warnings: s a d n e s s.

(Eliza's POV)

I don't remember much of what happened; it was all mostly in small time increments for me. There was the moment he was killed, the anger I felt towards my biological father afterwards, the screaming. The screaming also resulted in me losing my voice.

The angry crying, Bucky preventing me from going to him... wanting to bring Peter back.

Then my senses started to go all fuzzy, and all I could hear was a high pitched ringing in my ears. My vision began to darken around the sides, and the only image I could see was Peter's lifeless body. Every time I blinked, he was laying there.

My dad's didn't let me see him, something about it becoming worse if I did. And by it, I mean the pain.

The jet ride back to the compound was the slowest plane ride of my life. Bucky stayed behind with Peter's body, because Steve said he would send a separate jet for them. I sat still in my seat, where just an hour before, Peter had been right next to me.

My lips were chapped and beads of sweat ran down my forehead. All I could think of was the fact that he was gone.

But he wasn't. He couldn't be. He wouldn't leave me.

A single tear dropped down from my eye and onto my lap.

When we arrived at the compound and the opening to the jet opened, Steve and Nat tried to help me up, but I just stormed past them and off the jet. My legs felt like jelly, but I still walked. I felt like breaking down crying, but I walked away.

I knew that I should have accepted Steve and Nat's help, but I didn't want to. Because I knew he wasn't gone.

Even if I saw him die right in front of me, in the exact same position my mom had, done by the exact same man, he wasn't dead.

Denial.

After getting off the jet, I failed to notice Mr. Stark's car still in the driveway. When I got inside, him and Pepper were sitting on the couch, while Morgan played with her toys on the carpet beneath them.

My face was somehow covered in dirt and blood, my hair was falling out of its pony tail, my purple and black suit gloves were slightly torn, and my eyes were dry.

Morgan's tiny face popped out from behind the couch, and she gave me a small smile, making excited noises. I looked up at the noise. Normally when I saw Morgan I would jump up and down with glee, but right then I didn't have any words.

I think Morgan had superpowers or something, because I swear that she started crawling that day. Usually babies only started crawling when they were around nine months old.

She crawled her way over to my feet, Mr. Stark and Pepper just watched her with their mouths wide open.

Mr. Stark laughed in disbelief, and scrambled up from the couch to pick up his daughter. He picked her up and spun her around in the air, "You did it! You're like a damn monkey-"

He stopped when he saw my blank expression, staring straight forward at the wall in front of me.

"Kid? What's wrong?" he asked.

My eyes slowly shifted up to meet his, and my whole body started to shake. I began to sob, and fall forward. Mr. Stark caught me with one arm, and handed Morgan to Pepper. He fully wrapped his arms around me, and I sobbed into his chest.

He glanced at Pepper with a confused look on her face, and she mouthed, "Where's Peter?"

Realization came upon Mr. Stark, and he grasped my body closer, hugging me tightly.

"I'm so sorry Eliza," he whispered.

I think that was the first time he ever called me by my actual name, and it made me cry even more.

(The Next Day)

After I laid in my bed staring at the ceiling all night with empty eyes, I eventually fell asleep around eleven am. I knew it was going to happen, but it still felt like a train hitting me in the head.

The nightmares I had.

I always had really bad nightmares, except for when Peter slept next to me. They were like the ones where Peter died that she had months ago, but a hundred times worse.

The same hallway, the same lifeless body covered in blood, the same glossy eyes.

But something different happened this time, when I tried running to him, my feet were stuck to the floor. And I couldn't move. Then the room began to spin, and a whole different scene played in front of my eyes.

It was like I was viewing a movie in a theater, glued to the seat with a bowl of popcorn in front of me.

The giant screen flickered on, and projected one of my memories. It was of Peter and I, when we were around ten years old, curled up on the couch with Aunt May next to us, watching a movie.

There was occasional chatter between the us, like when little me asked Peter, "When's your birthday?"

"I dunno."

"Yeahyeahyeah, but what year is your birthday?"

"Um, every year."

I heard Aunt May laugh from beside us, and the 'camera' shifted to her. Suddenly I felt something touch my right hand, and looked down quickly. It was someone else's hand. I recognized it, yesterday morning I was tracing the lines on that hand.

My head tilted up to look at the person sitting next to me, it was him. My breath caught in my throat. He was looking up at the screen, a smile tugging on his lips seeing my memory.

"Peter," I breathed.

He turned to look at me and smiled.

"Hey Eli."

He was wearing a regular outfit, jeans and a flannel t-shirt. He looked so real.

"I missed you," he kissed the top of my hand.

I could see him holding my hand, but I couldn't feel it. That's how I knew this wasn't real. My eyes welled up with tears and I cleared my throat, "I-I missed you too."

A drop of blood ran down Peter's temple and his face became paler. My heart rate picked up and I tried to reach up to wipe it off of his face, but he was fading.

"P-Peter please don't leave me," I begged.

"I'm sorry," he kissed my forehead but I didn't feel it.

"Peter don't go," I sobbed.

"I don't want to Eli," a tear rolled down his cheek. "I love you."

"NO!!" I screamed.

I woke up panting, covered in a cold sweat. My entire body was shaking and my heart was pounding out of my chest. I gulped down air and blinked rapidly, all I could see were stars. I could feel the still fresh tears in my eyes, clouding my vision.

When I felt like my body could function again, I hugged my knees closer to my chest and rocked back and forth, snapping my eyes shut and muttering over and over, 'Don't leave me. Peter, don't go. Please, please don't go. Don't leave me Peter, please.'

Hours later, I laid beneath my blankets staring at the ceiling again, emotionless. There were plastic stars on the surface, scattered across the room.

Peter put them there because he had them in his room, and thought it would remind me of him. That was the problem, they did.

He always said that my eyes reminded him of the night sky, but I never believed him because that was crazy. But as I stared up at my ceiling, I just wanted him to tell me again.

A single tear rolled off the edge of my eye and down the edge of my hairline.

I reached my hand out to the side of me and found cold sheets. For some magical reason, I thought he would be there.

I was sick of feeling this way. Tired, but not able to sleep. Wanting to cry my eyes out, but didn't want anyone to hear me. Wanting to talk to him, but can't because he's not there.

No. He's still here.

I sat up and ran a hand through my hair, nails scraping against my scalp. I had a killer headache, and my temples were pounding with pain. The tears were coming out of my eyes hot, and streaming down my face.

A sob escaped my mouth, and I cried for the third time in the last thirteen hours. Quickly, I covered my mouth with a hand, so no one would hear me. My whole body was shaking. All I could hear was the pounding in my head.

I wanted to yell, but the tears made me choke up, and I just sat up in my bed, wordlessly crying.

My sheets were stained with my tears, and my throat way dry from sobbing and silently screaming. My cheeks were a bright red. Again, I ran a hand through my hair, but it got caught in a tangle, and it made me mad.

I tried inhaling and exhaling, my breath blowing a cool breeze over my wet cheeks. I closed my eyes and tried to calm down, but when I reopened my eyes and glanced around the room, I saw Peter leaning against the bathroom doorway, with his arms crossed, watching me cry.

When I blinked, he was gone.

I was so surprised by what I saw, that the crying stopped.

With my eyebrows furrowed, I got up out of bed and walked over to the bathroom, shaking my head to have clearer senses. The palms of my hands leaned on the edge of the bathroom counter, and I looked down at my feet.

I looked back to the doorway, but he wasn't there. I swear that I had seen him.

After washing my face off with a bunch of water so it looked like I hadn't been crying my eyes out like a fucking fire hydrant, I decided that I needed to get out of that room.

Quietly, I opened my bedroom door and crept out, making my way to the kitchen. I could hear chatter and yelling from the living room, but everyone fell silent when I walked by. Rhodey, Natasha, and Sam sat on the couch, while Steve stood. He looked like he was just yelling at everyone.

The only noise that anyone heard was the soft pattering of my feet, on their way to the refrigerator.

I got a cup of water and took a sip, instantly refreshing my dry mouth. Everyone was still quiet, so I decided to talk first.

"Is dad back?" I directed the question to Steve. My voice was a little hoarse from all the sobbing.

"N-no," he cleared his throat, "No he's not back yet."

"Oh. Ok, well can you please let me know when he is?"

"Y-yeah. Sure."

I pursed my lips and nodded to them, not making eye contact. I didn't want them to see my red eyes.

I walked back to my room, and heard him start to say my name, but shut the door before he could. I slid down the back of the door and stayed there, with my eyes closed, trying not to think about the things that were going on around me.

(Two Days Later)

I didn't eat anything. I didn't sleep. I didn't move. I convinced myself he was still here. My vision went blurry after a few hours because he wasn't there. I had to wear my glasses again. I was mad.

Anger.

Mad at Daniel. But he was already dead, so I couldn't kill him. I wanted to though.

Because I didn't move, just laid in my bed with my arms crossed, staring at the ceiling, when I decided to finally get up, I stumbled to the ground. My body was confused by the sudden abrupt movement.

So while I was on the floor, I planned out what I was going to do.

Get dressed, put my hair up, go to the training room, stretch, then punch the shit out of a punching bag.

First step. I got up from my spot on the floor, and found a pair of black leggings, a sports bra, and a t-shirt. My legs were slightly wobbly, but I put them on.

Next step. I made my way to the bathroom. Along the disorganized counter I spotted my hairbrush and brushed through my brown hair. It was getting way too long. I struggled to put it up, all the built up anger made me make an impulse decision.

In just a few seconds, I snatched a pair of scissors from the counter and slashed off eight inches of my hair. The new length was right above my shoulders.

Instantly I felt regret, but after a few minutes of staring at myself in the mirror, I thought, 'it eez what it eez.'

Now with my hair shorter, it was a lot easier to put in a small ponytail behind my neck.

Next, I grabbed a pair of tennis shoes and walked to the training room, my hands clenching into fists. There was so much anger built up inside of me, and I all I wanted to do was punch something.

I picked up a heavy bag from off the ground and hooked it up to the ceiling easily. At least my super strength hadn't gone away. The one important thing that I forgot though, was the gloves.

So when I began to punch away at the heavy bag, my knuckles stung. A lot. But I barely even noticed it, because I was trying to get all the built up rage out of me.

I punched and punched, my arm muscles clenching and unclenching with every swing. The chain on top of the bag started creaking at the all the force it was receiving from my fists. My ears started to ring and the last punch was so vigorous that the chain broke, and the heavy bag was sent flying across the room.

"Impressive," a voice said from behind me. It was him. Peter.

I whirled around to see him, but he wasn't there. I blinked quickly, and stayed watching that same spot for five minutes straight.

Another voice said from the training room doorway, "Eliza. Snap out of it."

It was Steve. I turned around again and saw him walking towards me. Still shocked from what I heard, I didn't even notice the tears on my cheeks until he pointed them out. 

'God dammit, stop crying.' I thought to myself.

There was an awkward silence between us, while I just stood there panting, and he watched me.

"Do you want a hug-" he offered.

"No. I don't want a hug unless it's from him," I snapped. I guess I was still angry.

"Eliza I'm sorry-"

"NO! Just stop! You pressured him to go on that mission, you got mad at him for no reason, you let him go off on his own! Why would you do that?" I yelled. Without my own consent, my hands started to punch as hard as I could at his chest. But he didn't move, because he was basically a super human.

"Eliza," he warned, "Stop."

I stopped immediately, wondering why I had even tried to fight him in the first place. I knew that Steve didn't do anything wrong at all, I was just mad at Daniel.

I leaned forward, my head hitting his chest. I started to sob. It was silent for about three minutes, until Steve spoke up.

"Nice haircut."

I laughed a little, leaning back to look at him.

"I-I'm sorry, I shouldn't have tried to fight you- or yell at you. I-I just r-really miss him," I whispered between sniffles.

"I know." he said, shaking his head. "And you were right, I shouldn't have let him go off on his own-"

"Hey Steve," Natasha's smooth voice made them turn to face her. "I got this one."

Steve nodded and turned back to me, kissed the top of my head, and left the room. Natasha strode towards me, her arms open wide. Quickly, I jogged over to her and she embraced me in a hug. There was something about Nat's hugs that just made me always feel better.

"Let's sit down alright?" she asked quietly. I nodded and we walked to my messy room. Her nose turned up at the smell. My room hadn't really had any windows opened or anything like that in the past few days.

"You stink kid."

"Yeah," I sighed. "I know."

"Anyways," she sat on the end of my bed and smirked. "What's with the haircut?"

I laughed, "Rage cut."

"Ahh, I see. Well, I think that your environment is affecting your emotions, so while you tell me what the fuck is going on inside that brain of yours, let's clean this place up."

I snorted, and began to pick up some clothes off the floor.

The rest of the day, Natasha and I hung out together, which made me feel a lot better. We also cleaned up my bloody knuckles, wrapping gauze around them. I told her about how much pain I was in because of losing Peter, and about the action figure I used to have of her.

I didn't tell her that I had been seeing Peter around my room quite often the past few days, but out of the corner of my eyes I saw him leaning against my bookshelf, smiling at me.