The street was quiet, the alleyways of the big city empty, and the only sounds audible where the noises of city rats rummaging through the garbage, taking full advantage of the abandoned city.

An abandoned parking garage lay in the midst of the silence, the noise of skin meeting leather echoing all throughout the town.

Pietro Maximoff felt his fists crash against the punching bag, over and over. The exercise did nothing to lessen the knot in his stomach, but the feeling of physically beating something up did help take his mind off some of the more depressing thoughts that had taken hold of his mind and heart alike.

He corrected his form, bit by bit, as his fists beat the tough material once again.

Left, right, up.

Left, right, up.

Pietro mentally swore as he missed the target, cursing himself for forgetting the basics.

Damn it, Pietro.

The power comes from the back foot, dumbass.

It's one fluid motion, stupid.

And you need to keep your fists upright in between punches or-

He faltered as a memory blinded him, the ghost of words that were spoken so many years in the past echoed in his ears.

"How many times do I have to tell you? Keep your fists upright in between punches, and uppercut here on the jaw. Do it again."

The sound of Dahlia Anelace's voice in his mind took Pietro aback, sending him stumbling to the ground and scrounging his lungs for air.

His breath became shallow, and he slumped himself up on the wall, holding his head in his hands. He never liked to cry, not that anyone did, but he hated seeming vulnerable in front of anyone. Dahlia had managed to get it in his head that he could cry, that he was allowed to break down, but he hadn't been able to do so in front of anyone else, not since that fucking day.

But here, in this empty room, he felt those hot tears spill once more, and he could do nothing to stop them.

The love of his life was dead.

Her cold, lifeless body lay in the cold ground, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Dahlia Lilith Anelace, the one person in the entire world who managed to look past his flaws, make perfectly crafted jokes, who knew when he was upset without him saying a word, who he had dreamed of marrying even back when he was a stupid twenty-four year old, who made his world look brighter simply by being in it, was gone, leaving him alone in the darkness.

In all honesty, Pietro hadn't even been sure that death would even be able to catch her until it did. She always managed to look the prospect right in the face, daring it to get her, and it always backed down in the end.

Except for once.

And once was all it took.

He felt so weak, so useless, so empty because she wasn't there to tell him to get his act together, like he knew she would.

His entire world was gone in one fell swoop. His sister was the only one who understood how he was feeling, the only one who could stand to look at the grieving man for more than a minute.

Wanda and Pietro, once again, had their whole lives ripped from them, leaving them to cling to each other for dear life, fearing they would drown in the sorrow if they didn't.

The two Maximoff's were in separate states, for varying reasons that were all related to their loss. Wanda was in New Jersey, wanting to be near Vision and the life he had planned for her.

Meanwhile, Pietro was in upstate New York for similar reasons. Their cottage was only a half hour from where he stood, but simply being inside the building gave him a heartache, since the house was all Dahlia, from the floor to the ceiling.

Since all that was left of the love of his life lay in the garden, laying among the sunflowers, Pietro clung onto it like a life raft.

Her headstone was disgustingly plain, nothing like the person buried underneath. The sight of it made his insides want to tear themselves apart, but being away from it made his world start to collapse.

The silence of the room made him want to claw his ears out, because, for some reason, the silence felt louder than any noise he could fathom.

He had begun practicing combat in this abandoned building as a distraction, but over time it became a way of coping with the loss. Sure, there were healthier ways to do it, but, to put it bluntly, Pietro didn't give a shit.

He was angry at the world for turning, at the sun for shining, at the flowers for blooming, and at the universe for existing without her. How dare the world continue on its path without the one woman who made it worth living in?

It wasn't fair, it wasn't right, it couldn't be real.

Suddenly, his heart gave a lurch, and Pietro's eyes wrenched closed. The pain that resided inside of him felt like it was literally eating him alive, tearing him limb from limb, until he felt numb.

Countless memories flooded his mind, the dam he had built to prevent it cracking all at once.

When they had first met.

"I find it's rude to fight someone without knowing their name."

"It's not a date, buddy. I don't need to know your name to kick your ass."

Their first kiss.

"You're awfully wise, Speedy."

"It's all part of my charm."

When she had first admitted she loved him.

"I swear- You know, fuck it. I love you."

"One more time? I just- I can't believe it."

Their time in their quaint little beach house in the Caribbean.

"Quit staring, will you?"

"Now, why would I do that?"

The way she knew the words to every song on the radio.

"How do you know all the words to every single song that you hear?"

"I'm just that cool. Now, come on and dance with me, loser!"

Everything about her came back in flashes.

And it hurt like a bitch.

His body and mind felt like they were ripping themselves into shreds, leaving the gaping holes in his life quite clear. Pietro looked up, through the pain, and his vision began to clear. A scarlet fog, one he recognized but couldn't place, enveloped the room around him.

The strangest feeling encased him, and for some odd reason, he could hear someone.

Wanda.

Pietro could hear her screams, clear as day, but he couldn't help her, for she wasn't really beside him, as much as he felt like she was. His eyes were wrenched shut and he was only barely containing the pain inside of him, holding back from letting the cries in his throat from roaming free.

Slowly, the red light began forming itself into a scene around him, the fog materializing into solid objects all around him.

A hallway?

Lockers?

Classrooms?

Sneakers?

Wait, sneakers?

Usually sneakers were attached to a person, at least in Pietro's experience.

The bright red converse with many scuffs on the soles were a thing of mystery to him, and he needed to know more.

Upon examining the scene, he faltered at the sight before him, doing a double-take.

There, a person stood, clutching a plastic bag full of popcorn, in a hallway that felt reminiscent of the 2000's coming-of-age movies that Dahlia used to make him watch.

But they weren't just any person.

There she was, like nothing had ever happened, standing in front of him with that signature smirk that could tear his heart in two or put it back together.

"Hey there, Speedy."