smile, trying to appear comforting. "This was supposed to help you with breathing, but I suppose if you can manage without..." She raised the thing in her hands, and only then did Riley see that it was an oxygen mask.
It was hard to see her clearly. While he tried to make sense of what he was looking at, the scene would fade, breaking up and reconverging. He closed his eyes, shaking his head. "I'm sorry, uh... I can't seem to..." He checked the chair beside the bed surreptitiously. No trace of his dad. It was only just a dream. What if the nurse began to burn up, though?
Somewhere someone was yelling. Maybe two someones. Was it Tobias? Another someone darted past, drawing the nurse's attention. She turned, half ready to attend to the situation, but thought better of it, seeing as it already had so much attention from her colleagues. Her attention returned to Riley, resuming her attempts to be comforting.
"Well, you're suffering the effects of hypoxia and a possible concussion. Try and get some rest, okay? I'll come back to check on you when you're done with this." She tapped the bag attached to the other end of his IV. One final kindly smile, and she left to continue making her rounds.
She hadn't forbidden him from getting up, so Riley swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up. A wave of dizziness rolled over him, and he staggered, almost sitting down again. Only the IV pole was there to support him, and he gripped it tightly, taking deep, deliberate breaths until his head stopped feeling like it was going to pop off his shoulders.
He was wearing pajamas. Where had these come from? They rustled when he moved, and were cool against his skin - nothing like the soft comfort of the sweatshirts he loved so much.
With no particular goal in mind, Riley wandered among the beds, feeling like an invalid as he dragged the IV pole behind him. Astrid strode past him, looking far less worse for the wear, but she didn't stop to talk. He shuffled past the rows of beds until he saw a familiar face - Andrew. Feeling a bit guilty for passing out on him, Riley dropped into the chair by his bedside. The least he could do was offer Andrew a comforting presence when he came round.
While seated, Riley continued to look around, making a mental count of those missing. Another pang of guilt wormed its way into his stomach as he realised Frankie was gone. He could have helped her, should have helped her - but he didn't, and now she was in Hydra's hold. Maybe he would have the energy to feel something stronger about this turn of events later, but for now there was little more he could think besides disappointment at his own inability.
You know you can't save everyone, right?
---
xW Y N N E x W O R T H I N G T O N x • x h e x x // x 6e6e6e x •"Be reasonable, please, Wynne. After that attack, you can't stay on. It's illogical and pointless."
Wynne's hands were shaking, but her voice was steady. "No, father. Hydra got what they wanted. They won't be back soon. We need to learn to work together against an external force, and now, more than ever, we need the Academy's support. There's even more reason for me to stay than before."
Gods, but did her wounds hurt. Medical had been quick to remove the bullets and wrap her wings to the best of their ability - perhaps they should have called a vet in for her - but accelerated healing factor be damned, she'd never felt pain like this before. And if that wasn't the nail in the coffin, she'd awoken way earlier than most of the others, while they were pulling the bullets out of her. It was a wonder her screams hadn't been enough to rouse the entire infirmary from their drugged sleep.
But she hadn't pulled her trump card yet. Fixing her eyes on her father's, she pitched her voice low. "What's illogical and pointless is setting our name up as blood traitors to those we should have stood by. Neither those who occupy this building nor those who just blew a hole in it are very happy with both of us at the moment, so I would suggest taking any opportunity we can to remedy that. With the right faction."
Warren's jaw tightened, if that was even possible given how he was all but grinding his teeth already. Wynne was surprised he wasn't spitting loose teeth at her, to be honest.
"Fine. But remember who put you here - someone who could take that away just as easily." He didn't just mean the Academy, of course - if Warren Worthington wanted to regain the title of the only mutant in the United Nations, he could tear her away from her position. She knew that well enough.
"I'll remain in touch. Father." Fearful she'd crack, Wynne turned and went back into the infirmary, sweeping past the Rogers girl. She wasn't accustomed to opposing her father, and every time it happened it was terrifying. This was one of the rare times she'd come out on top, and she would treasure it.
Because it wasn't about keeping an eye on mutants, it wasn't about making sure they picked the right side to fight for. It wasn't even about trying to clear her own name. Wynne had wanted to reclaim her identity for a long time, and she'd be lying if she said the adrenaline rush from earlier wasn't addictive - even if it had resulted in her getting shot. But not only had she finally been able to see the Academy she'd always felt would be more accepting of her than her own home, but a student had stepped in front of flying debris for her. Whether he had done it intentionally was irrelevant. He had helped her, and now she owed him.
Tobias was sitting up in bed, yelling about Petra Maximoff. Wynne revisited her mental notes briefly - right, she was his niece - trying to recall if she'd seen the redheaded mutant among the chaos earlier. No, she couldn't remember her, not since she'd left with Ross McCulloch while Wynne was talking to Tobias.
A nurse was restraining Tobias from getting out of bed, trying to placate him. Wynne hovered uncertainly behind her, wondering if she could offer help. Maybe she was just being a hindrance - no, she hadn't anywhere else to go, not after storming off.
"Um. Hi."
---
xxxxxxxxxJ E N S E N x J O N E S x • x h e x x // x 2b4f81 x •Heart pounding, she looked around at the others, hoping to hear Wren and Alec going at it as per usual. Pointless, really, when she had seen Wren with that - that thing - protruding from her torso, being pulled into the Hydra helicraft, but she could hope Alec had moved out of the heat of the fight, unlike her, and made it out untouched.
No such luck. Only Jensen, of their original three, remained in the Academy. A cold sensation began at the top of her scalp, trickling down slowly to her ears, then down her neck. What would happen to those in Hydra's hands, she couldn't say for sure. But they had gone after a specific number amongst them, and of those students Alec would be the weakest, having been forced to leave his hat behind in his room. Jensen briefly cursed JARVIS and the mentors for not having anticipated the situation, knowing full well that anyone with tools outside of what they innately possessed had been made to leave them behind anyway. It could have been any one of them.
Her breath hitched in her chest, and as it did pain radiated outward from the right side of her chest. She clutched at it, looking down. At some point of time someone had helped her out of her dress and into hospital pajamas, and under the papery blouse bandages covered the better part of her torso. Amazing. A cracked rib. Isn't that just the shit icing on top of a shit cake. She remembered sustaining a heavy blow to her right side, but she hadn't felt the pain then. Not until now, when it seemed like once the pain had started, it would never stop. And speaking of which...
Whoever had removed her dress was kind enough to leave it folded on the stand beside her bed, along with her other belongings. Rummaging through her clutch, she found an old compact, one she'd left in there to rot weeks before, and flipped it open. She was nursing a black eye and split lip to complement the bandage over her broken nose, to say nothing of the various cuts across her forearms inflicted by the flying debris. "Fuck," she croaked at no one in particular. Injuries were a bitch to heal, and everything hurt - but she'd be okay soon enough.
Jensen's hand had curled into a fist around the compact, now closed. She looked down. Blood seeped through her fingers, dripping into her lap, staining the thin bedsheets. Almost carelessly, she dropped the shattered plastic and glass pieces on the floor, then slammed her bloodied fist down on the bedside stand. The flimsy wood gave way with a loud crack, and the stand collapsed, broken.
Fuck indeed.