( it's entirely reassuring what amos says, but there's a real point to it. to wanda, it sounds like something steve might say, in that stern but soft voice of his, trying to be careful with her—something she always appreciated—in not making her feel like she was any trouble at all, despite how complicated things around her were.

maybe, much like him, the avengers she got closest to, perhaps they offered her very little because they didn't know how to help her. perhaps she was so broken, it was easier to give her something to do, a sense of purpose, to help keep those pieces together.

but all of that is gone.

amos's words, though, they make her laugh. a wet sort of tired laugh, like his words sprung forth memories that pulled an emotional weight enough to make her want to cry. but she doesn't cry, even if it feels like she might want to. )

Yeah, that sounds about right.

( all that he says, harsh as it may be, holds truth in her heart.

it's enough for a little bit of courage to bustle through, despite her cowardice in speaking about something like this. it makes her feel vulnerable, empty, so completely devoid of anything—

but the breeze is nice and the car drives steadily, and maybe this is what roadtrips are like, with music and quiet moments of reflection. she'd never know, but maybe she can pretend she does, and that makes her voice steady itself as she speaks. )

My brother was killed over a year ago. We... did everything together. The plans we made, where we'd stay the night, plans for meals. ( it's not dependence if all this was a necessity in a country that was without more than it was with. she swallows, wishes she had some water to drink. ) I thought I found purpose, before coming here, but it wasn't really...

( her voice quietens, not really finishing her sentence, if only because another thought, another emotion, takes precedence. )

I feel adrift without him.

( and perhaps part of those mistakes she made in the past include the guilt of pietro's death. )