[ there might have been a time where a prank like this from steve could have been possible. a time where slightly mean jokes or made up situations edged just a little too far onto the wrong side of the line, and he would laugh and laugh and laugh. that had been a steve before all of this. a steve who didn't know what it felt like to deal with death, who didn't know the hole it left in your chest when faced with it. the steve that wanda knows probably wouldn't even be able to joke about it, not when he still can't go all that long without remember eddie, without remembering wanda too.

still, it doesn't matter, because this couldn't be any further from that. this? this is panic. this is fear. this is steve's absolute desperation for someone to arrive and tell him he's dreaming, that this is some kind of hallucination, that the gods or the singularity or someone is making all of this up.

he needs wanda- he needs wanda, and so when she arrives and falls to her knees next to him, steve lets out a rush of air. it feels like he hasn't taken a breath in ages, in hours, and when he turns to her, his eyes are red and wide. the words come spilling out, tripping over each other, falling from his lips. ]

He- he- he- she, the thing, it- it won't stop bleeding. I've been trying to- I- I don't know, he stopped responding a little bit ago but I can't tell if he's- I can't find a pulse? I don't know where- I- [ steve is covered in it all, his blood and nero's, the ichor, everything else. he knows he doesn't look good, but nero looks works, and he's so still.

steve stutters where he is, holding nero but not sure if he should move or stay, if he should help wanda in some way or if he's in the way. his eyes jerk from wanda back to nero, then back again, breath stuttering in his chest.

wanda's magic flares, and steve prays- prays to the gods, prays to god, prays to fucking wanda if it will even do anything. ] Please, please, please, please-