Waking up was strange, a sort of odd feeling, as though it wasn’t meant to happen. Stiff joints ache, every muscle and bone protesting as though this wasn’t meant to be - HE wasn’t meant to be here. But where else would he be? It’s a weird feeling, the memory of knowing he had died, been shot in Sokovia protecting another, but how could he have ignored her when she called? Was it intentional, or was she, as he had always suspected, never hinted, truly so powerful that she had done this? Whatever the case may be, his sister would be the only person he knew with the power to do this and the explanation behind it.
He hoped.
A heavy weight lay on his back - he had left her alone, a promise unfulfilled of not separating, but there had been little other options in the moment - guilt, heavy and burdensome, slowed his feet each step towards the house where, he knew, she lived. Nothing else here was familiar. The trees, the town, the houses all neat in a row. It was the sort of place, calm and soothing, so predictable and safe, that he would have liked for them to have found one day, once the fight was over. Was that now for her? She’s home, and awake; the lights are on, despite the hour, and he’d know if she wasn’t. The anticipation was nearly killing him though, even if no time has really passed for him, and he had no idea how much has for her, when his hand raises, presses the doorbell, and he steps back to wait.
