Author Note: Hi! So, this is the sequel to Walk It Off. It'll be told from multiple first person POV's like the first story, and I hope you guys like extra voices added to this story. Thank you to everyone who followed me from the first story to this one, and thank you to everyone who reviewed, favorited, and followed Walk It Off. So… here we go! Hope you enjoy it!

Sidelined

by: Eboni

Summary: (A sequel to Walk It Off.) Though physically recovered from his brush with death, Pietro Maximoff cannot keep up with his powers. A hidden society of genetically altered people offers him a solution, but at a price his family refuses to let him pay. (Main Characters: Pietro Maximoff, Wanda Maximoff, Clint Barton.)

Chapter 1: I'm okay

Pietro Maximoff

The blackest hours are the ones right before waking.

Dreams are an eternity of black and white still-life portraits with no sound or smell. Beautiful because time is frozen, nothing ages or changes beyond recognition; the moment is forever captured. Horrible because life should never be still; it should explode with noise, scent and other sensations. The world should change and evolve.

And it does.

It just doesn't include me.

I stare at the frozen form of my sister as she sits in a café chair, fingers stretched toward a bowl-sized cup of coffee. Sharon Carter sits across from her, mouth open in a laugh that makes the corners of her eyes crinkle. They've been like this for hours, days, weeks. Sometimes I can't tell, because sometimes I forget it's a dream—because sometimes I'm not asleep when this happens.

My coffee cup is empty. It's been empty for hours, days, weeks. I drank it a long time ago, or maybe it was minutes ago. It feels like forever ago. When I touch the rim of the cup, it's neutral. I don't feel hot or cold in these dreams. I don't feel anything really.

I slide out of my chair and leave the café, stepping out onto the sidewalk where there are statue-like people holding cell phones and shopping bags. The cars in the street seem parked. Wanda and Sharon won't notice I'm gone. I've left thousands of times and been gone for hours—maybe days—and come back to find them in the same positions as before. I refill my own coffee and wait. Sometimes, I think I see Wanda's hand come a little closer to her drink.

I've given up talking to them. My words echo around the room, but affect nothing.

I don't matter, because I'm not really here, am I? Not since I died.

I walk down the street, whistling and staring up at the unchanging sky—forever noon, forever cloudy overcast. A gut-wrenching pain in my stomach brings me to my knees as my head swims. Colors bleed back into the world, sound crashes down on me. My arms and legs weigh more than Thor's hammer. My face hits the ground as I'm sucked back into the land of the living—again.

I jump out of bed, heart hammering, gasping. Oh God, oh God, oh God. I stare at the clock on the wall. The second hand ticks: one…two…three… Calm down. Slow down. You're okay—I'm okay. I bend over, clutching my knees, trying to breathe normally as my head pounds in time with my pulse.

One…two… three.

I'm okay.

I fall back on my ass and sit there, half-sprawled, staring at the clock. One…two…three. A normal minute passes, and then another. I concentrate on the deep blue color Wanda and I had painted the dorm room. I inhale the scent of laundry past its due date shoved in a far corner. I hear the rock music playing from the iHeart Radio station I always leave on.

Wetness on my upper lip. My hand shakes as I bring it up to wipe my mouth and stare at the blood on my fingers. Great, another nose bleed.

I stagger to my feet, grab a couple of Kleenex off the night stand and plug my nose. Then I shuffle to the tiny kitchenette area. I rustle though my mini-fridge for ice, milk, yogurt, and bags of diced carrots and peeled, sliced apples. Digging a banana out of the wooden fruit basket Wanda had put on top of the fridge, I rig up my Ninja. I eat the banana as I dump smoothie ingredients into the fancy blender and get it going.

Dammit. The Kleenex feels like a wet rag on my lip. I pull it away and grunt as blood drips onto my tank top—it had to be white. I suck at getting blood out of whites. I strip the shirt off and use it to plug my nose. I'll throw it away later and later on this week listen to Wanda complaining about me wasting all my money on new shirts—don't you have enough?

She thinks I've turned high maintenance because I like posing for pictures. I like posing for pictures because it gets me free milkshakes and fries from McDonalds. And maybe I like it when girls ask me for autographs too. It doesn't hurt and it's fun when Wanda gets annoyed. Her nickname for me is: Town Rake. She's convinced that I'm this big whore who'll sleep with anyone. So not true.

I haven't slept with anyone in two years. Not since my Alina. A pang of loss and hurt rattles deep in my chest and rolls down my spine before I can shake it off. I don't let myself dwell on that period of my life. It's over, done. I survived the enhanced experiments, she didn't. I want to forget it all. But the way her big gray eyes lit up when she looked at me haunts me still.

I pull the shirt away and give a careful sniff. No more blood. I throw the shirt at the trash can near the little sink. It lands on top of another shirt a few inches in front of the bin. I make my way over and snatch up both shirts, frowning at the massive blood stain on the one from last night.

I ran too hard in practice. The trainers had been ecstatic, I broke the sound barrier, but wanted to go faster, so I did—because I could. The world stopped, but I kept going. The trainers patted me on the back, raving about the glowing reports they were going to write. I smiled, then came back to my room, ate everything on the pantry shelf, and bled.

The blood's dried and crunchy now, the shirt ruined. I fist it, and close my eyes. I refuse to be afraid. I swallow back fear and the need to call for Wanda or Clint. They worry enough, and they can't help me. But they don't need to.

I'm okay.

I drop both shirts in the garbage and go back to the ninja for my smoothie. I drink straight from the blender glass as I root through the closet for my Avenger uniform. Black Kevlar with silver racing stripes. It makes me feel like a biker when I add the black sneaker-boots. I pull the uniform off its hanger and toss it on the bed.

It still smells new, but then again I've only worn it a few times in practice sessions. Today it goes out on the field, my first official mission as part of the team. My stomach cramps, but it doesn't stop me from finishing my smoothie. Excitement wipes out any doubts I have. I want to get out there to help people. All my life my sole duty was to protect my sister. That was my goal, nothing else. What she wanted was what I wanted, because she deserves that from me.

But now—now I want something else. It's a weird feeling, but this sensation starts in my chest and spreads to every fiber of my being when I think of my abilities, something that I can do and others can't, being the reason why someone else is happy, safe, alive. It feels like I have a purpose, a reason for my being here that has nothing to do with Wanda not wanting to be alone. And I need to feel it, because otherwise my being here is wrong. Otherwise, I really don't belong, and that black and white still-life is what's waiting for me… soon.

I run my hand under my nose again, checking for a bleed. Dry.

I'm okay.

Tugging on my uniform, I frown at the loose fit. It'd been snug days ago when I'd worn it last. My weight's in constant flux, but I haven't been underweight in weeks. I blend a smoothie with milk, chocolate syrup, yogurt, six scoops of protein powder and the last banana.

My cell phone buzzes on my desk, and I answer it before it goes to voicemail. "Yeah?"

"Yeah?" Wanda sounds annoyed. "This is how you greet your sister?"

"Mmm." I smack on smoothie.

"Are you dressed? I'll be at your door in five minutes."

"Mmm." She didn't have to call. She could have used telepathy, but she's on an independence kick. She's decided not to talk to me mind-to-mind or poke around in my head unless it's an emergency—like when she suspected I had a crush on Sharon.

And maybe I do. What's not to like—but it's nothing serious and it's no reason to barge into my head like a Mom doing a random drug-check. That's for Laura to do. I scowl at nothing, remembering how Laura had called later on that day, grilling me about Sharon and kindly telling me that Sharon was too old and if I wanted a girlfriend I needed to pick someone my age.

Wanda hangs up and I finish my smoothie and struggle into my sneaker-boots. It takes about two minutes to wash my face, brush my teeth and shave the stubble. I sigh at my hair. It's more silver than brown now. People think I'm older than Clint until they see my face. I pull it back into a low tail, grumbling at the curls that spring loose. It's too long again.

I pop out of the bathroom and open the door to my room before my sister knocks. We fall into step with each other down the tiled hallway.

"What's on your face?" she asks.

"Good morning," I say. "Did you sleep well?"

"We're past good morning." Wanda levels me with a side-long look. "What's that on your face?" She touches my upper lip.

"Smoothie." I lick at the spot. Salty. Blood? But I washed my—a flash of fear. Am I bleeding again? I wipe at my nose, and my hand comes back dry. I sigh in relief. Good.

Wanda glares at me. "You're ly—"

"Ah-ah, you promised," I chide her and walk faster so that she has to jog to keep up. She's biting her tongue. I can tell from the pinched look on her face. I smirk. She really did promise to leave me alone when I blow her off. It's my signal that I don't want to talk about something, and her new duty is not to push me.

We take the elevator up to the conference room Steve likes to hold meetings in. I rub my hands together in anticipation. I've never actually been in the meeting room, just heard about it from Wanda and the others. I don't expect it to be fancy or anything, but I want it to look official. The elevator lets us out and I follow Wanda as she leads the way.

"You've got bags under your eyes," Wanda says, sounding casual. "Did you sleep well?"

She wants to know if I had nightmares. Fair. I've had horrible nightmares sine I was ten. "Yes," I tell her.

She narrows her eyes and stops walking, folding her arms over her chest. "Dragă."

Uh-oh, it's her warning voice. "Wanda, I'm okay," I say. "I slept fine." I just woke up badly, but she never asks about that. And it's not my fault she chooses the wrong questions. "And, you know, I think that I'm old enough now for you to stop calling me 'sweetheart'. I don't call you 'darling'."

A nasty smile curves Wanda's lips. "Would you rather I use Laura's name for you, then?"

Oh God no. "Sweetheart is fine."

"Sure thing… Apple Dumpling." Her grin puts Maleficent to shame as she passes me by and touches her hand to a scanner beside a door. "This way."

The door slides open and she slips inside as I gape at her.

And people call me brat.

I step through the door. Steve sits at the end of a long silver table with edges rimmed in glowing blue stripes. Images and text boxes display on various screens built into the table's surface. Sam sits adjacent to Steve, Thor across from Sam, and Natasha next to Thor. She raises her head from the scrolling text on the table and cracks a lopsided grin at me.

"Look at this, Boy Twin finally gets his invite," she drawls. "You teach him table etiquette, Girl Twin?"

I swear she knows our names, but I also swear she's never used them.

"Good morning, you two," Steve says. He looks serious, not the fun Steve who gets frustrated when he can't do the right combo moves on the Wii Universe. "Have a seat."

I slide into the chair next to Sam and Wanda sits next to me. Thor nods good morning, and Sam nudges me with his elbow.

"Hey, we aren't shipping out for another hour and a half. If Steve doesn't talk forever, we need to go get some McGriddles after this."

I fist bump him. Sam respects my relationship with McDonald's.

The Vision arrives. How pretentious is that? The Vision. I watch his red robot ass sit down next to Wanda. They start making small talk. My hackles rise when Wanda giggles. My sister doesn't giggle. What the hell? I open my mouth to say something, but get interrupted by the door opening again. Clint comes in holding a large, white bakery box. I smell the donuts before he sets the box on the table and pops the lid.

"I love you, Old Man," I say, balancing six plain glazed donuts, three in each hand. I bite into the one straddling my left wrist. Mm… still hot.

"Hey, why'd you only get one kind?" Natasha complains, wrinkling her nose at the box. "Where's my bear claw?"

Clint rolls his eyes and produces a white bakery bag from the satchel over his shoulder. He drops it on the table and Natasha seizes it, pulling out her bear claw.

Sam, Wanda and Thor pick through the plain glazed, each getting one, but the rest are for me. I love plain glazed. I beam at Clint.

Steve clears his throat. "Should I let you all finish eating or should we get started?"

"I listen better on donuts," I say, mouth full.

Clint sits next to Natasha which puts him across from me. After he kicks me under the table and shoots me the 'behave' look he uses on his kids, he extracts a second bear claw from the bakery bag and starts munching on it.

Hmph. I polish off my first six donuts as Steve gives report. My attention shifts to Clint who's twirling a pen as he stares at Steve, expression intense. Damn, he must be really listening… or Steve's got something awful on his face. I lick crunchy sugar flakes from the corners of my mouth as I study Steve. He's clean cut and ridiculously young-looking for a World War II relic. He could advertize those get young quick creams they sell on late night infomercials. I bite back a chuckle. I should order one of those creams for Clint to see what he'll do. I pull out my phone, Googling the name of one of those youth code serums. I'll order an entire case to Clint's dorm and tie a pink bow around it.

/Pay attention, Pietro! This is important./ Wanda's words come with a mental slap. She considers inattention an emergency?

I grit my teeth and glare at her for a split second. Bully!

/Brat./

"I'm sorry, Wanda and Pietro." The sound of Steve saying my name snaps me to attention. I turn my head to find him staring at me and Wanda, eyes stern and serious. "Am I interrupting your conversation?"

"No," Wanda says, not quite pulling off innocence. "We're listening."

Steve narrows his eyes and I try to look innocent too. It's weird how Steve can be such a nice, easy-going guy out of costume, but when he puts on that blue suit, he turns hardcore.

I hear a few snickers from around the table and Steve shuts it down as he goes back to talking about the mission, the one I know nothing about. Damn. I do need to pay attention. I feel a scowl being directed at my forehead and sneer in Clint's direction. His dark look is only aimed at me, not Wanda, meaning he thinks I'm the problem. I'm being profiled! Oh, see there. This totally justifies me buying him two cases of youth code cream.

/Pietro…/ Wanda's words are ragged fingernails scratching my brain. /I have been working with this team for a month now, and I have never been reprimanded. This is your fault. And if it happens again, I will hurt you./

I gulp at the red energy crackling around the fist she makes in her lap.

So, yeah, okay. Steve's talking. Images swirl on the tabletop computer screens and… ha! Something's recording Steve's monologue and posting the transcript as he speaks. I lean forward, eyes scanning the text. Ugh. Of course it'd be in English. I speak English much better than I read it, I'm never sure if I get everything right.

I frown as I try to make sense of the transcript. The mission's in the Himalayas on Mt. Gangkhar Puensum. And it…?—damn, what does this word mean? Okay, skipping it. Skipping that one too. Seismic…?—wait, okay—recent earthquakes and avalanches. Unidentified subjects with paranormal abilities.

"And these enhanced beings have actually been witnessed using their magic?" Thor asks.

I sit up straight at the word "enhanced', and I don't miss the gazes thrown at Wanda and me.

"There were no other survivors from our group," Wanda says. "But who's to say there weren't other test groups?"

Groups that turned out a lot better than ours obviously. Bitterness keeps me from grabbing the last donut. It'd probably taste like dirt right now.

"Visuals are limited," Steve says, "but there were two groups that seemed to be fighting each other at one point. They're gone from sight now, but we all know nothing 'disappears'. We're going to break into two teams, one is Rescue, and the other is Recon. Thor, Clint and Pietro," Steve eyeballs me, "are Rescue. Your skills will best be served helping the disaster squads locate and evacuate trapped civilians to established shelters. We need speed, strength and a level head."

I frown and blink when Wanda takes my hand. She's frowning too.

"The Recon team will be me, Natasha, and Wanda on the ground. Sam and Vision, I'll need you both in the air."

"Excuse me, Steve," Wanda says, sounding confused. "Why are Pietro and I on different teams? This is his first mission. We should be together."
"All the more reason why you shouldn't be," Steve says. "Wanda, you've worked without Pietro for a month, and you've done well. Now we need to see if Pietro can work alone. He can't do that with you holding his hand."

I would say something rude, but I'd have to let go of Wanda's hand first or I'll look ridiculous. Wanda clenches my fingers tight.

/I don't want you out there without me, sweetheart./

I know you don't.

She lets me feel her fear, it's like a python wrapped around her ribcage. How can she breathe? I squeeze her fingers back.

Clint will be with me.

Not that I need Clint to protect me. I saved him last time—but I also died doing it. The memories of the salty, thick taste of blood pooling in the back of my throat and the agony of burning holes in my chest make me shut my eyes. The world goes silent as my heart pounds, and when I open my eyes nothing moves but me.

Oh no. Not now. Not today.

Wanda's hand is warm and soft in mine, not neutral like in my nightmares. The donut sugar on my lips is sweet instead of tasteless. I'm still here.

I'm okay.

/Piiiiiii….eeeeee….troooo…..?/

Wanda's thought is slow, but I understand it. I blink rapidly as the people around me start moving again and words come back into play.

"This is a test for the both of you," Steve is saying.

/Pietro?/

Yeah, I'm here.

I'm okay—but I don't let go of her hand.

"Meeting adjourned. Meet back here at 0800 hours," Steve says, then looks to Natasha who's pointing at something on a table screen and talking.

Sam taps my arm. "Hey, that's forty minutes. We can be to McDonald's and back, man."

I watch his lips move at half speed, but I hear his words at normal speed. It's like a bad dub that's slowly correcting itself. I let go of Wanda's hand.

"You okay, man?" Sam asks.

I nod. "Yeah, yeah, let's—let's go." I need to move. Maybe I've been sitting still for too long.

/Pietro, you've still got something on your upper lip./

Huh? I touch my top lip, and pause at the wetness there. Shit. I cover my nose with one hand. "Be-right-back!"

"Pietro?" Clint's coming around the table, but I don't have time to wait for his slow ass. I dash out of the room, faster than necessary, but I need to get of here.

I push into a nearby single restroom and lock the door. Bracing myself on the sink, I stare at my pale reflection in the mirror. A thin trickle of blood drips from my nose. I unroll some toilet paper and wipe at my nose. It stops bleeding almost immediately and I clean up the mess.

What's wrong with me today?

My hands shake as I wash them. Maybe I need to say something. Maybe I shouldn't go on the mission—but hell. I've been waiting for this.

I don't know how long I stand there with my hands under the water. A knock at the door snaps me out of my trance.

"Pietro, you in there?" Clint.

"Yeah?" I sniff and check my upper lip. No new blood.

"Are you sick?" He sounds worried.

"No," I say, shutting off the water and slicking hair off my face with wet hands. I smirk at my reflection, admiring my uniform and how much I look the part of a hero. I'm going to be one today.

Nothing's going to stop me.

"I'm okay."

Author's Note: So, what's the verdict? Like it? Hate it? Don't care either way? Well, any way you liked it, let me know. Please review!