The Scarlet Witch @scarletmadness - Tumblr Blog

She had a strong stomach.

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.

With little thought and a rapid movement to manually roll down the window, she would push her head out enough for the cold air to hit the side of her head as she spewed onto the road.

shieldarchitect

The steering wheel shifted beneath her hands once more. The luxury leather wrap had turned into something hardened, the leather now cracking from age. The change in speed wasn't so jarring as to send the car off course, but a gradual deceleration as the vehicle was yet again manipulated into something else.

The transformation was jarring.

Charlie managed to get out a confused - "Wanda!?" before double-taking at the woman as she leaned out of the car to hurl.

"Gonna need you to get it together - Wanda??? Please?" She frantically looked back up at the crooked rearview mirror to find the ominous black SUVs had gained on them like wolves about to pounce on their prey.

"Wanda - can you change it back? Please change it back?" All the thrill from her adrenaline rush, the excitement that had temporarily dissolved her fear, vanished in an instant, replaced with the terror that had initially consumed her when she had floored it to begin with.

Now, she had the pedal jammed down, but she felt as though she could outrun this car on foot with how sharply the speed had dropped. The void of sound, the sudden absence of music, had left made the strain of the old engine apparent. It didn't matter how much she willed this thing to move; this was as good as it was going to get.

One hand darted away from the steering wheel to grab at Wanda's arm in desperation, trying to tug her back into her seat.

"We are so screwed - " is all she got out as two of the SUVs split the road to gain on either side of them.

#can i fly?#lets fly #whats the worst that can happen #🤣🤣#shieldarchitect

Gasping for that cold air.

Eyes watering whilst she spat out the remaining bile. She just needed a moment. One moment where everything would stop.

Gripping the rusted door, the familiar smell pulling her back to a time, everything was so much easier. She used to beg her papa to sit at the front, feeling an achievement whenever she beat Pietro to the title shotgun. Of course now she realises he let her.

The thought was quickly shattered at the SUV's got a bit too close to comfort. Watching them both roll down their own window, she could only narrow those red eyes as she met that hollow gaze of a barrel.

"Enough."

A simple command whilst she reached out. Like shooting lazers from her fingertips and entrapping the vehicles in a hue. Lifting the cars less than a foot only to let go with a red flash.

Around 5 agents in total came tumbling down onto the road on yellow space hoppers. Some barely escaped the ongoing traffic as they were forced to flee to the side for safety.

The one who had held the gun clutched toy guitar, and for a second, he tried to fire it. The realisation enough to have him throw the instrument to the dirt.

Sitting back on that old uneven chair, taking a breath of that familiar smell she would close her eyes. Daring to bask in the memories a second longer before raking her head for something more practical for the situation.

They needed to get out. There were still far too many chasing them, and it wouldn't be long before their backup came in whatever form was closest.

The road ahead was too busy, too straight and obvious.

"Can you fly? Can we fly? I think i can make something that flies?"

There was something about how quiet he went that made her pause. Looking to him, a soft frown appeared on her face as she recognised his fear. "I'm not going to hurt you." Confused, mildly offended by his hesitation.

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.

"I'm not -" Keeping her voice calm, soothing that red rage once more. Defeated, she will approach the table, taking a seat only to bury her face in her hands as she thinks. "I'm not here to hurt anyone. I just need help. Nobody will help me."

I'm not going to hurt you, she said. He worked his mouth, chewing on the inside of his lips. It sounded like something Agatha might say. She had worked so hard to make it not seem scary, when helping him remember how he had said goodbye to Tommy. It wasn't dying, Agatha said, just Wanda folding her world.

It helped. At least, for a moment, before he realized what Agatha was doing. Manipulation, in her own way. Manipulation many witches called a kindness.

"Help with what?" He finally asked. "The best I can do is, next time I see Agatha, I can tell her you're looking for her. That doesn't mean she'll come. She was pretty upset about you taking her power."

"No."

Dropping her hands to glance at the wall ahead. She wasn't going to drag a teenager into her mess, she certainly wasn't going to encourage this teenage to continue working with Agatha anymore then he already appeared to.

"You should be careful of her, ironic coming from myself, but -" Was it even worth trying? He likely decided she was the villain the moment he heard her name. It was a wonder the mouth of poison Agatha likely dripped into his ear. She half expected him to be holding a knife at her back now.

"My son's were real, I know how the world sees it but they were real. I was a mother. And she tried to kill them to take my powers before I even understood them. Her hunger for power has no limits, don't let her leech yours."

❝Power isn’t your problem, it’s knowledge.❞

"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."

"Knowledge can easily be gained if granted a slither of peace or space to learn it." A soft smile tugs the corner of her lips as she shakes her head softly of any frustration clouding it. "Or if someone is willing to share it?"

Skipping a few steps to catch up to him, she could only try and decode his face to determine just what exactly he meant. What did he mean by know her?

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.

"Are they like us?"

There was no doubt in his mind that Charles had a special interest in her and often made it a point to check up on her, when locked in the captains chair of Cerebro. Invasive and always crossing boundaries while he lectured others not to.

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.

. . .

That was a joke.”

"I dont really know him." Wanda would sit forward, casting a sideways glance towards Erik before meeting the drivers gaze in the mirror. Despite seeing immediately how the driver got his name, she couldn't help but shift uncomfortably at the brazen disrespect.

"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.

"Relax, I had my medication this morning." What they were or what good they did was a mystery to her. All she did know was that she only got to watch her shows after proving that she swallowed the small cup of pills.

Either she wasn’t fond of jokes or he wasn’t very good at them. Something that would need to be worked on.

“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.

“You are going to have to trust me. Just this once. After that you are free to make up your own mind.”

"To set fire to the bridge, you must have rebuilt it as many times." A simple statement she perhaps wasn't intending to speak aloud. "Either you have impulse control issues, or your friend can't establish healthy boundaries."

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.

"I'll trust you." She hoped it would be taken as a trust concern. If they were to take her down, she would ensure he would go first. Reality was she was hoping to keep this person in her corner that little longer. "But I'm not staying there unless you are. Even if just for a few days."

“Both.”

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.

You mentioned baking. Is this something you enjoy?”

The silence that followed lasted only a minute or so before the smirk on her face turned to a snicker, finally a quiet giggle.

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.

"I like food." She a finally answers, a small genuine smile on her face, "But it's not the same in America as it was back home. Nothing here feels... fresh." Srunching her nose at the thought of processed chemicals and the mountains of sugar compressed into every ingredient. "Cooking, baking, it's a love language. For oneself and for others. Perhaps in those 'few days' I could make you something, I know a few German recipes..."

It was a sentiment they shared.

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.

Heidesand”…

Her grandmother.

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.

"What part of Germany are you from?" She barely knew the country, never even considered visiting until now, but the question felt like testing waters. He wanted to small talk about baking, and she wanted to know who her mother was and how he found out about her at all... small steps were needed.

He knew it was only a matter of time before the questions came pouring out. Years and years worth of them.

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.

“My father— your grandfather was a manager at a department store. My mother stayed home to look after her children and keep the house. Excellent baker. Made the best windbeutel in the upper east side of the city.”

She picked up the shift immediately.

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.

"It's not always like this." Her life was pure chaos, every choice she made subconsciously fueling her next mistake, but between the catastrophic events, there was good. Peaceful.

It sounded as though she was apologizing. For nothing but being who and what she was. A tone of voice that tugged at something deep within him. An old wound that would never fully heal. He had heard that tone in so many voices before.

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.

“You don’t remember her, do you?”

Could she really blame the world? Perhaps, in her darkest of moments, the days she lashes out wanting to inflict an ounce of the pain and loneliness she feels every waking second. Yet most of her pain, most her troubles, they always came from within.

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.

"It's all new, as I imagine it is for you."

He was not known for his delicacy.

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.

That’s what I remember.”

Shifting in the seat to roll her shoulders and stretch her spine the best she could as she listened to his big philosophical questions.

"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.

"What went wrong?"

What happened.

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.

These are blanks you will have to fill in yourself.”

She listened.

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.

"I was drawn in because I knew there was something here... something waiting for me. Perhaps it was you."

I’d have done the exact same thing.

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.

I offer only freedom. Real freedom.”

The mention of Pietro was like a knife to her heart. Possibly the worst wound of them all. Losing him, it was like losing her very arms. Who else could claim they knew her, understood her as well as her twin.

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.

"Have you any questions?" Before life gets in the way again. Gods only know how much it liked to snatch away things as soon as she has them. Was best to make the most of the time whilst it was present.

For a long while, he remained silent as he considered all of the questions he could have asked her. In the wake of the conversation they had just had, none of them seemed appropriate or important anymore.

“No. I know everything I need to.”

Shifting in his seat, he moved forward so to get a glimpse out of the windshield. He knew from memory that when the road grew more narrow, they were nearly upon their destination.

He knew it was nothing but a trick of the mind, but he could practically see the peaks of the old mansion poking out above the tree line.

“Anything more you wish for me to know is at your own discretion.”

#haha its a very girlpop song #but an ear worm #🤣🤣#masterrofmagnetism

His movements told her they were close. She didn't need to ask as he scanned the surroundings. Had he not mentioned his hesitation earlier, she would have assumed he was excited. Like child trying to spot the ferris before the fair.

Wanda, however, could feel herself sink further into the seat. That anxiety gnawing at her nerves with yet another new beginning, new faces that will no doubt smile that little too wide whilst ensuring arms length at all times.

Perhaps they will ask her to perform like some circus monkey, established where her skill sets her on the next battlefield.

Or maybe this is all a trap, a test to see if she would try and run off. A failed exam resulting in a tougher cell.

"You promise this isn't a trap?"

She hadn't the energy to fight it off if it was. Her quick forming plan was often flee.

"They won't turn me in?"

taujr-resort

#Its never get in the corner #and always get the jacket on #🤣🤣#muse

manueldelarocha

[continued from here]

@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.

“Do you have any idea how powerful I am? You should want me on your side.” Arrogance is, unfortunately, his middle name. He's under the impression that he could somehow be useful to her, despite her being very clearly more powerful. Some people find confidence attractive- maybe she'll be one of them.

#manueldelarocha #she is not changing the channel #your stuck watching the office #🤣🤣

There was little time she had to argue pettiness. Instead, holding out the remote to the TV with a few clicks, she would turn up the volume to her sitcom and attempt to blank him out entirely.

"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?"

Of all the places to pick, she hadn't the best track record for keeping her allies alive.

❝Power isn’t your problem, it’s knowledge.❞

"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."

Skipping a few steps to catch up to him, she could only try and decode his face to determine just what exactly he meant. What did he mean by know her?

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.

"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.

"Are they like us?"

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.

. . .

That was a joke.”

"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.

Either she wasn’t fond of jokes or he wasn’t very good at them. Something that would need to be worked on.

“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.

“You are going to have to trust me. Just this once. After that you are free to make up your own mind.”

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.

“Both.”

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.

You mentioned baking. Is this something you enjoy?”

The silence that followed lasted only a minute or so before the smirk on her face turned to a snicker, finally a quiet giggle.

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

It was a sentiment they shared.

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.

Heidesand”…

Her grandmother.

A simple phrase that had her pause.

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

He knew it was only a matter of time before the questions came pouring out. Years and years worth of them.

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.

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.

She picked up the shift immediately.

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.

"It's not always like this." Her life was pure chaos, every choice she made subconsciously fueling her next mistake, but between the catastrophic events, there was good. Peaceful.

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.

“You don’t remember her, do you?”

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.

"It's all new, as I imagine it is for you."

He was not known for his delicacy.

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.

That’s what I remember.”

Shifting in the seat to roll her shoulders and stretch her spine the best she could as she listened to his big philosophical questions.

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

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.

"What went wrong?"

What happened.

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.

“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.

These are blanks you will have to fill in yourself.”

She listened.

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.

"I was drawn in because I knew there was something here... something waiting for me. Perhaps it was you."

I’d have done the exact same thing.

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

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.

I offer only freedom. Real freedom.”

#theres a charliexcx song about apples #and nownits gonna be stuck in my head all day #😅😅#masterrofmagnetism

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

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

"Evoking the spirit."

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.

"When did you last make contact with her?"

Billy rushed back a few steps. The Scarlet Witch, as Lilia called her, as Lilia would invoke the name, making Jen bolt with nerves. That was that bright red magic, the same that took the town in the first place. His hands went behind him, taking hold of the countertops as Wanda's anger turned to her.

"Last night?" He said quietly. He wasn't sure why he was bothering with the truth. Maybe just that sight of her magic, when he knew it outbid his, at least while he was untrained. Damn it, Agatha. He hated when she was right. "Agatha doesn't do anything but what she wants to do, especially as a ghost. What about Dr. Strange? Can't he help you or something?"

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.

❝Power isn’t your problem, it’s knowledge.❞

"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."

Skipping a few steps to catch up to him, she could only try and decode his face to determine just what exactly he meant. What did he mean by know her?

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.

"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.

"Are they like us?"

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.

. . .

That was a joke.”

"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.

Either she wasn’t fond of jokes or he wasn’t very good at them. Something that would need to be worked on.

“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.

“You are going to have to trust me. Just this once. After that you are free to make up your own mind.”

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.

“Both.”

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.

You mentioned baking. Is this something you enjoy?”

The silence that followed lasted only a minute or so before the smirk on her face turned to a snicker, finally a quiet giggle.

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

It was a sentiment they shared.

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.

Heidesand”…

Her grandmother.

A simple phrase that had her pause.

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

He knew it was only a matter of time before the questions came pouring out. Years and years worth of them.

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.

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.

She picked up the shift immediately.

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.

"It's not always like this." Her life was pure chaos, every choice she made subconsciously fueling her next mistake, but between the catastrophic events, there was good. Peaceful.

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.

“You don’t remember her, do you?”

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.

"It's all new, as I imagine it is for you."

He was not known for his delicacy.

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.

That’s what I remember.”

Shifting in the seat to roll her shoulders and stretch her spine the best she could as she listened to his big philosophical questions.

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

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.

"What went wrong?"

What happened.

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.

“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.

These are blanks you will have to fill in yourself.”

#the OG #ngl im mixing a little blend of MCU and Comics so please excuse the mess of her timeline 🥲#🤍#masterrofmagnetism

She listened.

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.

"I was drawn in because I knew there was something here... something waiting for me. Perhaps it was you."

The devil works fast but not as fast as some of you guys with ur replies

#im joking i absolutely love it #im so sorry you all have to wait for my ass to drag em out #🫣#ooc

"From me? She most definitely would want that."

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."

With a sigh, she closed her eyes in a desperate attempt to cool off the turmoil of rage within. "Go back inside. You won't want to see this, and when I'm done, I will put her back. It will be as though i was never here."

"Your spell was broken," Billy said firmly. "She died being herself. Not a detective or nosy neighbor but as Agatha Harkness. And she's not down there, just her body."

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

"Remember? I was calling to her just before? She's not down there, you're just desecrating a grave right now." He shook his head. "Who said she has answers? The way she tells the truth is very complicated."

"Evoking the spirit."

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.

"When did you last make contact with her?"

❝Power isn’t your problem, it’s knowledge.❞

"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."

Skipping a few steps to catch up to him, she could only try and decode his face to determine just what exactly he meant. What did he mean by know her?

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.

"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.

"Are they like us?"

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.

. . .

That was a joke.”

"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.

Either she wasn’t fond of jokes or he wasn’t very good at them. Something that would need to be worked on.

“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.

“You are going to have to trust me. Just this once. After that you are free to make up your own mind.”

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.

“Both.”

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.

You mentioned baking. Is this something you enjoy?”

The silence that followed lasted only a minute or so before the smirk on her face turned to a snicker, finally a quiet giggle.

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

It was a sentiment they shared.

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.

Heidesand”…

Her grandmother.

A simple phrase that had her pause.

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

He knew it was only a matter of time before the questions came pouring out. Years and years worth of them.

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.

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.

She picked up the shift immediately.

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.

"It's not always like this." Her life was pure chaos, every choice she made subconsciously fueling her next mistake, but between the catastrophic events, there was good. Peaceful.

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.

“You don’t remember her, do you?”

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.

"It's all new, as I imagine it is for you."

He was not known for his delicacy.

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.

That’s what I remember.”

#is she imagining this whole thing?#had she accidentally enslaved an innocent man to play father?#only Wanda would have those questions silently on a long car ride #🙈#masterrofmagnetism

Shifting in the seat to roll her shoulders and stretch her spine the best she could as she listened to his big philosophical questions.

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

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.

"What went wrong?"

She was screaming.

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.

"Are they still on our heels?" She squeaked out, holding her hands over her own eyes. Praying to whatever creator above that they were seeing an end to this tunnel because she was truly running out of ideas. "I can't think of anything faster right now!"

shieldarchitect

The screaming contributed to the general ambience of what could have been a nice Sunday drive like in those old tv shows - had they not been hurtling a few hundred miles an hour into scattered traffic with a pack of ominous government SUVs trailing them.

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.

"I told you I was going to get you out of there. I didn't know you had this up your sleeve though." She glanced over and did a double take at Wanda's expression of terror as they hurtled at breakneck speeds down the increasingly busy highway. "I think you got yourself out of there."

#hahaha sorry #dream car over #🫣

She had a strong stomach.

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.

With little thought and a rapid movement to manually roll down the window, she would push her head out enough for the cold air to hit the side of her head as she spewed onto the road.

❝Power isn’t your problem, it’s knowledge.❞

"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."

Skipping a few steps to catch up to him, she could only try and decode his face to determine just what exactly he meant. What did he mean by know her?

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.

"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.

"Are they like us?"

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.

. . .

That was a joke.”

"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.

Either she wasn’t fond of jokes or he wasn’t very good at them. Something that would need to be worked on.

“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.

“You are going to have to trust me. Just this once. After that you are free to make up your own mind.”

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.

“Both.”

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.

You mentioned baking. Is this something you enjoy?”

The silence that followed lasted only a minute or so before the smirk on her face turned to a snicker, finally a quiet giggle.

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

It was a sentiment they shared.

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.

Heidesand”…

Her grandmother.

A simple phrase that had her pause.

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

He knew it was only a matter of time before the questions came pouring out. Years and years worth of them.

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.

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.

She picked up the shift immediately.

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.

"It's not always like this." Her life was pure chaos, every choice she made subconsciously fueling her next mistake, but between the catastrophic events, there was good. Peaceful.

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.

“You don’t remember her, do you?”

#Wanda is like bro #you really wanna do this?#on a thursday morning before lunch?#🤣🤣#masterrofmagnetism

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.

"It's all new, as I imagine it is for you."

"A rest in peace."

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-

"Why are you here?"

"She's not the kind of person to want that," He pointed out quietly. He watched, wondering what it was she was doing in the dirt. It made his stomach queasy, watching her as she messed with Agatha's final resting place. "I didn't ask if you were staying, I figured that you wouldn't. It's why you're here in the first place."

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.

"Agatha and I are coven," He said simply. "I was there when she passed."

"From me? She most definitely would want that."

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."