The Scarlet Witch

@scarletmadness

“Yeah, I'm so sure,” he rolls his eyes, as though he has no memory of the many many times his mouth has gotten him punched in the face. Those were outliers. Unlikely to happen again.

"My side?" She frowns, already annoyed at herself for failing to ignore him. "Why would I want you on my side, why whould you want to be on my side?"

:)

"My problem," Turning to face him, pressing her lips to a tight line as she looked him over carefully. "Is people getting in my way."

The thought of anyone knowing her made her stomach turn with unease. She hadn't exactly the best public record. It felt like every one of her mistakes was out there for the world to see and tear apart with judgement.

There was a variety of questions forming in her mind faster than she could voice them. Not that any of them would change the outcome. It wasn't like she had many options before her.

"Homemade." It wasn't until she was in the car, tucking her legs up on the seat and shut away from the outside world once more that she found her voice again. "Cookies. My favourite ones are homemade." Time spent on preparing food was something you simply couldn't put a price on. It made any treat worth savouring.

"White chocolate ones make a solid default."

Watching the world drift past her, she would hunt for any familiar or distinguishable structure. Mapping the turns and street names in case needed later.

America was nothing like home. The streets carbon copies of each other. Such a large country, and yet at times, it felt you could hardly move.

If her mind was truly as frayed and damaged as the nations leaders had deemed it, at the very least his old friend might be able to help.

He suspected she had merely been shaped and molded by the wrong hands. Guided by the wrong people. And he had nobody to blame but himself. It had taken him far too long to step in.

The stout and pimple faced younger man in the drivers seat said not a word as the pair got into the car.

“You know where we’re going, Toad. Make haste.”

A nod of obedience and the car pulled away; winding along the tree fringed roads of upstate New York.

“They are like us. Yes. Completely insane and entirely misguided. There is no need to be on your best behaviour.

. . .

"And he's German." Looking to Erik directly, she could only shake her head. The familiar feeling of scolding Pietro when he too spoke without consideration of others.

"A joke about them being like us or about my behaviour?" Arching her brow before turning to stare out the window once more.

“Both”, he replied a little too matter of factly, as though to leave absolutely no confusion between them.

“Both statements made in jest.”

A small frown pulled at the corners of his mouth as he gave a light shake of his head.

“I promise you have nothing to worry about. It is I who will do the worrying. You would never be turned away. Or mistreated. That I am sure of.

It’s me who must cross a bridge I’ve set fire to a hundred times over.”

There were times when pride and ego needed to be set aside. When one would have to take a bullet for someone they loved.

He might not be welcomed with open arms, but the child would be. An innocent victim in a game played by professionals.

Watching the traffic roll past. The landscape turned more lush and green by the mile, yet she couldn't help that nervous energy bubbling within.

Catching glances every so often to check if his composure was still as calm as before. Like stone, his expression gave nothing away. It was hard to be disappointed when she felt impressed.

He wouldn’t hold back and he wouldn’t pretend as though reality was anything less or anything more than it was.

Impulse control issues and lack of boundaries.

He had never heard a more simple and accurate explanation.

There were a hundred other places he would have preferred to stay then in THAT house. A hotel. The car. A park bench. But she didn’t want to be left alone and he would not abandon her this time.

For the sake of the greater good, he would have to take one for the team.

“A few days is all I can tolerate, I’m afraid. However, you can choose to stay, if the environment suits you.

Shaking her head at the question not as an awnser but at the ridiculousness of the entire situation. For someone often referred to as a chaotic person, she thought she was used to the unordinary life that fell upon her, and yet on random days like this, she still found herself surprised.

Before she replies, she would cast him and amused look, silently asking if they were really having this conversation now.

How difficult it was to find good, healthy food every time he found himself in the land of the free.

It was so amusing he actually scoffed.

“That is because nothing is fresh. Genetically modified ingredients. Meat injected with hormones. Preservatives and fillers.

Though it doesn’t seem as though they do a lot of their own cooking. Not anymore.”

Now it was his turn to raise a brow.

It was a little ironic that someone who tried to hide their accent, clung to traditional and regional recipes. Perhaps it was her way of retaining at least a small part of her identity?

An identity that she was hardly fully aware of.

“Your grandmother used to make the best whipped shortbread. So light and fluffy. It would melt in your mouth.

A simple phrase that had her pause.

The grandmother she knew was a jolly woman who would tell stories of all kinds whilst knitting socks that rubbed the skin on your feet raw. The thought that there could have been another face in place, another name, other stories...

"Heidesand." Repeating the word as though savouring a taste. "I will attempt it."

Her German was poor, much like the average child who picked it up in school, not from choice but from an enforced curriculum. She never thought a day would come she might need it. Nor did she ever assume she would wish she had it.

Although he didn’t particularly enjoy talking about himself and was absolutely adamant to leave the past exactly where it belonged— in the past— he knew he owed her answers.

He just hadn’t expected the interview to begin so soon.

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat as she inquired about his homeland. Looking up his eyes met with those of the driver in the rear view mirror. A deliberate and calculated look that told the other man not to listen.

There were things he had never told anyone before. Not even his closest allies.

“Nuremberg. I was born and raised in Nuremberg.”

He knew she would not be satisfied with such a direct and plain answer.

Glancing between the man sat next to her and "toad" she was about to change topic, tell him she was being nosey and that he didn't owe her anything.

And then he spoke.

Humble beginning was not what she would have assumed looking at how sharply dressed he appeared now.

The image of every perfect family from her beloved shows flashed in her mind. A hard-working father, adoring mother, home cooked meals. Simple living. Who could want anything more?

A smile was all she could offer, a spark of wonder as her mind flooded with all the memories stolen from her.

She wouldn't press further.

The past was a place many preferred buried.

"Thank you." For what she wasn't fully able to comprehend, sharing details, breaking her out of a facility, offering a new option she didn't have prior? The list was building quicker than she would usually be comfortable with.

Nobody should ever feel as though they needed to apologize for existing.

“No, it’s not.”

A solemn agreement. If anyone understood how she felt, it was him.

“Sometimes it’s good. Normal. Quiet. And for the briefest of moments you genuinely feel as though everything is going to be alright.

But it never lasts, does it? The world certainly doesn’t make it easy for us.”

A long moment of contemplative silence passed between them as the car ambled up the road. He had set his eyes out the window and he knew from memory that they were nearly at their destination.

A ticking bomb waiting to detonate the second that spark of joy struck.

There was no need to rock anything further today. Step back before she found out the hard way where exactly the line was drawn.

Almost asleep, the pur of an engine the lull of traffic drifting by mixed with the wariness of whatever cocktail of medication she had been fed. His question almost fell on deaf ears.

Lifting her head to check, she really had heard him, a glance towards the driver as a final chance for him to take it back.

"I knew they weren't my real parents, there was so many orphans in Sokovia it wasn't exactly rare... but I dont remember a time before them."

She wouldn't lie, even if it made him uncomfortable. She knew little facts in her life, and it felt the few she could depend on were quickly crumbling away.

"They were good people, I don't know what they knew or what they chose to hide, but they did their best with the little they had. I can't - " contemplating her next choice of words, she would brush the thought away with a shrug.

Not the kind of poker player who would hide his hand and bet modestly. It was all in as all the cards were laid out on the table.

This situation was different. Her psyche was already fragmented and fragile. So much so that THEY had considered her a danger. Punished for things beyond her control.

He did not want to make it worse.

He had no idea what she knew or how much of it she had been able to find out. No knowledge regarding the truth and what she had been told.

He would have to choose his words carefully and he careful not to make excuses. That was definitely the last thing she wanted to hear.

“Well isn’t that just a debate meant for philosophers? Is it kinder to forget or to live with the memories of that which you can never get back?”

A small pause as he thought.

“Patient. Soft spoken. Kind.

Empathetic.

Funny how it is always those who have experienced the most pain that are left with a profound desire to ease it in others.

I think she had a way with nature. Animals. Plants. People.

Almost mystical.

"Does it make any difference? I don't know what's real anymore."

The comment had no thought to it until spoken. Pausing mid stretch to carefully observe the car and the people within it, for that cursed red glimmer in a reflection, or an expression that failed to meet the eyes.

Slowly, she would sink back into her seat. Keeping her breath even as the thought burrowed deeper.

As he spoke about her mother, she tried to listen. Not so much on is description, but for more, for that feeling of something sounding just that little bit too good to be true.

"What happened?"

Something bad was what she needed to hear. Something that her own mind would have blocked out or rewritten to fit a better story.

The same thing that always happened. A chain of misfortunes that led to a tragedy. Effectively ripping everything he had fought so hard for right out of his white knuckled grip.

And he had nobody to blame but himself.

How quickly things always seemed to spiral out of control.

He was taking a huge risk by telling her the truth, but the truth was exactly what she deserved to hear. He was not in the business of cherry picking which events to include when recounting history and he didn’t have the power to erase them from anyone’s memory, whether for his own convenience or what he thought was the greater good.

“There was a fire. An accident.”

He paused there. The next bit of the story was sure to hit her like a ton of bricks.

“Another child. A sibling. A sister. They held me back. Prevented me from going in to save her.

I murdered them all.

Decimated an entire village.

She fled. Afraid.

I didn’t know.”

No excuses. There was no room for excuses.

“Whatever happened after that, I could not tell you. She went to the mountain and I went to Israel.

Waiting to see what would happen next, keeping her own mind as still as possible to prevent any type of influence on the story.

The hesitation before his words had her holding her breath in case she missed that uncanny clue. This was all a twisted delusion.

She couldn't help but wonder how the fire was caused. Had her sister shown the same signs? Had they too been surrounded by the superstitious who believed it was the only way to purify what was left of her soul?

"I'd have done the exact same thing." That uncomfortable thought lingering in the back of her mind dulled as she placed her hand over his own. There was nothing she could do to take away that kind of pain. She had been trying to battle grief most of her life. It's what broke her.

"I always felt a pull towards America, even as a child. I used to think that if I sat on a boat in the sea, I'd drift across the oceans to its shore with no effort at all. It's why I agreed to come here, not because I liked their culture or people, I could have killed Stark or brenner in their sleep and not think twice." Twitching her nose at the mere mention of their names. Fakes.

A statement meant to ease his guilt and soften the grief. Yet, it only made the knot in his stomach pull tighter.

Had she really inherited his most undesirable trait? The anger that bubbled to the surface quicker than he could stop it? The wrath and fury that was unleashed in moments of amplified emotion? The complete disregard for consequences while deep in the heat of the moment?

He gave a light shake of his head as his eyes lingered downward to her hand had moved to rest atop his own.

“No. It was you who was waiting for me. Waiting for far too long. Had I known earlier I could have done something. I could have spared you from… all of it.

You and your brother.”

A regret he would never shake off. Never spoken aloud until that very moment.

“You deserve better than what you’ve been given. Treated like something that can be owned. Rejected and feared when they realized that you cannot tame a tiger. The least I can do is give you a chance to choose your own path. Free of leashes and chains. Expectations and requirements. Freedom.

Pulling her hand back, she adjusted her hoodie, stretching the sleeves and zip like it suddenly became all too important.

The promise of freedom, it sounded a little too much like those before. A better world. Peace and unity. A dream many had but one she was beginning to feel was less and less attainable as life carried on.

She lacked any further questions. Any she had was swallowed down for another day, another chance if it happened to come.

Tilting her head, she would watch him carefully, weighting out how honest he might be. The red hue vanished from the garden as her eyes shift to the backdoor once more.

He had been interacting with her spirit. And Agatha was purposely avoiding her.

Crossing the garden in a few long strides, she would storm back into the shell of a house shouting the woman's name.

The way he spoke, like a child scolded. For a moment that left as quick as it came, he reminded her of her Billy. That same sorrowful look on his face.

:)

"My problem," Turning to face him, pressing her lips to a tight line as she looked him over carefully. "Is people getting in my way."

The thought of anyone knowing her made her stomach turn with unease. She hadn't exactly the best public record. It felt like every one of her mistakes was out there for the world to see and tear apart with judgement.

There was a variety of questions forming in her mind faster than she could voice them. Not that any of them would change the outcome. It wasn't like she had many options before her.

"Homemade." It wasn't until she was in the car, tucking her legs up on the seat and shut away from the outside world once more that she found her voice again. "Cookies. My favourite ones are homemade." Time spent on preparing food was something you simply couldn't put a price on. It made any treat worth savouring.

"White chocolate ones make a solid default."

Watching the world drift past her, she would hunt for any familiar or distinguishable structure. Mapping the turns and street names in case needed later.

America was nothing like home. The streets carbon copies of each other. Such a large country, and yet at times, it felt you could hardly move.

If her mind was truly as frayed and damaged as the nations leaders had deemed it, at the very least his old friend might be able to help.

He suspected she had merely been shaped and molded by the wrong hands. Guided by the wrong people. And he had nobody to blame but himself. It had taken him far too long to step in.

The stout and pimple faced younger man in the drivers seat said not a word as the pair got into the car.

“You know where we’re going, Toad. Make haste.”

A nod of obedience and the car pulled away; winding along the tree fringed roads of upstate New York.

“They are like us. Yes. Completely insane and entirely misguided. There is no need to be on your best behaviour.

. . .

"And he's German." Looking to Erik directly, she could only shake her head. The familiar feeling of scolding Pietro when he too spoke without consideration of others.

"A joke about them being like us or about my behaviour?" Arching her brow before turning to stare out the window once more.

“Both”, he replied a little too matter of factly, as though to leave absolutely no confusion between them.

“Both statements made in jest.”

A small frown pulled at the corners of his mouth as he gave a light shake of his head.

“I promise you have nothing to worry about. It is I who will do the worrying. You would never be turned away. Or mistreated. That I am sure of.

It’s me who must cross a bridge I’ve set fire to a hundred times over.”

There were times when pride and ego needed to be set aside. When one would have to take a bullet for someone they loved.

He might not be welcomed with open arms, but the child would be. An innocent victim in a game played by professionals.

Watching the traffic roll past. The landscape turned more lush and green by the mile, yet she couldn't help that nervous energy bubbling within.

Catching glances every so often to check if his composure was still as calm as before. Like stone, his expression gave nothing away. It was hard to be disappointed when she felt impressed.

He wouldn’t hold back and he wouldn’t pretend as though reality was anything less or anything more than it was.

Impulse control issues and lack of boundaries.

He had never heard a more simple and accurate explanation.

There were a hundred other places he would have preferred to stay then in THAT house. A hotel. The car. A park bench. But she didn’t want to be left alone and he would not abandon her this time.

For the sake of the greater good, he would have to take one for the team.

“A few days is all I can tolerate, I’m afraid. However, you can choose to stay, if the environment suits you.

Shaking her head at the question not as an awnser but at the ridiculousness of the entire situation. For someone often referred to as a chaotic person, she thought she was used to the unordinary life that fell upon her, and yet on random days like this, she still found herself surprised.

Before she replies, she would cast him and amused look, silently asking if they were really having this conversation now.

How difficult it was to find good, healthy food every time he found himself in the land of the free.

It was so amusing he actually scoffed.

“That is because nothing is fresh. Genetically modified ingredients. Meat injected with hormones. Preservatives and fillers.

Though it doesn’t seem as though they do a lot of their own cooking. Not anymore.”

Now it was his turn to raise a brow.

It was a little ironic that someone who tried to hide their accent, clung to traditional and regional recipes. Perhaps it was her way of retaining at least a small part of her identity?

An identity that she was hardly fully aware of.

“Your grandmother used to make the best whipped shortbread. So light and fluffy. It would melt in your mouth.

A simple phrase that had her pause.

The grandmother she knew was a jolly woman who would tell stories of all kinds whilst knitting socks that rubbed the skin on your feet raw. The thought that there could have been another face in place, another name, other stories...

"Heidesand." Repeating the word as though savouring a taste. "I will attempt it."

Her German was poor, much like the average child who picked it up in school, not from choice but from an enforced curriculum. She never thought a day would come she might need it. Nor did she ever assume she would wish she had it.

Although he didn’t particularly enjoy talking about himself and was absolutely adamant to leave the past exactly where it belonged— in the past— he knew he owed her answers.

He just hadn’t expected the interview to begin so soon.

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat as she inquired about his homeland. Looking up his eyes met with those of the driver in the rear view mirror. A deliberate and calculated look that told the other man not to listen.

There were things he had never told anyone before. Not even his closest allies.

“Nuremberg. I was born and raised in Nuremberg.”

He knew she would not be satisfied with such a direct and plain answer.

Glancing between the man sat next to her and "toad" she was about to change topic, tell him she was being nosey and that he didn't owe her anything.

And then he spoke.

Humble beginning was not what she would have assumed looking at how sharply dressed he appeared now.

The image of every perfect family from her beloved shows flashed in her mind. A hard-working father, adoring mother, home cooked meals. Simple living. Who could want anything more?

A smile was all she could offer, a spark of wonder as her mind flooded with all the memories stolen from her.

She wouldn't press further.

The past was a place many preferred buried.

"Thank you." For what she wasn't fully able to comprehend, sharing details, breaking her out of a facility, offering a new option she didn't have prior? The list was building quicker than she would usually be comfortable with.

Nobody should ever feel as though they needed to apologize for existing.

“No, it’s not.”

A solemn agreement. If anyone understood how she felt, it was him.

“Sometimes it’s good. Normal. Quiet. And for the briefest of moments you genuinely feel as though everything is going to be alright.

But it never lasts, does it? The world certainly doesn’t make it easy for us.”

A long moment of contemplative silence passed between them as the car ambled up the road. He had set his eyes out the window and he knew from memory that they were nearly at their destination.

A ticking bomb waiting to detonate the second that spark of joy struck.

There was no need to rock anything further today. Step back before she found out the hard way where exactly the line was drawn.

Almost asleep, the pur of an engine the lull of traffic drifting by mixed with the wariness of whatever cocktail of medication she had been fed. His question almost fell on deaf ears.

Lifting her head to check, she really had heard him, a glance towards the driver as a final chance for him to take it back.

"I knew they weren't my real parents, there was so many orphans in Sokovia it wasn't exactly rare... but I dont remember a time before them."

She wouldn't lie, even if it made him uncomfortable. She knew little facts in her life, and it felt the few she could depend on were quickly crumbling away.

"They were good people, I don't know what they knew or what they chose to hide, but they did their best with the little they had. I can't - " contemplating her next choice of words, she would brush the thought away with a shrug.

Not the kind of poker player who would hide his hand and bet modestly. It was all in as all the cards were laid out on the table.

This situation was different. Her psyche was already fragmented and fragile. So much so that THEY had considered her a danger. Punished for things beyond her control.

He did not want to make it worse.

He had no idea what she knew or how much of it she had been able to find out. No knowledge regarding the truth and what she had been told.

He would have to choose his words carefully and he careful not to make excuses. That was definitely the last thing she wanted to hear.

“Well isn’t that just a debate meant for philosophers? Is it kinder to forget or to live with the memories of that which you can never get back?”

A small pause as he thought.

“Patient. Soft spoken. Kind.

Empathetic.

Funny how it is always those who have experienced the most pain that are left with a profound desire to ease it in others.

I think she had a way with nature. Animals. Plants. People.

Almost mystical.

"Does it make any difference? I don't know what's real anymore."

The comment had no thought to it until spoken. Pausing mid stretch to carefully observe the car and the people within it, for that cursed red glimmer in a reflection, or an expression that failed to meet the eyes.

Slowly, she would sink back into her seat. Keeping her breath even as the thought burrowed deeper.

As he spoke about her mother, she tried to listen. Not so much on is description, but for more, for that feeling of something sounding just that little bit too good to be true.

"What happened?"

Something bad was what she needed to hear. Something that her own mind would have blocked out or rewritten to fit a better story.

The same thing that always happened. A chain of misfortunes that led to a tragedy. Effectively ripping everything he had fought so hard for right out of his white knuckled grip.

And he had nobody to blame but himself.

How quickly things always seemed to spiral out of control.

He was taking a huge risk by telling her the truth, but the truth was exactly what she deserved to hear. He was not in the business of cherry picking which events to include when recounting history and he didn’t have the power to erase them from anyone’s memory, whether for his own convenience or what he thought was the greater good.

“There was a fire. An accident.”

He paused there. The next bit of the story was sure to hit her like a ton of bricks.

“Another child. A sibling. A sister. They held me back. Prevented me from going in to save her.

I murdered them all.

Decimated an entire village.

She fled. Afraid.

I didn’t know.”

No excuses. There was no room for excuses.

“Whatever happened after that, I could not tell you. She went to the mountain and I went to Israel.

Waiting to see what would happen next, keeping her own mind as still as possible to prevent any type of influence on the story.

The hesitation before his words had her holding her breath in case she missed that uncanny clue. This was all a twisted delusion.

She couldn't help but wonder how the fire was caused. Had her sister shown the same signs? Had they too been surrounded by the superstitious who believed it was the only way to purify what was left of her soul?

"I'd have done the exact same thing." That uncomfortable thought lingering in the back of her mind dulled as she placed her hand over his own. There was nothing she could do to take away that kind of pain. She had been trying to battle grief most of her life. It's what broke her.

"I always felt a pull towards America, even as a child. I used to think that if I sat on a boat in the sea, I'd drift across the oceans to its shore with no effort at all. It's why I agreed to come here, not because I liked their culture or people, I could have killed Stark or brenner in their sleep and not think twice." Twitching her nose at the mere mention of their names. Fakes.

She would step towards him, her eyes glowing as she paused the movement from the ground. It felt like some kind of cruel joke. Everyone seemed to be allowed someone, and yet here she was, alone.

"I'm here because I need answers. Answers that will bring me back to my family."

Billy shook his head. He couldn't let that happen, the kind of darkness of messing with someone's corpse.

Tilting her head, she would watch him carefully, weighting out how honest he might be. The red hue vanished from the garden as her eyes shift to the backdoor once more.

He had been interacting with her spirit. And Agatha was purposely avoiding her.

Crossing the garden in a few long strides, she would storm back into the shell of a house shouting the woman's name.

:)

"My problem," Turning to face him, pressing her lips to a tight line as she looked him over carefully. "Is people getting in my way."

The thought of anyone knowing her made her stomach turn with unease. She hadn't exactly the best public record. It felt like every one of her mistakes was out there for the world to see and tear apart with judgement.

There was a variety of questions forming in her mind faster than she could voice them. Not that any of them would change the outcome. It wasn't like she had many options before her.

"Homemade." It wasn't until she was in the car, tucking her legs up on the seat and shut away from the outside world once more that she found her voice again. "Cookies. My favourite ones are homemade." Time spent on preparing food was something you simply couldn't put a price on. It made any treat worth savouring.

"White chocolate ones make a solid default."

Watching the world drift past her, she would hunt for any familiar or distinguishable structure. Mapping the turns and street names in case needed later.

America was nothing like home. The streets carbon copies of each other. Such a large country, and yet at times, it felt you could hardly move.

If her mind was truly as frayed and damaged as the nations leaders had deemed it, at the very least his old friend might be able to help.

He suspected she had merely been shaped and molded by the wrong hands. Guided by the wrong people. And he had nobody to blame but himself. It had taken him far too long to step in.

The stout and pimple faced younger man in the drivers seat said not a word as the pair got into the car.

“You know where we’re going, Toad. Make haste.”

A nod of obedience and the car pulled away; winding along the tree fringed roads of upstate New York.

“They are like us. Yes. Completely insane and entirely misguided. There is no need to be on your best behaviour.

. . .

"And he's German." Looking to Erik directly, she could only shake her head. The familiar feeling of scolding Pietro when he too spoke without consideration of others.

"A joke about them being like us or about my behaviour?" Arching her brow before turning to stare out the window once more.

“Both”, he replied a little too matter of factly, as though to leave absolutely no confusion between them.

“Both statements made in jest.”

A small frown pulled at the corners of his mouth as he gave a light shake of his head.

“I promise you have nothing to worry about. It is I who will do the worrying. You would never be turned away. Or mistreated. That I am sure of.

It’s me who must cross a bridge I’ve set fire to a hundred times over.”

There were times when pride and ego needed to be set aside. When one would have to take a bullet for someone they loved.

He might not be welcomed with open arms, but the child would be. An innocent victim in a game played by professionals.

Watching the traffic roll past. The landscape turned more lush and green by the mile, yet she couldn't help that nervous energy bubbling within.

Catching glances every so often to check if his composure was still as calm as before. Like stone, his expression gave nothing away. It was hard to be disappointed when she felt impressed.

He wouldn’t hold back and he wouldn’t pretend as though reality was anything less or anything more than it was.

Impulse control issues and lack of boundaries.

He had never heard a more simple and accurate explanation.

There were a hundred other places he would have preferred to stay then in THAT house. A hotel. The car. A park bench. But she didn’t want to be left alone and he would not abandon her this time.

For the sake of the greater good, he would have to take one for the team.

“A few days is all I can tolerate, I’m afraid. However, you can choose to stay, if the environment suits you.

Shaking her head at the question not as an awnser but at the ridiculousness of the entire situation. For someone often referred to as a chaotic person, she thought she was used to the unordinary life that fell upon her, and yet on random days like this, she still found herself surprised.

Before she replies, she would cast him and amused look, silently asking if they were really having this conversation now.

How difficult it was to find good, healthy food every time he found himself in the land of the free.

It was so amusing he actually scoffed.

“That is because nothing is fresh. Genetically modified ingredients. Meat injected with hormones. Preservatives and fillers.

Though it doesn’t seem as though they do a lot of their own cooking. Not anymore.”

Now it was his turn to raise a brow.

It was a little ironic that someone who tried to hide their accent, clung to traditional and regional recipes. Perhaps it was her way of retaining at least a small part of her identity?

An identity that she was hardly fully aware of.

“Your grandmother used to make the best whipped shortbread. So light and fluffy. It would melt in your mouth.

A simple phrase that had her pause.

The grandmother she knew was a jolly woman who would tell stories of all kinds whilst knitting socks that rubbed the skin on your feet raw. The thought that there could have been another face in place, another name, other stories...

"Heidesand." Repeating the word as though savouring a taste. "I will attempt it."

Her German was poor, much like the average child who picked it up in school, not from choice but from an enforced curriculum. She never thought a day would come she might need it. Nor did she ever assume she would wish she had it.

Although he didn’t particularly enjoy talking about himself and was absolutely adamant to leave the past exactly where it belonged— in the past— he knew he owed her answers.

He just hadn’t expected the interview to begin so soon.

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat as she inquired about his homeland. Looking up his eyes met with those of the driver in the rear view mirror. A deliberate and calculated look that told the other man not to listen.

There were things he had never told anyone before. Not even his closest allies.

“Nuremberg. I was born and raised in Nuremberg.”

He knew she would not be satisfied with such a direct and plain answer.

Glancing between the man sat next to her and "toad" she was about to change topic, tell him she was being nosey and that he didn't owe her anything.

And then he spoke.

Humble beginning was not what she would have assumed looking at how sharply dressed he appeared now.

The image of every perfect family from her beloved shows flashed in her mind. A hard-working father, adoring mother, home cooked meals. Simple living. Who could want anything more?

A smile was all she could offer, a spark of wonder as her mind flooded with all the memories stolen from her.

She wouldn't press further.

The past was a place many preferred buried.

"Thank you." For what she wasn't fully able to comprehend, sharing details, breaking her out of a facility, offering a new option she didn't have prior? The list was building quicker than she would usually be comfortable with.

Nobody should ever feel as though they needed to apologize for existing.

“No, it’s not.”

A solemn agreement. If anyone understood how she felt, it was him.

“Sometimes it’s good. Normal. Quiet. And for the briefest of moments you genuinely feel as though everything is going to be alright.

But it never lasts, does it? The world certainly doesn’t make it easy for us.”

A long moment of contemplative silence passed between them as the car ambled up the road. He had set his eyes out the window and he knew from memory that they were nearly at their destination.

A ticking bomb waiting to detonate the second that spark of joy struck.

There was no need to rock anything further today. Step back before she found out the hard way where exactly the line was drawn.

Almost asleep, the pur of an engine the lull of traffic drifting by mixed with the wariness of whatever cocktail of medication she had been fed. His question almost fell on deaf ears.

Lifting her head to check, she really had heard him, a glance towards the driver as a final chance for him to take it back.

"I knew they weren't my real parents, there was so many orphans in Sokovia it wasn't exactly rare... but I dont remember a time before them."

She wouldn't lie, even if it made him uncomfortable. She knew little facts in her life, and it felt the few she could depend on were quickly crumbling away.

"They were good people, I don't know what they knew or what they chose to hide, but they did their best with the little they had. I can't - " contemplating her next choice of words, she would brush the thought away with a shrug.

Not the kind of poker player who would hide his hand and bet modestly. It was all in as all the cards were laid out on the table.

This situation was different. Her psyche was already fragmented and fragile. So much so that THEY had considered her a danger. Punished for things beyond her control.

He did not want to make it worse.

He had no idea what she knew or how much of it she had been able to find out. No knowledge regarding the truth and what she had been told.

He would have to choose his words carefully and he careful not to make excuses. That was definitely the last thing she wanted to hear.

“Well isn’t that just a debate meant for philosophers? Is it kinder to forget or to live with the memories of that which you can never get back?”

A small pause as he thought.

“Patient. Soft spoken. Kind.

Empathetic.

Funny how it is always those who have experienced the most pain that are left with a profound desire to ease it in others.

I think she had a way with nature. Animals. Plants. People.

Almost mystical.

"Does it make any difference? I don't know what's real anymore."

The comment had no thought to it until spoken. Pausing mid stretch to carefully observe the car and the people within it, for that cursed red glimmer in a reflection, or an expression that failed to meet the eyes.

Slowly, she would sink back into her seat. Keeping her breath even as the thought burrowed deeper.

As he spoke about her mother, she tried to listen. Not so much on is description, but for more, for that feeling of something sounding just that little bit too good to be true.

"What happened?"

Something bad was what she needed to hear. Something that her own mind would have blocked out or rewritten to fit a better story.

Gripping onto any surface as she continued feeding the vehicle her own power supply. It was too new to her, the whole bending of reality was not something she knew she could do.

If she stopped would it revert back? Would it drain her completely? Could she hold this frame for as long as they needed?

There was no mercy of time or a safe place to experiment. They needed to get going, and now they were moving at a rapid speed, tearing up the road as they raced towards the traffic ahead.

This was the best she could think up. Peaceful and practical. Words she often associated with Vision. His view of the worlds often counterbalanced her own chaotic ideas.

She could barely see anything behind her, the rear window too small, the wing blocking what little they could make out and the mirrors? They were adjusted for Charlie. She needed all the focus she could get.

They must have been pretty souped up to maintain pace, though it looked as though several had fallen back. Good. Less to deal with.

It was as though they were driving in another dimension with how slow the cars they were approaching seemed to be. They nearly looked still as she started blowing past them, weaving between and around with the tiniest movements of the wheel.

Had she ever driven this fast in her life? No. But she was absolutely determined to not flip them. That would be it. End of story. Fin. A few mangled corpses in a twisted pile of metal, unrecognizable as what had once been a car.

"They're trying to keep up..." Charlie tried not to laugh, teetering on hysteria and pure thrill. "I don't think you should give me anything faster. We might launch into orbit. In fact..." She pressed down on the pedal a little more, the tiniest bit, and the car immediately picked up the remaining slack, adding a few extra miles an hour, leaving the scenery falling back in a blur.

What she didn't anticipate was flying past a speed trap. She faintly heard the whoop of the police car, saw a blurry red and blue in the side mirror that was dangling from the earlier shots fired, and laughed again. There was no way that dinky little cop car was going to catch up.

There was very little she couldn't hold in her life no matter what was thrown her way and yet as reality slowly caught up with her. The past few weeks, having to say good bye to Vision again, her boys... and now this? A chase she was certain would be on the news. Drawing the attention of all kinds of mutants and soldiers to handle it. People she once considered friends.

Wanda could feel it burning her from the inside out as she swallowed it back down.

Too scared to talk, only nodding her head and agree to anything Charlie said.

The blur of the world outside, the noise, the chaos. All of it twisting and turning. The more she seemed to try, the worse it became.

The speed thermometer began to push back, the wheels resisting that urge to power forward as that glitching began once more.

The electric dash was the first to change. The music switching off entirely and with a few blinks of an eye the luxurious and sleek had been replaced with something decades behind.

The 1980's hatchback her papa in Sokovia drove. A silver rusted body, with matching duct tape across the steering and patching up the old sponge seats.

:)

"My problem," Turning to face him, pressing her lips to a tight line as she looked him over carefully. "Is people getting in my way."

The thought of anyone knowing her made her stomach turn with unease. She hadn't exactly the best public record. It felt like every one of her mistakes was out there for the world to see and tear apart with judgement.

There was a variety of questions forming in her mind faster than she could voice them. Not that any of them would change the outcome. It wasn't like she had many options before her.

"Homemade." It wasn't until she was in the car, tucking her legs up on the seat and shut away from the outside world once more that she found her voice again. "Cookies. My favourite ones are homemade." Time spent on preparing food was something you simply couldn't put a price on. It made any treat worth savouring.

"White chocolate ones make a solid default."

Watching the world drift past her, she would hunt for any familiar or distinguishable structure. Mapping the turns and street names in case needed later.

America was nothing like home. The streets carbon copies of each other. Such a large country, and yet at times, it felt you could hardly move.

If her mind was truly as frayed and damaged as the nations leaders had deemed it, at the very least his old friend might be able to help.

He suspected she had merely been shaped and molded by the wrong hands. Guided by the wrong people. And he had nobody to blame but himself. It had taken him far too long to step in.

The stout and pimple faced younger man in the drivers seat said not a word as the pair got into the car.

“You know where we’re going, Toad. Make haste.”

A nod of obedience and the car pulled away; winding along the tree fringed roads of upstate New York.

“They are like us. Yes. Completely insane and entirely misguided. There is no need to be on your best behaviour.

. . .

"And he's German." Looking to Erik directly, she could only shake her head. The familiar feeling of scolding Pietro when he too spoke without consideration of others.

"A joke about them being like us or about my behaviour?" Arching her brow before turning to stare out the window once more.

“Both”, he replied a little too matter of factly, as though to leave absolutely no confusion between them.

“Both statements made in jest.”

A small frown pulled at the corners of his mouth as he gave a light shake of his head.

“I promise you have nothing to worry about. It is I who will do the worrying. You would never be turned away. Or mistreated. That I am sure of.

It’s me who must cross a bridge I’ve set fire to a hundred times over.”

There were times when pride and ego needed to be set aside. When one would have to take a bullet for someone they loved.

He might not be welcomed with open arms, but the child would be. An innocent victim in a game played by professionals.

Watching the traffic roll past. The landscape turned more lush and green by the mile, yet she couldn't help that nervous energy bubbling within.

Catching glances every so often to check if his composure was still as calm as before. Like stone, his expression gave nothing away. It was hard to be disappointed when she felt impressed.

He wouldn’t hold back and he wouldn’t pretend as though reality was anything less or anything more than it was.

Impulse control issues and lack of boundaries.

He had never heard a more simple and accurate explanation.

There were a hundred other places he would have preferred to stay then in THAT house. A hotel. The car. A park bench. But she didn’t want to be left alone and he would not abandon her this time.

For the sake of the greater good, he would have to take one for the team.

“A few days is all I can tolerate, I’m afraid. However, you can choose to stay, if the environment suits you.

Shaking her head at the question not as an awnser but at the ridiculousness of the entire situation. For someone often referred to as a chaotic person, she thought she was used to the unordinary life that fell upon her, and yet on random days like this, she still found herself surprised.

Before she replies, she would cast him and amused look, silently asking if they were really having this conversation now.

How difficult it was to find good, healthy food every time he found himself in the land of the free.

It was so amusing he actually scoffed.

“That is because nothing is fresh. Genetically modified ingredients. Meat injected with hormones. Preservatives and fillers.

Though it doesn’t seem as though they do a lot of their own cooking. Not anymore.”

Now it was his turn to raise a brow.

It was a little ironic that someone who tried to hide their accent, clung to traditional and regional recipes. Perhaps it was her way of retaining at least a small part of her identity?

An identity that she was hardly fully aware of.

“Your grandmother used to make the best whipped shortbread. So light and fluffy. It would melt in your mouth.

A simple phrase that had her pause.

The grandmother she knew was a jolly woman who would tell stories of all kinds whilst knitting socks that rubbed the skin on your feet raw. The thought that there could have been another face in place, another name, other stories...

"Heidesand." Repeating the word as though savouring a taste. "I will attempt it."

Her German was poor, much like the average child who picked it up in school, not from choice but from an enforced curriculum. She never thought a day would come she might need it. Nor did she ever assume she would wish she had it.

Although he didn’t particularly enjoy talking about himself and was absolutely adamant to leave the past exactly where it belonged— in the past— he knew he owed her answers.

He just hadn’t expected the interview to begin so soon.

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat as she inquired about his homeland. Looking up his eyes met with those of the driver in the rear view mirror. A deliberate and calculated look that told the other man not to listen.

There were things he had never told anyone before. Not even his closest allies.

“Nuremberg. I was born and raised in Nuremberg.”

He knew she would not be satisfied with such a direct and plain answer.

Glancing between the man sat next to her and "toad" she was about to change topic, tell him she was being nosey and that he didn't owe her anything.

And then he spoke.

Humble beginning was not what she would have assumed looking at how sharply dressed he appeared now.

The image of every perfect family from her beloved shows flashed in her mind. A hard-working father, adoring mother, home cooked meals. Simple living. Who could want anything more?

A smile was all she could offer, a spark of wonder as her mind flooded with all the memories stolen from her.

She wouldn't press further.

The past was a place many preferred buried.

"Thank you." For what she wasn't fully able to comprehend, sharing details, breaking her out of a facility, offering a new option she didn't have prior? The list was building quicker than she would usually be comfortable with.

Nobody should ever feel as though they needed to apologize for existing.

“No, it’s not.”

A solemn agreement. If anyone understood how she felt, it was him.

“Sometimes it’s good. Normal. Quiet. And for the briefest of moments you genuinely feel as though everything is going to be alright.

But it never lasts, does it? The world certainly doesn’t make it easy for us.”

A long moment of contemplative silence passed between them as the car ambled up the road. He had set his eyes out the window and he knew from memory that they were nearly at their destination.

A ticking bomb waiting to detonate the second that spark of joy struck.

There was no need to rock anything further today. Step back before she found out the hard way where exactly the line was drawn.

Almost asleep, the pur of an engine the lull of traffic drifting by mixed with the wariness of whatever cocktail of medication she had been fed. His question almost fell on deaf ears.

Lifting her head to check, she really had heard him, a glance towards the driver as a final chance for him to take it back.

"I knew they weren't my real parents, there was so many orphans in Sokovia it wasn't exactly rare... but I dont remember a time before them."

She wouldn't lie, even if it made him uncomfortable. She knew little facts in her life, and it felt the few she could depend on were quickly crumbling away.

"They were good people, I don't know what they knew or what they chose to hide, but they did their best with the little they had. I can't - " contemplating her next choice of words, she would brush the thought away with a shrug.

She continued trying to free the body from the soil, like pulling up carrots she could feel the grip of the dirt weakening. If she could just wriggle it a little more-

The teens voice began grinding on her. Casting an annoyed glace over her shoulder as she waited for him to be finished his speech.

"I'm not planning on staying." Cutting him off, her brows furrowed as she turned to face him. "I know exactly how they would see it, I'm the wicked witch that enslaved them all. I was there, remember?"

She couldn't waste time getting to the details of how all she wanted was a place to belong. A home. A family. The pain the town had to experience for a couple of weeks was just a fraction of what she felt every waking day. This town had nothing for her anymore but one lady with potential answers, and she refused to believe that she was simply dead-

He wasn't trying to be cruel. Sure, he had his moments, but he couldn't blame her when he had done the same thing. It was just that these were his neighbors. He wasn't interested in scaring them for a third time.

She would step towards him, her eyes glowing as she paused the movement from the ground. It felt like some kind of cruel joke. Everyone seemed to be allowed someone, and yet here she was, alone.

"I'm here because I need answers. Answers that will bring me back to my family."

A small acknowledgement that she heard him, although she hadn't really cared for the backstory that went with it. A simple no would have been efficient.

Allowing him the space to run his mouth, she looked around the garden, thinking of her next plan. Things didn't seem to add up, and with Agatha, there was always an ace up her dated sleeve.

Reaching out her hand, fingertips glowing a bright red as she soil in the flowerbeds begin to pulse.

This town had once been her everything, a safe haven carved out in the world for her family, her love. To try and begin explaining that to an angsty teenager was worth much bother.

She wasn't entirely wrong. He'd gotten Agatha's help—after some minor breaking and entering—with the dangle of power. But Agatha didn't need power right now. She was dead, passed on, ignored as she wished by Rio. It was just Billy now, coming back to her house when he thought she might be haunting it. She couldn't live in his bedroom all the time. Sure it was cleaner, but it was still occupied by a Teen. He never thought he'd run into someone while calling out for her ghost.

"Mrs. Maximoff," he tried again. "I just don't know if you should be here. Specifically in Westview. I don't know a lot about what happened, but I don't think the welcoming committee is coming for you. I mean if Mrs. Davis were here—"

She continued trying to free the body from the soil, like pulling up carrots she could feel the grip of the dirt weakening. If she could just wriggle it a little more-

The teens voice began grinding on her. Casting an annoyed glace over her shoulder as she waited for him to be finished his speech.

"I'm not planning on staying." Cutting him off, her brows furrowed as she turned to face him. "I know exactly how they would see it, I'm the wicked witch that enslaved them all. I was there, remember?"

She couldn't waste time getting to the details of how all she wanted was a place to belong. A home. A family. The pain the town had to experience for a couple of weeks was just a fraction of what she felt every waking day. This town had nothing for her anymore but one lady with potential answers, and she refused to believe that she was simply dead-

:)

"My problem," Turning to face him, pressing her lips to a tight line as she looked him over carefully. "Is people getting in my way."

The thought of anyone knowing her made her stomach turn with unease. She hadn't exactly the best public record. It felt like every one of her mistakes was out there for the world to see and tear apart with judgement.

There was a variety of questions forming in her mind faster than she could voice them. Not that any of them would change the outcome. It wasn't like she had many options before her.

"Homemade." It wasn't until she was in the car, tucking her legs up on the seat and shut away from the outside world once more that she found her voice again. "Cookies. My favourite ones are homemade." Time spent on preparing food was something you simply couldn't put a price on. It made any treat worth savouring.

"White chocolate ones make a solid default."

Watching the world drift past her, she would hunt for any familiar or distinguishable structure. Mapping the turns and street names in case needed later.

America was nothing like home. The streets carbon copies of each other. Such a large country, and yet at times, it felt you could hardly move.

If her mind was truly as frayed and damaged as the nations leaders had deemed it, at the very least his old friend might be able to help.

He suspected she had merely been shaped and molded by the wrong hands. Guided by the wrong people. And he had nobody to blame but himself. It had taken him far too long to step in.

The stout and pimple faced younger man in the drivers seat said not a word as the pair got into the car.

“You know where we’re going, Toad. Make haste.”

A nod of obedience and the car pulled away; winding along the tree fringed roads of upstate New York.

“They are like us. Yes. Completely insane and entirely misguided. There is no need to be on your best behaviour.

. . .

"And he's German." Looking to Erik directly, she could only shake her head. The familiar feeling of scolding Pietro when he too spoke without consideration of others.

"A joke about them being like us or about my behaviour?" Arching her brow before turning to stare out the window once more.

“Both”, he replied a little too matter of factly, as though to leave absolutely no confusion between them.

“Both statements made in jest.”

A small frown pulled at the corners of his mouth as he gave a light shake of his head.

“I promise you have nothing to worry about. It is I who will do the worrying. You would never be turned away. Or mistreated. That I am sure of.

It’s me who must cross a bridge I’ve set fire to a hundred times over.”

There were times when pride and ego needed to be set aside. When one would have to take a bullet for someone they loved.

He might not be welcomed with open arms, but the child would be. An innocent victim in a game played by professionals.

Watching the traffic roll past. The landscape turned more lush and green by the mile, yet she couldn't help that nervous energy bubbling within.

Catching glances every so often to check if his composure was still as calm as before. Like stone, his expression gave nothing away. It was hard to be disappointed when she felt impressed.

He wouldn’t hold back and he wouldn’t pretend as though reality was anything less or anything more than it was.

Impulse control issues and lack of boundaries.

He had never heard a more simple and accurate explanation.

There were a hundred other places he would have preferred to stay then in THAT house. A hotel. The car. A park bench. But she didn’t want to be left alone and he would not abandon her this time.

For the sake of the greater good, he would have to take one for the team.

“A few days is all I can tolerate, I’m afraid. However, you can choose to stay, if the environment suits you.

Shaking her head at the question not as an awnser but at the ridiculousness of the entire situation. For someone often referred to as a chaotic person, she thought she was used to the unordinary life that fell upon her, and yet on random days like this, she still found herself surprised.

Before she replies, she would cast him and amused look, silently asking if they were really having this conversation now.

How difficult it was to find good, healthy food every time he found himself in the land of the free.

It was so amusing he actually scoffed.

“That is because nothing is fresh. Genetically modified ingredients. Meat injected with hormones. Preservatives and fillers.

Though it doesn’t seem as though they do a lot of their own cooking. Not anymore.”

Now it was his turn to raise a brow.

It was a little ironic that someone who tried to hide their accent, clung to traditional and regional recipes. Perhaps it was her way of retaining at least a small part of her identity?

An identity that she was hardly fully aware of.

“Your grandmother used to make the best whipped shortbread. So light and fluffy. It would melt in your mouth.

A simple phrase that had her pause.

The grandmother she knew was a jolly woman who would tell stories of all kinds whilst knitting socks that rubbed the skin on your feet raw. The thought that there could have been another face in place, another name, other stories...

"Heidesand." Repeating the word as though savouring a taste. "I will attempt it."

Her German was poor, much like the average child who picked it up in school, not from choice but from an enforced curriculum. She never thought a day would come she might need it. Nor did she ever assume she would wish she had it.

Although he didn’t particularly enjoy talking about himself and was absolutely adamant to leave the past exactly where it belonged— in the past— he knew he owed her answers.

He just hadn’t expected the interview to begin so soon.

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat as she inquired about his homeland. Looking up his eyes met with those of the driver in the rear view mirror. A deliberate and calculated look that told the other man not to listen.

There were things he had never told anyone before. Not even his closest allies.

“Nuremberg. I was born and raised in Nuremberg.”

He knew she would not be satisfied with such a direct and plain answer.

Glancing between the man sat next to her and "toad" she was about to change topic, tell him she was being nosey and that he didn't owe her anything.

And then he spoke.

Humble beginning was not what she would have assumed looking at how sharply dressed he appeared now.

The image of every perfect family from her beloved shows flashed in her mind. A hard-working father, adoring mother, home cooked meals. Simple living. Who could want anything more?

A smile was all she could offer, a spark of wonder as her mind flooded with all the memories stolen from her.

She wouldn't press further.

The past was a place many preferred buried.

"Thank you." For what she wasn't fully able to comprehend, sharing details, breaking her out of a facility, offering a new option she didn't have prior? The list was building quicker than she would usually be comfortable with.

"Haven't you got a mother to run home to?" The smile on her face all too tight as she turned to face him. "It will be dinner time soon, and you're in the wrong town."

Heading towards the back door, whether he was coming or not, the handle pushing down itself to open for her in a slow drawn out movement as she stepped out on the path.

Red eyes scanning the grass and flowerbeds before landing on a spot void of any energy at all. A lingering remain of death.

"That's inconvenient."

Not to Agatha, specifically, but he'd been leaving the house more often as of late. They had worried at first. Their son, long isolated at school since his (supposed) miraculously healed amnesia with no friends, was now going out, like a normal teenager. He didn't blame them for wanting to believe. "If it's the wrong town for me, I can't imagine what that makes it for you."

He watched Wanda go to the garden, where her eyes fell on the wild flowers he sometimes saw Rio standing by.

"Perhaps," He said stiffly. Inconvenient wasn't the word he'd use when describing his mentor. "What is it you wanted from her? You know she probably wouldn't give it to you anyway. Not with any ease."

A small acknowledgement that she heard him, although she hadn't really cared for the backstory that went with it. A simple no would have been efficient.

Allowing him the space to run his mouth, she looked around the garden, thinking of her next plan. Things didn't seem to add up, and with Agatha, there was always an ace up her dated sleeve.

Reaching out her hand, fingertips glowing a bright red as she soil in the flowerbeds begin to pulse.

This town had once been her everything, a safe haven carved out in the world for her family, her love. To try and begin explaining that to an angsty teenager was worth much bother.