Chapter Text
The vibranium man set her down on the concrete deck of the flying airbase like a child that needed help getting her footing. His hands tried to hover near her as though afraid she might stumble. Wanda ignored him. She'd gotten her sea legs soon after the procedures.
"Where is he?"
The man in the blue uniform stopped when he saw her. Soot and sweat streaked his tired face.
"Wanda-"
"Where?"
His eyes flicked down to her hands. The mist must have been growing in her palms. She didn't care enough to suppress it.
"Miss- I'm so sorry. I am. But-"
"I know. Where?"
He looked down at her with sad, old eyes. Wanda supposed he was handsome, but he reminded her of her grandfather when he remembered things he wished he didn't. "Miss Maximoff, maybe you should sit."
"I will sit when you take me to my brother."
"Wanda, your brother-"
"I told you. I know. Do not make me force you to take me to him."
He hesitated, but nodded. Wanda was glad. She didn't want to have to turn her powers back against them now after everything. The crowd of people on the deck parted to make room for him and she followed in his wake.
She recognized people from the city and it made her feel sick. The butcher that had cuffed her on the head when she tried to take some chicken one winter had a bloody temple. The connection almost forced a wild laugh from her throat.
The man in front of her stopped and turned.
"Miss-"
Wanda brushed him aside. She didn't know if she used her mist or not.
~
"Where is Pietro?"
"You know he's in time-out, Wanda."
"I'll go in time-out too."
"Wanda..."
She stuck out her chin at the babysitter their parents had hired for the evening. "Why is Pietro in time-out?"
"He tried shaving Mr. Hipsagh's cat."
"No he didn't."
"So Pietro's arms being covered in scratches and Mr. Hipsagh's cat having a bald bum are a coincidence, are they?"
Wanda rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. The sitter was a silly girl who spent most of her time watching television while the twins entertained themselves. Not that they minded much. But it certainly didn't give her the authority to put them in time-out.
"Pietro didn't shave Dada, I did. Pietro held her still. But she got away."
The sitter groaned and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Wanda... why did you do that?"
Wanda shrugged.
"Wanda..."
"Pietro was worried about her."
"So you shaved her bum?"
Wanda rolled her eyes again and tapped her toe against the kitchen floor. "Yes. Pietro was worried. It's so hot. He thought it's not good for her to wear all that fur."
The sitter groaned and grabbed Wanda by the arm, leading her from the kitchen towards their parents' bedroom.
"What are you doing?"
"You're going in time-out."
"With Pietro?"
"No."
~
They laid him out separate from the other dead and Wanda even allowed herself to be grateful. She didn't think she could bear to find him zipped up in a bag next to 40 others.
Wanda didn't know what was worse, feeling it as it happened, or seeing the aftermath. She had felt each bullet individually. She couldn't see each and every wound now though. A mess of red seeping across his shirt joined each wound so that his clothes matched hers. Pietro hated red. He was vain and it washed him out. Wanda teased him about it mercilessly- tossing her jacket at him to hold wherever he sidled up to someone at a club. Now, she could just pretend it was the color of his shirt that made him look so white.
"Kid..."
Wanda paused where she was, standing over him. On the bench next to Pietro, the American with the bow was laid out, pale and sweating.
"You hurt?" His voice was dry and cracked, like he'd inhaled half the concrete dust of the city.
"No."
"Good. That's- that's good."
The mist was growing in her palms as she looked at him. She saw his eyes flick down and he started to sit up.
"Hey- none of that, Kid. I'm serious-"
Wanda put him to sleep. She'd apologize later. It was good for him anyway. She stepped around and sat on the ground. She gently lifted Pietro's head and laid it in her lap. He felt heavier than he should. Wanda knew it. She knew how he should feel in her hands. She knew the face below her better than her own. How many times had they sat like this? Him unable to sleep, at first for anxiety and fear- he had always been anxious- later, for the chemicals running through his veins that made his body vibrate and shiver, even when he tried to sleep.
Wanda swallowed hard and brushed his hair back.
"Szerelem, szerelem..."
~
The bed was collapsing onto them. Pietro was trying to keep the worst of the boxspring off of her, but he was shaking.
"Pietro-" she whispered into his shoulder. "We have to go-"
"No! We can't-"
There was another crash and the wall opposite them caved in. Pietro let out a cry and pulled her tight to him. When the dust and rubble finally settled, Wanda tried to pull her face from her brother's shoulder.
"Pietro? Pietro! Are you okay-"
"Sh- Wanda, don't move!"
She twisted her neck, trying to see what was left of their apartment. It didn't look like inside. It looked like the set of the space movies she always made the family watch. Everything was covered in a thick layer of dust. Pieces of the building and their furniture littered the floor. And between a lump of sheetrock and the tubes of their television set was a bomb.
Wanda had seen enough movies to know what a bomb looked like. Even at ten, she was surprised it didn't look much different than the ones on television. It even had a label, like you might be able to buy it in a store. As though someone would see the brand and want one of their own.
"Don't. Move."
"Pietro..." She gripped his shirt harder, her eyes locked on the explosive. "Why hasn't it gone off?"
"I don't know. It still might."
"What do we do?"
"I don't know."
"Pietro-"
"I don't know!" His voice was cracking and Wanda could feel his breath coming faster and faster. "Wanda- I don't-"
"No- It's okay, Pietro. We will be okay. I promise."
"How?"
"It just will be. Do I break my promises?"
"No. Never."
Somehow, the radio in the kitchen was still playing. Their father always listened to the radio while he cooked. Wanda had been helping him with the paprikash. Pietro was too impatient for cooking. He always spilled something or burned himself. Wanda was proud that she could be trusted with something her twin couldn't handle. Not that she would ever let him know, but she liked feeling capable- like she could take care of Pietro and their parents if she needed to. All she needed to learn was a few recipes and she could do everything grownups needed to.
"Szerelem, Szerelem. Átkozott gyötrelem..."
"I hate this song."
"Me too."
~
"Mért nem virágoztál
Minden fa teteje?"
Her hands were shaking as she combed her fingers through his hair. Her face was twisted hard enough to hurt. Her throat was tight and swollen. She couldn't cry. The scream she'd let out in the church was the best she could manage. She hadn't cried under the bed in the apartment either. Pietro had. She'd tried to distract him, but as they waited for the explosions in the city to fade away, he'd started to shake.
He shouldn't feel this heavy. Wanda couldn't focus on anything else. She just wanted him to be the way he always was. There was something very wrong and perverse about him feeling so heavy. Warm and solid, Wanda almost though he could float somehow. Maybe his energy had expended from vibrating to floating. But not anymore.
"Mer' én is szakísztottam,
El is szalasztottam,"
There was no one left around them. Wanda wondered if she'd done it or someone else had moved the civilians to a different area. Maybe they had arrived at their destination. They couldn't though- she wasn't done. She couldn't leave. He was still too heavy.
Wanda's voice was cracking on the words of the song. She had a weak singing voice. Always had. She had always wanted to be able to sing like their mother, but she couldn't force herself to enjoy even the attempt when her voice was so tremulous. Pietro couldn't sing either. But he did. Constantly. He'd struggled when they first started learning English, until he started practicing with his favorite American music. Wanda had pretended to be annoyed, but it had been nice. They hadn't had anything to sing about in so long, she'd been warmed every time he mumbled his way through a verse of a popular dance tune.
Her voice wasn't just warbling, but hoarse now. Wanda had no air left in her lungs to sing. She was trying so hard to keep his head up, but he was still too heavy.
"...Régi szeretőmre."
Her throat felt so tight because there was a scream building in it again. The first one had torn out like an animal in her lungs waking up with claws and teeth after hibernation. This one was building like an avalanche in reverse. It trickled up from somewhere in the bottom of her stomach and collected horror and grief from her veins until it gained enough energy and speed to level a city.
Her voice was almost gone. She needed him to not feel so heavy anymore. She needed him to shake and shiver and sing and float.
"Tengerből a vizet,
Kanállal lemerném."
The words were slurred and broken. She likely just sounded like she was wailing now. Wanda couldn't bear the weight of his head on her lap anymore. She pulled him to her chest, trying to pull him up, up and floating.
"S a tenger fenekéről,
Apró gyöngyöt szednék,
S a régi szeretőmnek,
Gyöngykoszorút kötnék."
The tears came fast once she was finished. Wanda kept trying to pull Pietro closer to her, lift more of him up. But he was so slick with blood and so very heavy.
~
"Where will we go?" she whispered across the space between their beds at the orphanage. They'd tried to put them in different dormitories, but they'd snuck out and slept in the halls on the floor rather than be apart. "They'll give us to different families. I won't go."
"I don't know, Wanda. I don't know what we're supposed to do."
Wanda stuck out her hand. "Pietro. Don't cry. They'll never catch us. We'll live on our own."
He took her hand. "I'm not crying."
"Yes you were."
"Was not."
He was still sniffling. Wanda sighed.
"It's gunna be okay. I promise, Pietro. I'll find us food. We can do this."
"How?"
"I'll figure it out. We'll figure it out."