It was 4 in the morning when you heard the news.

When you dashed to the telephone, sure it was about Pietro. The love of your life. You'd met when everyone thought he was dead after Sokovia and fallen in love. He'd been gone for weeks on a high risk assignment,

"Hello?"

"Y/N!"

"Clint? Is that you?"

"Yeah, Y/N/N, it's me."

"Have you got any news on the situation?"

"I- oh shit ... there's no easy way of saying this ..."

"Tell me he's okay, Clint," you begged. "Tell me Pietro's okay."

A deep, anguished sigh, and you already knew what was coming, covering your mouth with trembling fingers.

"I'm so sorry Y/N." A single sob escapes your mouth. "He's gone."

Another tear fell, and another, until you were collapsed on the ground, heart in pieces as rivers flowed from your eyes.

How, how could fate be cruel enough to take him from you?

How could someone die twice?

- - -

The funeral was hardest part of it. Listening to everyone saying how he died a hero.

I didn't want him to die at all. Heroes don't have to die. No one should have to die twice.

Clint stayed by your side the whole time, and more often than not he was the fatherly shoulder you could cry on.

"I'm so sorry, I know you were close." became one of the most common phrases you would hear in your life, the words making you want to throw something, scream, cry, or all three.

Every night you could still hear his soft, snuffly breaths.

Every day you could still hear his laugh.

Every moment you could perfectly picture is beautiful face in your mind.

But he was gone.

And you were broken.

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