"I wish I had," Wanda said reflexively, no thought, just the plain truth. It surprised her; she'd never said it that way to herself. Wished he wasn't dead, wished she'd made different choices, so many different choices... But it was true. She would have interposed herself between him and the bullets if she'd had a chance.
She cleared her throat, and added, just in case Buffy hadn't figured it out, "He's dead." And thanks to her powers, Wanda knew exactly what it had felt like, and thanks Clint Barton, Wanda knew exactly what it had looked like, every twitch, every blink.
"He was--" Wanda hesitated, as her mind filled with memories. Death first, but then life, warm and moving, smiling, shaking his head at something she'd said, teasing and joking, suddenly serious, always there for her, always sharing her concerns. Changeable, but she was changeable too, solid and deep, like a rock in a storm when she needed it. They'd believed in each other when no one else did, pushed each other on. She knew him so well, but--
Pick a word, pick a sentence, whatever you pick will reduce him, so pick wisely. He wasn't any one thing. Pietro was so much more than that.
"My brother was--" Memory rose in her like a tide threatening to drown her. Wanda clenched her hands into fists. A lifetime of memories...
Drowning and choking. This had been a bad idea. Wanda gulped and pried her fingers apart, clasping them together instead. She felt like she was going to cry, and she hadn't even said anything.