Baby Hag

Her blackened fingers.

Her dark nails.

Her crown representing the devil's horns.

She was no good, she was full of evil, but you were determined to give her the love she deserved. You understood you wasn't vision or her boys but you were a friendly face. A face she had once called hers many years ago.

She had loved and lost, just like you. She loved Vision and lost him, She had loved her boys and lost them as well. She loved her family and they to have been lost, Lost in her rage and anger.

The sweet girl everyone knew, gone.

Her magic turned dark, as if she had been spoken to by a serpent - the voice of temptation - like someone had lead her to evil.

your touch upon her hand made her gasp, the cold skin soon returning back to it's normal warmth that you found cute many years ago. Her skin slightly glowing as she felt a familiar spark, The spark of love. Your hand tightened, fingers locking together like a padlock on a bridge - the key thrown away never to be found again - you were okay with being like this. So was she.

She needed the reminder that she could love again, that she doesn't have to be scared of being alone because she's not alone. She's no long idle. no longer one.

as the bible says, 'Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonour others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.' Love is hard, but easy. Challenging but also able.

And Wanda needed love.

She needs protection.

It was nighttime. You were both outside, in the small wooded area surrounding Westview, slowly finishing up the day’s lesson. It was on Earth magic, Green Craft-- as you’d read in the books, and you wondered briefly why Agatha had saved it for last. Almost as if she were avoiding it. It had gotten dark, slowly but surely, the sun setting behind the small town, the last of its rays disappearing from your face in a slow, bleeding backdrop of color and light as you watched Agatha pack up all your stuff. You were feeling good, content with the day’s outcome, maybe because it was a little different from what you considered the usual.

You were used to staying in the basement and listening to her talk about spells, enchantments, how to channel magic and do useful things, how to defend yourself. But today when you came down with a mug in your hand and your notebook in the other, your mentor shot you a coy smirk, and said to finish your tea and get your jacket. You’d be having a lesson outside today.

So, as you sat on a tree log, shoes shuffling absentmindedly in the dirt, you couldn’t help but notice that Agatha, usually composed, formidable and proficient, seemed slightly off tonight. It wasn’t necessarily a bad thing maybe, but she seemed softer towards you somehow, more gentle. You’d take all the affection she gave of course, but you couldn’t stop yourself from worrying a little. It wasn’t like her.

You watched her stacking the few books you’d brought with you, dusting off her dark blue coat.

“Agatha?” you asked carefully.

She looked up at you, “Yes, pet?”

“Is everything okay?”

She smiled at you. Smiled. “Of course, dear. Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Don’t know. “ you murmured, “You just… seem a little… I don’t know. Nicer.”

She scoffed. “Please. I’m not nice.” A tad of her usual snark returning.

You gave her a smile, short, nodding, and coughed a little. It was getting cold, and you wished you’d brought a better jacket. Something warmer maybe. A sweater to keep you from freezing on the walk back to the house.

Agatha paused.

You could’ve sworn her hand wavered, the book she was holding almost slipping from her grip. You frowned. That was an odd reaction. Especially for her. Before you could ask anything else she was there beside you, shrugging off her coat and draping it around your shoulders. The words you had died in your throat. One of her hands ghosted across your shoulder, smoothing down the fabric there and sending a wave of warmth from her touch down your arm.

You looked up at her, trying to gauge her expression.

“Thanks.” you murmured softly.

She didn’t answer right away, but her hand stayed on yours, moving lightly to your back, ghosting across your hair.

You didn’t move. Didn’t dare to, not wanting to break the moment of sudden tenderness.

She sat beside you. You stayed still. Then she spoke, her voice still holding a hint of her knowing confidence, but there was warmth there too, a soft, gentle something coating every word of her tone.

“I need you to promise me something, pet.”

You turned to look at her. “Promise what?”

“That this...what we’re doing, what I’m trying to teach you, you take it seriously. I know it may not seem like it but—”

“I take it seriously.” you said, quiet, “You’re a good teacher.” It was a half-truth. She was teasing and tough on you sometimes, pushing you to do things over and over until you felt like there was no magic left in your hands, but she could be kind, too. Sometimes. Rarely. In her own, Agatha way. You knew that she cared more than she let on. And you wouldn’t have anyone else teach you but her.

You watched some unspoken emotion drift behind her blue eyes, somehow bright against the dark twilight that surrounded you.

“Good.” she said. “Flattery won’t get you everywhere, dear, but it’s good you’re listening. You’ll need it all one day.”

“I know.” you said, “I want to learn magic, and you’re amazing at it, and—”

“It’s not just about learning it. It’s about protecting yourself.”

You stayed quiet. “I’m safe here.” you said, “I’m with you, and—”

“And one day I might not be there to come save you from whatever mess you find yourself in.” she spoke, each word sharp and clear. “I won’t be here forever, you know. And it’s vital you learn as much as you can while I’m here to show you how to do it right, to survive—”

You frowned a little. “The world isn’t going to eat me. I don’t go looking for trouble, you know.”

Again, it was a half-truth.

Yes, you didn’t go looking for trouble, but also yes, trouble did seem to find you, maybe because it was one of the many perks of being around Agatha Harkness for long.

“You say that now, but you being a witch is more than enough to land you into danger.”

“Do witch hunters still exist?”

She sighed. Deep.

“It’s not just that. You can’t trust anyone. Even other witches. Especially other witches.”

And you realized what this was. You always knew, of course, how could you not do the simplest research on the person you’d ask to teach you magic, but you never dared to ask.

Your eyes went to the brooch dangling on her necklace, the thin golden chain, three white figures on a dark slab of oval stone. And of course, she noticed at once. You weren’t sure what you were expecting, but it certainly wasn’t this.

No snark, no sarcasm, no deflection.

Instead her hand, one that wasn’t still playing with the ends of your hair, rose slightly, the tips of her fingers brushing against the pendant.

“It was my mother’s.” she said, quietly. “A useless thing, really, passed down in our family, some dusty heirloom she never intended to give me. I only took it after—”

She didn’t have to finish for you to understand.

You didn’t speak yet. Just thought.

How that must have felt for her, young, maybe as old as you were now, alone, standing in the middle of the aftermath of her own power, the only people in her life dead by her hands, her magic, her own fear and power. How alone she must have felt, you thought. How angry, how afraid. Of course she wouldn’t show it. But you knew. If anyone did, you supposed it was you, knowing that Agatha Harkness did have a heart. You saw the proof every day, soft pats on the head, a tea or coffee handed to you in the middle of studying, the warmth of a mug pressed into your hand, the quiet, soft, gentle hum of her magic washing over you every time she did something sweet, even if she would deny it when asked.

“She wasn’t a loving person.” she murmured. “She was cold, always seeing magic as something to be controlled, same as people. Same as her coven. But she couldn’t control me.”

You didn’t say anything.

“I’m telling you because I need you to know, hun. People always betray you. You can’t trust anyone, even if they’re your coven. Your family. Your sisters. And having too much knowledge or power can make them turn against you like that—”

She snapped her fingers, so suddenly that you flinched.

“And no matter how much power or magic or knowledge you get, you always end up alone. You need to learn to deal with it. Get used to that feeling. Don’t let it control you.”

“But you’re not alone.” you murmured.

She tilted her head to look down at you. “You say that now, but—”

“No.” you interrupted, suddenly feeling the urge to let her know just how much her presence means to you, “I’m not. I mean it. I’m not going to leave you. Or betray you, I wouldn’t, ever—”

“I know, hun.” she murmured. “I know you wouldn’t. I believe you. But I wouldn’t hold it against you if you did.

That surprised you.

“W-what?”

She just shook her head, a distant look in her eyes, “The things I’ve done dear, they’re not decent. They’re not good in any way. And I don’t regret them. Any of them.”

And yet you saw a glimpse of something in her eyes that made you think otherwise.

And then you thought maybe, maybe you were just as twisted as her, because you didn’t care. At that moment, looking at her through the soft moonlight, seeing her look so vulnerable for once, so different and alone, you didn’t have it in you to resent her.

You knew what she’d done. Killed other witches, took their powers, fought so many people, but--

All you wanted to do was reassure her somehow, make her feel safe.

Make her feel as safe as she made you feel.

So you hugged her.

She stiffened immediately, shoulders tensing at the sudden contact, a soft huff escaping her in surprise. “Uh—”

You didn’t let go. Held on tighter. Her arms, hovering hesitantly around you, lowered a little, just barely brushing against your back.

“You’re not bad, Agatha.” you told her quietly. “I don’t think you’re a bad person, and I’m not leaving you-- ever—”

She huffed again, but you went on.

“No. I mean it. I promise. I’ll stay with you, and learn more magic, and-- and I’ll stay until you get bored of me and kick me out.”

You thought you felt her smile against you. Just faintly. Just a little. “Get bored of you, hun? Now that’s impossible.”

It made you smile in return. And, since this was apparently turning into some sort of heart-to-heart talk, the kind that Agatha Harkness never does, well, you thought, might as well--

“Thank you for looking after me.” you made out.

She didn’t reply right away.

“Don’t say it like that darling, you’re making me sound like some sort of-- caring—”

You giggled. She gave you an offended look, pulling away a little, and you couldn’t help but pout. She snorted. “You’re so needy.”

“No, I’m not-”

“Oh, yes. You are. Needy and clingy and must you be so affectionate all the time, honestly it’s like watching a baby kitten.”

“Kittens are cute.”

Agatha rolled her eyes. Quiet fell upon you for a moment, and you didn’t let go of her arm, just listening to the soft stillness of the woods around you, the gentle movements of leaves against the late-night breeze. A gust of wind swindled past you, making you shiver slightly. You felt her arm shift to pull you just a bit closer. Though you knew she wouldn’t admit it. You leaned against her, silent, feeling slightly shy at the emotional moment this was turning into. You ducked your head against her, rested your chin against her arm. She didn’t move away.

“You know,” she said softly, “sometimes… Sometimes I wonder why you’re still here. Why you insist on staying with me. You should be running away.”

“I’d never run from you. Not like that.”

And you meant it. You couldn’t imagine yourself running away from her, not in fear like she was expecting you to.

She sighed, the sound reverberating against you. “You’re far too sweet for someone like me, you know.”

“You keep saying that.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because…” another sigh, soft, almost sad, “You make it really hard not to care for you. And I don’t do that. Not ever. Not since…”

“Since what?”

“Not since… since my son.” she murmured softly, so quiet you almost missed it. “My… Nicholas. And those last few days...”

You didn’t move. You weren’t sure what to say, how to--

“You remind me of him so much sometimes, you know?” she said, still so quiet, “You’re both so happy, so innocently optimistic and carefree and-- you don’t-- see me like everyone else does. You look at me like-” she paused again, “like I’m…”

You looked up at her and were taken off guard to see tears in her eyes, a rare sight, and you wondered how many had seen her like that and lived.

“Like what?” you whispered, softly.

“I’m not good for you sweetheart. You shouldn’t be spending your time with a cynical old witch like me, looking at me like that—like you think there’s some good left in me. Trust me there isn’t.”

Your heart hurt.“That’s not true.”

Agatha chuckled wetly. You reached up to hold her hand before she could pull away.

“Truth is, hun, you make me feel things I thought I buried-- with—” she turned away. “It’s not good for my-- my reputation.”

You hugged her again.

She hugged you back, arms wrapping around you, pulling you close, more tightly than you’d felt in a long, long while.

“You make me want to be less… cruel, hun.”

“Is that really so bad?” you murmured softly.

She shook her head, just barely, pressed her face into your hair. You felt tears, warm, wet, sliding down her cheeks and into your hair, to your face. You didn’t move. Just held on tighter.

“I’ll always stick with you.” you murmured. “I...I won’t leave you. Ever.”

She exhaled against you, breath trembling slightly. “You stay safe for me hun, okay? I need to know, I need to know you’re listening to me when you’re here, when—”

“I’m listening.” you said, soft but firm. “I promise I am. And you’ll teach me more about protection spells, and about runes, and-- and we can haul up in your basement if something comes for us, and you can kill it and save us.”

She chuckled tearfully.

You could her her sniffling, her hands momentarily leaving your back to presumably wipe her eyes. You didn’t turn, letting her pull herself together. When you thought she did, a little at least, you pulled your head back slightly and glanced up.

Her blue eyes were wet with tears, slightly red and glassy, seeming more pale than usual.

It scared you a little, seeing your Agatha, usually so composed and tough, reduced to tears over-- what?

You?

Her son?

Her-- grief, and--

“I worry about you, pet.” she said finally, her voice frail for once. “Sometimes I look at you and think you’ll change your mind one day, that you’ll see how… how I really am. How b—”

“I won’t. I see you, Agatha.” you told her softly, in the best comforting voice you could muster, “I see through what others don’t, and I won’t leave you. I don’t even know where I’d go if I did. You’re… you’re all I have left.”

There was a moment that seemed to stretch forever, where she simply held you and didn’t let go. And then-- as quickly as it started--

She shook her head, and stood up abruptly.

“We should head back. It’s late.”

That was it then. Moment over. You knew she would probably do this but something pulled in your chest as you stood up as well, her coat still draped around your shoulders. You bundled it into your arms.

“Do you...want this back?”

She looked at you. Then the coat. Then she shook her head. “Keep it until we get back.” she told you, voice already returning to her old self, “I know how much you’d whine otherwise. And dress better next time. I won’t waste all that time and effort on teaching you magic just so you can die of a simple cold. Hopeless.”

You smiled faintly, and looped your arms through the sleeves.

The coat was warmer than it looked, and you immediately felt a wave of comfort wash over you, mixed with a faint whiff of her perfume and laundry detergent, a soft and floral scent, something you associated with her house.

When she picked up the books and started to walk, you caught up with her, following silently in the slightly-oversized coat, feeling way too snug. You tried to loop your arm through hers. She gave you a pointed look, one eyebrow raised, but let you do it anyway.

“Just this once.” she muttered. “Don’t get used to it.”

You knew it was a lie. She knew it was a lie. Neither of you acknowledged it. You knew neither of you probably ever would.

So you walked, quiet and content, with your hand resting on hers, the paved road firm and grounding beneath your shoes. She didn’t speak more, didn’t mention what she told you, but when the two of you stepped into her front yard she leaned down, hand on the door, and said softly into your ear.

“If you tell anyone about that I will turn you into a bug and feed you to Senor Scratchy.”

You stilled. The words were whispered with such an honest threat, and yet you couldn’t help but smile. You weren’t sure she’d ever really do anything she so often threatened you with, but you’d keep her secrets either way. Of course you would.

You tried to look up at her but she was already inside, disappeared into the kitchen or upstairs, leaving you alone on the doorstep. You followed, stepping in and basking in the warmth of the place, then lightly closed the door behind you.

You found her in the kitchen, making tea on the stovetop and waiting for the water to boil.

She didn’t say anything. Didn’t even look at you. But as you sat down, her coat still around, keeping you warm, you noticed the two mugs she’d set out on the counter. You felt her hand ghost over your hair as she went into the living room. A barely-there gesture. Perhaps a silent thank you. But it was enough. You knew, and she knew, and that was more than enough. You were there with her. You were home.

Dedicating Agatha to my muses @etherealvampyre @kukikatt and Rio to my valentine and Aubrey girlie @riovidalharkness ily all