[It's a small flicker, but Pietro catches it. Wash hadn't known, hadn't assumed, and considering he asked that question about whether or not Pietro could heal, he probably had never thought about it. Pietro likes to think it's obvious from his scars, but he rarely says those words. Wash might be the first one who hadn't known Pietro in his own world that has confirmation he's dead back there. He hasn't even told Eloise, and she knows far more about his past than even those from his world, than anyone else but his sister. Fuck. Pietro shakes that thought from his head immediately, still unable to stop coming back to her. Wanda. Wash hasn't pushed him far enough since the alley, and Pietro's getting more and more restless about it. He tries to focus on the sharp slide of the knife over his throat, where it had pressed in slightly deeper while he spoke.
He shoots a quick glare at Wash for pointing that out, his hesitation that betrayed him, how he'd struggled in those precious seconds to tell the truth, thinking he might be setting another limit inadvertently. Wash hits on that too. His words, Pietro thinks, are supposed to be stating something important underneath their straightforwardness, but he doesn't grasp it, and he doesn't believe them either.]
No you would not.
[Pietro mutters that to himself under his breath. Wash wouldn't go that far, not if he needs to talk at length about limits and lines. The thought Pietro held previously with their last encounter, that Wash might be able to break him, it no longer holds. He can't. Push Pietro far, yes, make him uncomfortable in a way that might let him drift for a while, but break him? No. No, Wash doesn't stand a chance.
Wash's fingers slide over the the singing cuts on his hip, press down, and Pietro hisses. He shifts slightly against the wall as Wash brings the knife to his shoulder, closing in on him and taking up all the space and air until Pietro feels suffocated for a moment. His abdominal muscles tighten reflexively at the rumbling he can feel through his chest, but the words do nothing but irritate him. He waits until the blade has sunk in a few millimetres before he speaks, and he's sure it's nothing Wash wants to hear, pointed and frustrated.]
If I wanted to choose how deep, I would do it myself.
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He shoots a quick glare at Wash for pointing that out, his hesitation that betrayed him, how he'd struggled in those precious seconds to tell the truth, thinking he might be setting another limit inadvertently. Wash hits on that too. His words, Pietro thinks, are supposed to be stating something important underneath their straightforwardness, but he doesn't grasp it, and he doesn't believe them either.]
No you would not.
[Pietro mutters that to himself under his breath. Wash wouldn't go that far, not if he needs to talk at length about limits and lines. The thought Pietro held previously with their last encounter, that Wash might be able to break him, it no longer holds. He can't. Push Pietro far, yes, make him uncomfortable in a way that might let him drift for a while, but break him? No. No, Wash doesn't stand a chance.
Wash's fingers slide over the the singing cuts on his hip, press down, and Pietro hisses. He shifts slightly against the wall as Wash brings the knife to his shoulder, closing in on him and taking up all the space and air until Pietro feels suffocated for a moment. His abdominal muscles tighten reflexively at the rumbling he can feel through his chest, but the words do nothing but irritate him. He waits until the blade has sunk in a few millimetres before he speaks, and he's sure it's nothing Wash wants to hear, pointed and frustrated.]
If I wanted to choose how deep, I would do it myself.